Page 60

CHAPTER 59

I BANGED MY head on the top of the shack opening as I ran out onto the beach. I looked up and down.

There!

About twenty yards away, a guy was using the cutlass to whack melons in half on a wooden beam, one after the other. He was the size of a mountain, totally bald and glistening with sweat. He was a newcomer. Arrived yesterday. He didn’t speak any English, but I’d seen him admiring my weapon. And he was obviously crafty enough to watch where I hid it.

I pounded my way across the sand and grabbed the hilt of the cutlass just as he was about to take another swing.

“Mine!” I shouted, slapping my chest to emphasize the point.

The mountain was in no mood for an argument. He just shrugged. Then he tossed the sliced melons into a basket, put the basket under his arm, and headed back up the beach.

I walked down to the water and washed the melon juice and seeds off the blade. Across the gulf, about two miles away, the city of Dubai was glistening in the sun. Lots of glass and steel, with the highest tower stabbing into the sky like a dagger.

Getting here had not been easy. Or cheap.

My getaway through Europe and across the Black Sea had cost me nearly ten of my hundred grand. No public transportation or rental cars. Too visible. Not that I could have produced ID anyway. My wallet was somewhere in the bottom of a bay on Long Island.

Wads of cash. That’s what it took. Truckers, cargo ships, and bush pilots had gotten me this far—almost four thousand miles from Belgium.

I hoped that Leo would be too busy building his army to waste his time chasing down one crazy deserter. But to be safe, I managed to find the one place where a guy my size would fit right in.

There were only about twenty other people on the island. All men. And every single one was a world-class bodybuilder.

The island was a man-made oval of sand, about five acres total. It was one of a few hundred artificial islands a group of rich Arabs dredged up twenty years ago to make a pattern in the shape of the world. Ambitious idea, but I guess the project bombed. Most of the tiny islands were still unoccupied and undeveloped, like a bunch of white scabs in the gulf.

About a year ago, a bunch of bodybuilders decided to squat on this one as a place to work out and prep for Middle East competitions.

Who was going to argue with them?

It was all pretty primitive. Flat sand, barely above water level, with a long row of tiny shacks like mine—maybe fifty square feet each, just about enough room for a cot and a cooler. Along the beach, there were a few chinning bars, a bunch of barbells and benches, and a few tons worth of random weights.

A supply boat showed up every morning with fresh fruit, meat, protein powder, and water. Lots of water. The temperature pushed a hundred degrees most days, and except for our sleeping shacks, we had zero shade. There were a couple of porta-potties on one side of the island and a firepit on the other.

And that was it.

All day long, I watched muscle-bound hunks spotting one another on lifts and practicing their poses in the sand. I figured I just looked like one of the weaker contestants. Six-four and in good shape, but not nearly shredded enough for competition. Fortunately, this was the kind of place where nobody asked too many questions. Perfect for me.

For now.

As I wiped the blade dry on my pants, I heard pounding feet in the sand. I whipped around. About a dozen bodybuilders sped by, all oiled up and out for their morning run, like some ancient tribe.

In some ways, this place was an anthropologist’s dream, ripe for study. Isolated population. Distinct traditions and rituals. Clear hierarchy.

But I didn’t feel like an anthropologist anymore. I’m not sure what I was. Adventurer? Soldier of fortune? Science experiment? Escaped convict? I realized that I probably had more in common with my ancestor than with the man I was a year and a half ago.

If anybody saw a Facebook photo of me the way I looked right now, they’d see Doc Savage, Man of Bronze—not Brandt Savage, PhD.

There was only one person in the world who really knew the difference. I looked out over the bluish-green water. She was out there somewhere. She had to be.

And I was going to find her. No matter what it took.