Gamay glanced upward. The rear air anchor had come loose and was drifting up toward the heavens like a kid’s balloon lost at the fair. As a result, the airship was sinking toward the water tail first.
“Get us moving!” Gamay shouted.
“On it,” Marchetti said, rushing to the cockpit.
“Leilani, I need help.”
As Marchetti scrambled into the cabin, Leilani crouched beside Gamay and grabbed onto Paul’s leg. The ducted fans up front began to spin, and the airship began to crawl forward. As it did, the strain of holding on to Paul increased.
Gamay felt as if she were going to be ripped loose. She saw Leilani trying to get a better grip.
The airship began to pick up speed, but it was still dropping, the tail end only a foot or so from the water. Paul arched his body in a reverse sit-up to keep his face from hitting the sea.
As the speed picked up, the airship began to level off.
“Now!” Gamay shouted. She pulled with all her might, and, with Leilani’s help, they managed to slide Paul back up to where he’d begun, head and shoulders over the edge. She realized he was still holding the sample pole.
“Drop that thing!” she yelled.
“After going through all this?” Paul said. “I don’t think so.”
By now the speed of the craft was coming on, providing enough lift that Marchetti could level off completely.
As the ship climbed and then flattened, Gamay reeled Paul in and held him tight.
“Paul Trout, if you ever do something like that again, it will be the death of me,” she said.
“And me,” he replied.
“What happened?” he said, looking to Marchetti.
“I have no idea,” he said. “The anchor released somehow. It must have been a glitch or a malfunction of some kind.”
Gamay looked at Paul, thankful to have him with her instead of in the water with those things. It seemed they’d found a horrible bit of bad luck. Or had they?
She began to wonder about Marchetti’s crew. Otero and Matson had been bought. What was to stop any of the others from selling out? She kept the thought to herself, looked at the dark sample they’d recovered and tried to remind herself that aside from Paul there was no one she could trust implicitly.
CHAPTER 20
JINN AL-KHALIF STRODE THROUGH THE HALLS OF HIS CAVE in a state of fury. He kicked the door to his sprawling office open and threw a chair aside that blocked the path to his desk. Sabah entered behind him, shutting the door with more care.
“I will not be summoned like a schoolboy!” Jinn bellowed.
“You have not been summoned,” Sabah insisted.
“They contact you unannounced, tell you they’re coming here, and that they expect to see me!” Jinn shouted. “How is that not being summoned?”
Jinn stood beside an impressively large desk. Behind him, visible through a glass partition that acted as the rear wall to the office, the production floor of his factory could be seen twenty feet below.
Here and there in the “clean room,” men in protective hazmat-like suits were calibrating the machines, preparing to produce the next version of Jinn’s microbots. The lethally redesigned batch was destined for Egypt and the dam.
“They made a request,” Sabah said. “Considering their tone and actions of late, I thought it necessary to promise your presence.”
“That is an act of insolence!” Jinn shouted. “You do not promise for me.”
Many times in his life had Jinn felt the type of rage that filled him now, never before had it been directed at Sabah.
“Why, as we get closer and closer to the goal, do all my servants seem to be losing their minds and forgetting their places?”