The damage didn’t stop at the fan.
The smashed driveshaft was directly connected to one of the gas turbine power plants in the port-side engine room. The effects rippled back along the hovercraft, tearing more equipment apart and filling the engineering spaces with lethal fragments. The turbine blew up, a fireball blasting hatches open.
A quarter of its lift gone, the Zubr wallowed, nose dipping to port. It began to slide off course.
And with the pilots dead and the controls wrecked, there was nobody to stop it.
Body aching from the fall, Eddie struggled to sit up. He was no longer a prisoner, but his hands were still tied behind his back. He had to get free …
There was a pointed hunk of metal nearby, a torn piece of insulation burning at one end. He fumbled for it with his left hand.
He felt his skin burning as he gripped it. The metal was still hot. But he grimaced and fought the pain, pressing the flaming end against the plastic tie.
In the weapons room, Diamondback pushed himself off his boss. Berkeley clutched his ears in a corner. The weapons officer was slumped over his console, a shard of flying debris embedded in a neck wound.
Diamondback retrieved his revolver, then helped Shaban up. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Shaban said dizzily—then his face twisted with fury. “That bitch tried to kill me! Go after her, kill her!”
“What about the jar? She musta—”
“Kill her!” Shaban screamed. Diamondback flinched, then hurried back into the bridge.
The room was filled with smoke, the consoles on fire. Coughing, Khaleel crawled out from under the table. It was buckled, but had been sturdy enough to protect him from the blast. The soldier by the port hatch was barely conscious, bleeding from several shrapnel wounds. Khaleel moved to check his injuries, but Diamondback jabbed a finger at the opening. “Go after Chase—I’ll get the woman.”
“But he needs—”
Shaban appeared in the doorway. “Tarik, I will double your money. Just kill them!”
Khaleel hesitated, then went to the hatch as Diamondback ran to the starboard wing bridge and looked out.
Nina was on the deck below by the lift fan. Just as he snapped up his gun, she saw him and ran. A bullet twanged off the foot-high lip of the circular air intake behind her.
The deck was a blank expanse of metal, the only cover the Gatling gun’s turret toward the bow—and she would never reach it before being shot in the back.
Only one way to go …
She dived for the railing at the deck’s edge as Diamondback fired again. The shot cracked off the floor, spitting paint chips at her face as she rolled under the railing and slammed down on the narrow walkway below. Another bullet zipped past; she pushed herself painfully back into cover.
Diamondback lost sight of her. “Shit!” he hissed, running for the stairs.
On the port wing bridge, Khaleel looked down at the gaping vent of the smashed lift fan. He saw Eddie and grabbed for his holstered gun—
Skin blistering, Eddie pressed the metal harder against the tie. He felt it give, the plastic stretching, then snapping. He jumped up—and caught movement in his peripheral vision, someone aiming a weapon from the jutting balcony above.
Instinct and training kicked in. He flung the lump of metal upward, running for the stern as a startled cry confirmed that he’d scored a hit. If he could round the superstructure before Khaleel recovered, he would be temporarily safe—
Shots!
Bullets spanged from the deck, cutting off his escape route. He dived beside the aft lift fan, scrambling around the intake in a desperate attempt to find cover. But it was too low to shield him. Khaleel lined up his sights on the half-exposed figure, and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet flew at Eddie—then suddenly veered downward, sucked into the huge fan. Eddie raised his head, feeling the powerful suction of air being pulled into the shaft. As long as the vortex was between the two men, Khaleel had no chance of hitting him.
The general realized it at the same moment. He jumped down to the main deck. Eddie scrambled around to make a run for the superstructure, but Khaleel already had his gun back up, covering the gap as he advanced.
He was trapped.
Groaning at the pain from her hard landing, Nina struggled upright and saw that she was close to the hatch through which she had first entered the hovercraft. Someone had unlocked it, the heavy door swinging lazily.
She checked that the passage was empty, then entered. The crew quarters were also unoccupied; she went to the bed where she had hidden the canopic jar after booby-trapping the case. With Eddie free, she now had all the cards—once they were both safely off the Zubr, she could destroy the jar’s contents and end any hope Shaban still cherished of carrying out his insane plan.
All she had to do was find Eddie.
Still charging across the desert toward the canyon, Macy looked back at the pursuing hovercraft—and was startled to find that it was no longer behind her. It had angled away to one side. Something had gone badly wrong—the massive craft was trailing smoke, on fire near its stern.
Nina and Eddie, she knew. Their kind of chaos.
But there was no sign that they had gotten off the speeding giant. And, she realized, if the hovercraft stayed on its new course it would miss the canyon and continue across the plain.
To the high cliffs at its far end.
“Oh crap,” she gasped.
Berkeley staggered onto the bridge, looking in horror at the pilots’ shrapnel-torn bodies. “Jesus! What happened?”
“Never mind,” said Shaban. “We’ve got to find Wilde—and the jar.” He had already deduced that she couldn’t have rigged the grenade until after boarding the hovercraft—the risk of the spoon’s being jolted loose when she jumped from the 4 × 4 would have been too great. Which meant … “She must have hidden it. Come on.”
“I, ah …” The archaeologist couldn’t tear his gaze from the corpses. “I don’t feel too good.”
Shaban shoved him against the bulkhead. “If you want to stay alive, you’ll do what I tell you,” he snarled, pulling him to the stairwell.
Still hunched behind the lift fan, Eddie glanced over the edge of the deck to look for an escape route. No luck. Wind-whipped flames from the damaged engine room were lashing from a hatch forward of his position, the heat and toxic smoke cutting the walkway off from the rest of the vessel.
Khaleel jogged toward him, automatic raised. In seconds he would have a clear line of fire. Eddie didn’t have many options left—but any action was better than waiting to get shot.
He ran for the stern. The three huge propellers towered above him, blades a buzzing blur inside their circular shrouds. He might find cover behind the pylons supporting the engine nacelles, even a way back inside the ship to search for Nina …
Too slow. Khaleel cleared the lift fan, taking aim—
A shrill, ululating siren blasted from the superstructure. Someone had finally decided that the engine room blaze was out of control and sounded the alarm to abandon the hovercraft. The piercing wail made Khaleel flinch as he fired. The bullet seared past Eddie, close enough for him to feel its heat.
The gun’s slide locked back. Out of ammo. The Egyptian reached for a fresh magazine, but Eddie was already charging at him. Not enough time to reload—
Instead, his hand moved to another weapon.
Eddie jerked to a stop as Khaleel jabbed a knife at his chest. The soldier struck again, slashing at his face. Eddie tried to grab his wrist—but he turned the blade to slice through Eddie’s sleeve into his already wounded forearm.
The Englishman pulled away in pain, and took a vicious kick to his stomach. Winded, he stumbled backward, crashing against something at waist height.
The bottom of the propeller shroud.
Eddie swayed back, his head almost sucked into the giant blades. He shoved himself away—as Khaleel stabbed the knife at his heart—
He grabbed th
e other man’s arm, arresting the attack just before the tip pierced his chest, but the force of Khaleel’s charge drove him back against the shroud. The gale whipping around them forced both men to squint, eyes fixed on the knife.
Khaleel forced it toward his opponent’s throat, the double wound to Eddie’s forearm weakening his hold. He tried to push it away, but the most he could manage was to twist it to one side. The tip dug into his jacket—then cut deeper as Khaleel forced the knife down.
Eddie cried out as the point ground against his collarbone. Khaleel grinned and pushed even harder, leaning closer—
Eddie whipped his head forward. He wasn’t at the right angle to score a solid blow with a headbutt—but instead he clamped his jaws tightly shut on Khaleel’s nose.
The general screeched, pulling out the knife as he tried to draw back, but Eddie had too firm a hold. There was a hideous wet scrunch of cartilage as he ground his teeth. With both nostrils crushed shut, the only place the sudden gush of blood could go was into Khaleel’s throat. Choking, he spat blood across Eddie’s chest, the knife all but forgotten in his desperation to escape the pain.
Eddie refused to let go, worrying the flesh like a terrier. There was another revolting squish—then Khaleel lurched back, a bloodied hole where the end of his nose had been. Eddie spat the chunk of gristle into his eye, then with a roar shoved the Egyptian’s arm over his shoulder.
Into the propeller.
There was a clang as the knife was knocked out of the soldier’s hand—followed by a swat as his forefinger was sliced off at the first knuckle, exposing a jagged spike of bone. Khaleel screamed. Eddie slammed two powerful blows into his stomach, following them with an uppercut that sent him reeling.
They were right by the side railing. The quickest way to end the fight would be to toss the Egyptian overboard—
He seized Khaleel—and was almost blinded as the other man unexpectedly struck back, stabbing at Eddie’s eye with the end of his severed finger. Sharp bone slashed across Eddie’s eyebrow as he jerked his head away.
The finger stabbed again, cutting his cheek—and Khaleel’s other hand clamped around his throat, tendons tight as metal cables. He spat out more blood and a foul Arabic curse. With one arm wounded, Eddie needed both hands to avoid getting the finger in a horribly literal way, giving Khaleel the chance to push him back toward the propeller.
“I’ll kill you!” Khaleel gargled, eyes bulging with demented fury. “I’ll kill you, and my dogs will eat your balls, and then I’ll fuck your wife before I—”
Eddie let go with one hand, taking the spear of bone across his temple as Khaleel overpowered his wounded arm—and swept up his good arm between the Egyptian’s legs to grab him by the crotch. Khaleel’s eyes bulged even wider as, with his own rage-powered burst of strength, Eddie flung him upward.
The gale-force suction dragged him in. Khaleel’s skull was instantly pulped by the rapidly spinning blades, a red mist painting the inside of the metal shroud. The headless body slid back down over Eddie and slumped to the deck.
Eddie lowered himself out of the wind. “Keep your head, mate—oops, too late,” he wheezed, checking the corpse. The Egyptian had holstered his gun after kicking him; Eddie drew it, taking an extra magazine and reloading the weapon.
Wiping blood from his face, he looked around. Some of the crew were on the deck, but none was interested in him or their late commanding officer; they were instead attempting to get off the runaway hovercraft. One man climbed over the railing, trying to slide down the skirt to the ground—but instead he bounced off it, cartwheeling into the dust storm at a neck-breaking angle. His comrades decided they needed a new plan and hurried back into the ship.
Hefting the gun, Eddie searched for his own way inside.
Macy was just about keeping pace with the hovercraft—but through the heat haze she could now see a distinct line cutting across the landscape ahead.
The cliff.
The Zubr was only minutes from destruction.
She had seen people on the deck, but none was Eddie or Nina. “Come on,” she said, bringing the Land Rover closer, “get off that thing!”
Clutching the canopic jar, Nina looked into the hold, and saw to her horror that a fire was spreading from a door at its port-side rear. Several men were in the large space, keeping well away from the flames as one operated a control panel. The front and rear ramps lowered, the gritty rush of wind through the hold sweeping the smoke out of the stern—but also fanning the fire.
One man ran toward the hold’s rear. Jumping out of the hovercraft’s stern offered more chance of survival—were it not for the blaze. The ramp was narrower than the hold, offset to port, and the growing flames were whipping down it. The crewman shielded his face—then sprinted for the square of daylight.
He mistimed it. A swirling gust of fire swept from the hatchway, setting him alight. The burning figure’s limbs flailed as he vanished into the sandstorm.
The remaining men were no happier with the forward escape route. One brave—or foolish—soldier took a running jump off the ramp, trying to reach the skirt and climb along it to the side. The reactions of the others made it clear that he wasn’t successful. But faced with a choice between slipping off and being dragged under the enormous vessel or the fire, they opted to take their chances, leaping from the ramp one by one.
The last man gone, Nina entered the hold, moving to the dune buggy to check its restraining straps. If she could untether it, maybe it would be fast enough to drive out of the rear ramp without catching fire …
She heard feet clanking down the ladder. No time to return to the hatch. She scrambled underneath the earthmover behind the buggy, peering out to see Shaban and Berkeley descend into the hold. “Find the jar,” Shaban ordered, gesturing sternward.
Berkeley balked. “There’s a big fire back there.”
“Then don’t walk into it! Check the bulldozers, see if she hid it inside one of them. Or underneath.”
“What about you?” Berkeley asked as Shaban moved to the dune buggy.
“This is our way off. Go on, search!”
Nina tensed, but to her relief Berkeley went to one of the earthmovers on the other side of the hold. She slithered to the rear of the machine she was hiding under. There was another open hatch not far away—if she could reach it without being seen …
The fire was growing, grease and spilled oil on the deck catching a light. Berkeley finished his examination of the first bulldozer and moved to the one behind it.
The door was about fifteen feet away. Twisting to look back, she spotted Shaban’s feet by the buggy as he released the last strap.
He was facing away from her. She might be able to reach the door if she moved now—and if Berkeley didn’t see her.
The archaeologist had climbed up to check the cab, his back to her.
This was her chance.
She slid out, about to dart for the door when Berkeley hopped down—and turned.
He saw her.
Their eyes met across the hold. Nina froze. One word from him would alert the cult leader …
The word didn’t come.
Berkeley blinked, then his expression became studiously blank. He turned away, searching the bulldozer’s cab for a second time.
Nina gave him silent thanks, then got ready to run—
“What is it?” Shaban shouted, making both Nina and Berkeley flinch. He had seen the scientist’s moment of indecision.
“I–I’m not sure,” Berkeley stuttered, but Shaban was already striding toward her position.
She jumped up and held the jar above her head. “Don’t move! I’ll smash it!”
Shaban stopped, holding out his hands. “Give it to me, Dr. Wilde.”
“I don’t think so!” She backed away, looking over her shoulder at the spreading fire. “How about we bake your bread, huh?”
“No!” He advanced another step, torn between the urge to retrieve the canopic jar and the fear of its being destroy
ed. “Give it to me and—and I’ll let you live.”
Nina kept retreating. “What, so you can use it to kill millions of people? No way. This ends here, asshole.”
His eyes flicked away from her to the hold’s side wall. “You’re right. It does.”
“Nina!” Berkeley cried in warning—too late.
Diamondback dived from the open hatch, tackling Nina. The jar was jolted from her hands as they hit the deck. He just managed to get his grasping fingertips underneath it to stop it from smashing, but he couldn’t hold on. The jar rolled toward the fire—then clanked to a stop against one of the cargo rings.
Shaban let out a deep breath as he realized the jar was safe. He started for it. “Kill her,” he snapped.
“My pleasure,” said Diamondback. He pulled Nina’s head up by her ponytail, reaching into his snakeskin jacket with his other hand to draw his gun—
Everyone looked around as another door flew open.
Eddie jumped through, Khaleel’s weapon in his hands. He immediately locked it on to the biggest threat, Diamondback—but the American yanked Nina higher, making her cry out in pain as he used her as a human shield. Shaban hurriedly took cover behind the nearest earthmover. Berkeley did the same on the other side of the hold, cowering in one of the lowered scoops.
“Eddie,” Nina gasped, horrified by the amount of blood on his face and clothes. “Oh my God …”
“Hi, love,” he said before shifting his gaze to Diamondback. “You. Puff Adder. You’ve got to the count of three to let her go.”
Diamondback pressed his revolver against Nina’s head. “And you’ve got to the count of two to drop that piece.”
The Pyramid of Doom_A Novel Page 35