They weren’t just intruders, they were cold-blooded butchers who were intent on slaughtering the entire crew of the ISS for some unknown, bizarre reason. There was no way to justify what they had done or what they were planning to do—if they even had a plan. And the more she confronted the reality of what had happened and the real possibility that they’d kill her as well, the better chance she had to accomplish her number one priority—survival.
She heard one of the killers enter Node 3 and held her breath. It sounded as if he bumped against the aft wall, next to the inflatable Bigelow module. The other one was apparently staying outside Node 3, probably standing guard in case Kimberly tried anything else from elsewhere in the ISS. She heard the sounds of containers being opened and equipment shoved from one location in the Bigelow module to another, Velcro straps being ripped apart, the clinking of metal against the Node 3 hatch.
Kimberly couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She let it out in a long, slow, quiet sigh.
No reaction from the murderer searching the module. She felt a wave of gratitude surge through her. The two killers didn’t speak much as they went about their search, just a few short, curt words in Russian. Which made sense, Kimberly reasoned. Even though Farid was a Kazakhstani and Bakhet from Qatar, they’d both had to be able to speak fairly fluent Russian during their cosmonaut training.
Was Bakhet really from Qatar? Kimberly wondered. That’s what his biography claimed. But it didn’t make any difference if he was from Qatar or Mars, right now. All that mattered was that they were both trying to hunt her down. Kimberly decided that if she survived the next few minutes, after the two of them left Node 3 she’d make a break for their Soyuz capsule.
At least she’d be able to hole up there and see what they were up to while staying safely away from them. And if necessary she could use the Soyuz as an emergency escape vehicle and return to Earth, leaving the two murderers alone on the ISS.
She’d make that decision later, she told herself. Perhaps much later. Right now she concentrated on staying alive.
The one in the Node 3 module moved closer to the stack of storage bags. He rattled the mesh of bungee cords that held the stack together, then pushed a hand through an opening on the side and rummaged through a few of the containers. Kimberly kept absolutely still and held her breath.
The intruder moved away from the bags. Kimberly heard him going through the equipment that was fastened to the other side of the module, banging the equipment around carelessly.
The other man came into the module and the two of them exchanged a few words. Not in Russian, Kimberly thought, trying to puzzle out the language they used. Were they satisfied that she wasn’t hiding among the bags? Or would they now try to open up the bungee mesh and start going through the MO bags one by one? If so, they’d discover her.
On the other hand, if they left the module, then she could quickly bolt for the Soyuz. When they didn’t find her anywhere in the station they’d eventually return and start their hunt all over again.
She thought she heard them start to leave, but suddenly there came the sound of someone pushing off from a foothold. An instant later she was pushed violently back and hit her head against the insulated wall. She tried to keep from gasping as the air was shoved out of her lungs and she momentarily lost her breath.
A ripping sound sliced through the module, and Kimberly realized they were using something long and sharp to try to pierce the bags. It must be the titanium prybar that the Russians used to open stuck hatches, she realized. Time after time she heard the white canvas cloth rip as they repeatedly stabbed the meter-and-a-half-long bar through the pile of bags. Every few thrusts she heard a sharp metallic clang as their weapon hit equipment stored among the other supplies.
The murderers jabbed the stack in a random pattern, sometimes pushing the prybar slowly through the pile, other times taking a leaping start from across the module to fly across Node 3, impaling several bags at once. They laughed and chattered at each other. They were having fun!
Kimberly pressed back against the insulated wall as two jabs in quick succession came close—one near her hip and the second just inches from her right eye. Clenching her teeth hard to keep from crying out, she caught a quick glimpse of the prybar and felt sweat beading her brow. The long slender rod was curved at one end and tapered to a blunt point at the other. The metal could easily slice her into pieces.
The killer jabbed the prybar through the stack, then after a seeming infinity of time he stopped, apparently satisfied that Kimberly wasn’t there.
She heard the two men exchange a few words, then their voices drifted away. Minutes passed, and when she didn’t hear anything more Kimberly assumed they’d left Node 3.
Since they were advancing down the ISS from the aft, or Russian side of the station, toward the bow at the opposite, American end, she knew that they’d either be searching the U.S. lab or Node 2 next. Then she could make her move.
She silently counted a few more minutes to make sure they weren’t still in the module, hiding, waiting for her to reveal herself. After another minute, she thought she could make out sounds from beyond the hatch of them searching another module. Slowly, cautiously, she inched forward and slid between the shredded bags.
The module was littered with plastic mesh and what was left of the contents of the bags. Shards of tattered cloth, ripped clothing, torn pieces of food, even broken electronic equipment floated weightlessly in midair, slowly rotating, bouncing off the insulated walls of the module; one of the thick cylindrical RTGs had drifted in. The module looked as though a herd of wild, starving cats had been thrown into a zero-gee compartment laced with catnip.
Quietly, Kimberly pushed through the floating debris and coasted toward the Node 3 starboard hatch, which led back to Node 1. She hovered in the vestibule, just inside the module, listening for any sign that the killers were near. In the distance she could hear the two of them talking. And laughing. Laughing, Kimberly thought, an icy resolve settling over her like a coat of armor.
She started to head out of the module when she noticed, secured to the wall, an American toolbox. One of the guys must have moved it here temporarily when they were bringing in some equipment from the Bigelow module.
She quickly floated over and rummaged through the fastened-down equipment. There it was! Shep’s knife, a folding lock, tanto-style blade. She unfastened the ultrasharp knife from its holder, her spirits soaring. Shep’s knife didn’t have the reach of that titanium prybar, but after Bill Shepherd had smuggled the sharp Ernie Emerson blade on board the ISS during the Space Shuttle era, the Americans had kept the unofficial tool aboard for those extratough jobs when their official, and much duller, blades just couldn’t get the job done.
Kimberly held Shep’s knife in one hand as she returned to the hatch. She waited a moment.
The murderers had stopped talking. She couldn’t detect any sign of their presence. Maybe they were already searching the JPM, where she’d been when they’d docked. If that was the case they’d be at the far bow of the ISS, which would allow her plenty of time to get to the Soyuz, perhaps even undetected.
PURSUED
Kimberly hesitated another moment, and then decided it was time to go. Holding Shep’s knife in her right hand, she grabbed the edge of the Node 3 starboard hatch with her left as hard as she could, pushing away at the last moment to keep her momentum from swinging her around. She flew headfirst into Node 1, and once clear of the Node 3 hatch she kicked at the vestibule to change her direction and head down the ISS to the far, aft end.