The Storm nf-10

by Clive Cussler

  They were close enough now that the bulk of the island hid them from the two main towers and the control room and any radar beams. The only thing they had to worry about were guards on patrol. If Kurt spotted any, he would have to hit them with the blast. If that failed, a rifle he’d tested lay close by.

  The windows of the lower deck began to appear more clearly. He counted. The last five windows belonged to the brig.

  Kurt took out the old binoculars and stared through them. The five windows were dimly backlit. He couldn’t see any activity inside.

  He thought about making for the ladder and the gangways near the aft, then changed his mind. If a permanent guard was posted anywhere, that might be a prime spot for it. Instead he’d try something else.

  He held up a hand for the other boats to follow, and they angled toward the fifth window. At thirty-five yards, roughly the distance he’d been at when hit with the sound wave on the beach, Kurt flipped the switch to stand by, aimed the speaker box using a lever and locked onto the window.

  With Leilani and Varu still providing the elbow grease to give it power, Kurt changed the range setting to thirty-five and flipped the switch from stand by to active. Instantly, the ethereal waves of noise began to issue forth.

  With the Pain Maker aimed at the fifth window, Kurt saw the heavy glass begin to vibrate.

  “More power,” he said.

  Tautog took over for Leilani, and the power needle came up into the red. Kurt kept the beam focused on the target.

  “What are you doing?” Leilani asked.

  “Ever see the old Memorex commercial?”

  She shook her head.

  “Just watch that window.”

  The window was vibrating, shaking back and forth with the sound waves like the skin of a drum. He could see the ripples catching the light. A strange noise began echoing out over the water like the ringing of a Tibetan Singing Bowl. Kurt worried it would give them away, but it was too late to stop, they were committed now.

  “More power,” he whispered again, and then, realizing Varu was sweating and exhausted, he took the young man’s spot and put his own muscle into the effort. The boat drifted, but Leilani kept the Pain Maker focused on the glass.

  It looked like they were going to fail, as if the hurricane-proof window was going to hold up against the vibration, when all of a sudden two of the other boats snapped their systems on and focused them on the same window.

  The three combined beams of sound shattered the glass instantly. It exploded inward, an effect Kurt hadn’t counted on. He only hoped Marchetti and the Trouts were in the room and had been smart enough to back away from the vibrating windowpane.

  INSIDE THEIR CELL, Gamay heard the sound first: a strange resonance that initially seemed only like her ears were ringing.

  “WHAT’S THAT?” Paul asked.

  Apparently it wasn’t her imagination.

  “I have no idea,” she said.

  Gamay stood, leaving her post at the door and poking about the dark quarters like a suburbanite looking through a quiet house for a chirping cricket.

  The noise grew slowly in intensity, if not volume. Had there been a dog present, it would have been howling at the top of its lungs.

  “Maybe we’re being abducted by aliens,” Marchetti suggested.

  Gamay ignored him. The noise had brought her to the large window overlooking the ocean. She pressed her face against it. Out in the dark, barely illuminated by the few lights Aqua-Terra was running, she saw a collection of native-looking rafts. She recognized a figure on the lead boat.

  “It’s Kurt,” she said.

  Paul and Marchetti ran over.

  “What on earth is he doing?” Paul asked, gazing at the strange goings-on. “And who are those people with him?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Gamay said.

  As they watched, two of the other rafts aligned themselves with Kurt’s, and the strange resonance spiked an octave or two. A crash of shattering glass rang out somewhere to their left.

  “I believe he’s trying to rescue us,” Marchetti said.

  “Yes,” Gamay replied, proud and sad all at the same time. “Unfortunately, he’s breaking into the wrong room.”

  OUT IN THE HALL, the men charged with guarding the prisoners heard the vibration for a moment, but it sounded to them like the massage chair on full tilt once again. The shattering glass was a different story.

  They jumped to their feet.

  “Check the prisoners,” the lead guard ordered.

  Two of his men grabbed their weapons and ran down the hall. As they vanished, he picked up the phone and dialed up to the control room. After four rings, no one had answered.

  “Pick up, already,” he grumbled.

  The tinkling of more glass falling caught his attention. It was coming from the room across from him, not from down the hall.

  He considered the possibility that the prisoners had escaped or the even wilder possibility that someone had broken in through the window. It occurred to him that he’d better check it out before he reported. He hung up the phone and stepped cautiously from the desk, drawing out his pistol as he approached the door.

  He doused the lights in the hall and pushed the door open, swinging the gun forward.

  He saw nothing but darkness. Then a breeze wafted across the room, and he saw the illuminated mist outside the shattered window.

  He checked all around but saw nothing odd, and definitely no intruders. Still, something had to have broken the window.

  He eased toward it, the glass crunching under his feet. Something was floating next to the hull. He stepped closer and saw a strange-looking sailboat. Another floated next to it. Neither looked like something the American Special Forces might use. He took another step, heard a strange buzzing noise and then felt his whole body tense up as if he’d been shocked with a high-voltage line.

  Pain ran up and down his arms and torso. His neck stiffened, and he bit his tongue as his jaw clamped down on it. He fell to his knees, collapsing on the glass and dropping the pistol. The pain vanished as he hit the floor but the effect lingered.

  A figure vaulted over the sill of the busted window, landing beside him.

  The guard reached around for the gun he’d dropped, and then felt a heavy boot come down on his hand, crushing his fingers. He yanked his hand back, grunting, and then was knocked cold by the butt of a rifle that hit him in the side of the head.

  FROM THEIR CELL GAMAY, Paul and Marchetti watched as Kurt and a couple of others tossed up grappling hooks and began climbing. They couldn’t see the broken window from their viewpoint, but Marchetti had no doubt it was one or two doors aft of where they were.

  “Doesn’t mean they can’t get here,” he said. “All they have to do is get rid of the goons at the post and we’re home free.”

  Commotion outside their door drew Gamay’s attention away. “Could it be them?”

  “Too soon,” Paul said.

  “Then it’s the guards.”

  Gamay sprinted back toward her post beside the door. She heard the guard’s card key in the lock, heard the lock buzz and release. She dove across the floor and slid into the wall next to the power outlet just as the door began to swing open.

  Paul’s plan to use the massage chair as a weapon depended on timing. As Gamay hit the wall, she grabbed the cord and jammed the plug into the outlet, hoping she wasn’t too late.

  A shower of sparks blew out from the wall, while others snapped from the metal door. The guard, who still had his hand on the frame, received a heavy jolt and was knocked backward. The leads they’d pulled out of the chair and hooked to the door sparked and smoked, and a fuse blew somewhere.

  Paul pounced on the guard and grabbed for the gun. A scuffle ensued, but Paul’s knee hitting the man’s groin was enough to end it quickly. He and Marchetti dragged the man back in, and Gamay unplugged the cord and grabbed the door, keeping it from shutting. A quick look told her the hall was empty.

&nbs
p; “Let’s go,” she said.

  Paul and Marchetti left the writhing guard on the floor, tied up with a bedsheet. They slipped out and went to the right.

  KURT HAD REACHED the guard post in front of Marchetti’s brig. It resembled a spa’s reception area more than a post. A computer sat on one side of the stark white counter, a multiline phone on the other.

  Tautog and Varu came in. Kurt pointed to a few secluded spots from which the hallway could be defended. “Watch for trouble,” he said.

  He turned to run down the curving hall but spotted three figures shuffling up it toward him. To his surprise and relief, he recognized Gamay, Paul and Marchetti.

  “Boy, are we glad to see you,” Gamay said. “We thought you were dead.”

  Kurt pulled them behind the desk. “I was worried that you guys might be dead as well. What are you doing out of your cage?”

  “We escaped,” Gamay said. “Just now.”

  “And after I came all this way to rescue you,” Kurt said, smiling.

  “Is Joe with you?”

  “No,” Kurt said. “I put him on a truck in Yemen two days ago.”

  “A truck to where?”

  “That’s a good question,” Kurt said. The fact that Paul, Gamay and Marchetti had remained under lock and key rather than being rescued by some American Special Forces team told Kurt Joe wasn’t out of the woods yet. He knew Joe could take care of himself and though he’d feel better when he knew for certain that Joe was okay, there was little he could do about it now.

  “What’s our situation?” he asked, focusing on the present.

  “We took one guard out,” Paul said. “He’s locked in our cell now.”

  “We took out the guy up here,” Kurt said.

  “Who are your friends?” Gamay asked.

  “I’m Leilani Tanner,” Leilani said. “The real one.”

  Gamay smiled. “And the rest of the cavalry?”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Tautog said. “I am the eighteenth Roosevelt of—”

  “Save it for later,” he said. “Someone’s coming.”

  The footsteps approached more casually this time. It was another guard, who Kurt realized must have been sent to check on the other prisoners. The guard rounded the corner, came face-to-face with several rifles and froze.

  Kurt grabbed the man’s card key and his pistol.

  “What now?” Paul asked. “Do we leave?”

  “No,” Kurt said. “When the moment of victory appears, it must be seized.”

  They stared at him.

  “Sun Tzu,” Leilani told them as if she were an old hand.

  “So what does that mean in English?” Gamay asked.

  “It means now that we’re on board, we’re not going anywhere except to find Jinn, Zarrina and Otero. Once we have them, this thing is over.”

  He turned to Marchetti. “Are your crewmen down here?”

  “Most of them.”

  “You and Paul take this guy and get your crew out. Lock him in the cell when you come out.”

  Paul nodded and went to work.

  Kurt turned to Tautog. “Let’s tie up the boats, get the rest of your men aboard. At this point we need all hands on deck.”

  Moments later, with the prisoners and guards having traded places and the small flotilla tied up to a water pipe in the cabin with the broken window, Kurt commanded a force of thirty-seven armed men and women—Marchetti’s men knowing the island, Tautog’s trained in using the rifles and the Pain Makers.

  Kurt had two of the machines brought aboard and found a pair of dollies to mount them on. One went with the group who was heading for the crew quarters, the other stayed with Kurt, Leilani and the Trouts. The four of them, along with Tautog and Varu, wheeled the bulky machine into the elevator like roadies moving amps backstage.

  As the bulk of their force headed for the crew quarters, Kurt planned to find Jinn al-Khalif.

  “Which floor for the Presidential Suite?” he asked.

  “You mean my quarters?” Marchetti said.

  “If yours are the most luxurious on the island, then yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Top floor of course,” Marchetti said, pressing the button.

  As the elevator doors closed, Kurt patted the sound box and smiled a roughish grin.

  “Time to wake the neighbors,” he said.

  CHAPTER 53

  JOE ZAVALA WAS RUNNING FOR HIS LIFE. BAD ANKLE AND all, he was charging diagonally across the wet slope of the Aswan Dam in search of higher and safer ground. The major lagged behind, seemingly still awed by what was going on.

  “I wouldn’t keep looking back if I were you.”

  The major got the message and pressed forward, catching up with Joe.

  Joe’s plan was to get to the top, away from the widening breach, and survey the damage.

  Upon reaching the crest, Joe stood on the road that crossed the dam. A thirty-foot-deep V had already been gouged out. Water from Lake Nasser was pouring through it and down over the side.

  In the garish illumination of the floodlights, Joe could see water scouring away the rocks and sand like a flash flood shooting through a narrow mountain canyon.

  As this effect took hold, the damage spread sideways in both directions, and the V widened toward each side of the dam.

  As the flood removed the aggregate underneath it, the asphalt of the road held out for a moment, forming a jetty of sorts over the rushing water. But the supporting ground washed away quickly and large chunks of the blacktop collapsed and went tumbling over the side.

  Looking back to the lake, Joe noticed something. “The water’s so high.”

  “The highest it’s ever been,” the major admitted. “Two years of record storms.”

  Joe knew nothing about General Aziz and his dealings with Jinn, but it was these record rains that made Aziz bold enough to break his contract. These same rains would now devastate his country.

  “Where’s the control room?” Joe shouted.

  The major pointed to the east side of the dam and a new building that sat near the dead center, about even with the peninsula. “The new control room is by the power plant.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Joe took off running once again and this time the major kept up with him. Behind them, the breach in the top of the dam continued widening by a foot or more every fifteen seconds.

  Reaching the control room, the major threw open the door and he and Joe rushed inside. They found the command center in utter chaos. Half the posts were empty. The brave men and women who remained were trying to get a handle on what was happening.

  A supervisor spotted the major. “Have we been attacked?” he asked. “We saw no explosions.”

  “You have to open all the floodgates,” Joe shouted, not waiting for the major to reply. “Even the emergency spillways.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked. There was no real malice in the man’s words, just shock that the scruffy-looking man with the major was giving orders.

  “I’m an American engineer. I’ve worked on levees and river projects once or twice in my life and I’m telling you open all your spillways if you want one chance in ten of surviving this.”

  “But—”

  “There’s a thirty-foot break in the top of the dam,” Joe said, cutting the supervisor off. “It’s just below water level, halfway between here and the west bank. If you get the level down below this break, you might survive. If you don’t, the whole dam will wash away.”

  The supervisor stared at Joe for a moment and then at the major, who nodded and shouted, “Trust him!”

  Done wondering, the supervisor turned and shouted across the room. “Open all the spillways! Open all gates to full!”

  The workers began throwing switches and levers.

  “Floodgates opening!” one of them replied. “Blocks One and Two filling. Blocks Three and Four also responding.”

  On a wall-sized display known as a mimic board, the indicators turned from red to
green. Twelve blue channels in the display represented the twelve generator channels beneath the dam.

  “What about the emergency spillways?” Joe asked.

  All major dams have emergency spillways around them just in case of such an event. These high-volume bypass channels were rarely used.

  “Coming open now,” the supervisor said. He watched and counted: “… twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. All gates are open. Also the Toshka Canal. Within ten seconds, we will be discharging maximum water volume. Four hundred thousand cubic feet per second.”

  Joe heard and felt a great reverberation shaking the building from within. He looked out over the Nile down below. The water in the tailrace was churning like world-class rapids.

  Thrown wide open, the spillways were dumping enough water to fill a supertanker every fifteen seconds. Maybe twice that amount was already flowing over the breach. Joe had a bad feeling it wouldn’t be enough. If Lake Nasser was full to the rim, it would take hours or even days to lower the water below the level of the breach. In that time, the gap would deepen and the process would continue. Joe feared they would never catch up.

  As the flood raged, the multimillion-ton structure shook like a city in the grips of an earthquake. But instead of passing, the tremors held steady and grew worse.

  Another huge section of the dam broke off and rumbled down the slope like an avalanche. In minutes the rushing water had swept it away, and now the breach stood two hundred feet wide. The outflow from it had to be ten times greater than all the other spillways combined. It looked like Niagara Falls.

  Downriver, the flood swept onward, dragging boats and docks and anything in its path along for the ride. Barges and riverboats that took tourists on Nile cruises were torn from their moorings and flung downstream like children’s toys in the bath.

  The water raced along the banks of the Nile, scouring out the walls in places, undercutting the rock and sandstone and causing landslides and collapses reminiscent of glaciers calving in the arctic.

  It surged up over the banks and swept around the hotels and other buildings. Smaller buildings were obliterated as if they were made of toothpicks. One moment they were there, the next they were gone, replaced by rushing water. And this was only the beginning.