TWENTY-SIXI REACTED, WHIPPING the little Smith & Wesson from the jacket pocket and pointing it at the men on the other boat. I heard Jason gasp next to me, but I had no time to tend to him.
“Slayer, we have s**t!”
The stringy Asian guy lifted his hands up, leaving the knife in the body, showing them empty. “Thanks for the delivery, mate, we appreciate your help,” he mocked.
The Australian hauled Cheng’s body into the water.
Then another noise broke through the silence—a rifle being c****d. Something sounding like an AK-47 or some other crappy piece like that. And then another purposeful click-clack! from the other side. We had been looking into the man’s flashlight and standing by the lamp illuminating the motorboat. Both of which blinded us enough to not see where the other figures we
