White Death nf-4

by Clive Cussler

  Austin flinched, but he had no sympathy for the guard. He was too busy pondering the frightful possibilities for the prisoners. "Sweet dreams," he said with a shrug. "Lead the way," Pablo said.

  "Since we're slightly outnumbered, this may be a good time to call in the reserves," Zavala said.

  Pablo undipped the radio from his belt and ordered the SeaCo- bra pilot to hover a mile away. Austin tucked the doll inside his shirt. Then, with the others following, he hurried in the direction of the lake, determined to return the doll to its rightful owner.

  35

  WHEN THE GUARDS had burst into the garage prison brandishing truncheons, Marcus Ryan was huddled with Jesse Nighthawk. He had been probing the Indian's knowledge of the forest so that he could put together an escape plan. Ryan's hopes were dashed as the guards, at least two dozen of them, clubbed the pris- oners at random. Most of the Indians were used to the sporadic beat- ings aimed to discourage resistance, and they cowered against the far wall. But Ryan was slow to move, and blows rained down on his shoulders and head.

  Therri had been playing with a little girl named Rachael, when the door burst open and the makeshift prison was suddenly filled with shouts and swinging clubs. Rachael was about five years old, the youngest child in the group, and like many of the villagers, she was part of Ben's extended family. Therri stepped between one of the at- tackers and the little girl, and braced herself for the blow to come. The guard froze, confused at the unexpected show of defiance. Then he laughed and lowered his upraised club. He glared at Therri with pitiless eyes. "For that, you and the girl will go first."

  He called out to one of his companions, who grabbed Therri by the hair. She was pushed facedown onto the floor, and a club was pressed across the back of her neck. Her hands were bound behind her back with wire that cut painfully into her wrists. Then she was pulled to her feet and saw Marcus and Chuck, whose heads were bloodied from the club blows.

  When all the prisoners had been trussed like hogs, the guards herded them through the doorway and marched them through the woods. They walked through the woods for several minutes, until the dull sheen of the lake was visible through the trees. Although it seemed like several days, only a few hours had passed since they had been captured.

  They were shoved into a shed near the lake and left alone. They stood in the darkened building, the children whimpering, the older people trying to comfort the younger ones with their stoic attitude. The fear of the unknown was even more torturous than being beaten. Then there was a commotion at the door, which opened to admit Barker, surrounded by a contingent of his inscrutable guards. He had removed his sunglasses, and Therri saw the strangely pale eyes for the first time. They were the color of a rattlesnake belly, she thought. Some of the guards carried blazing torches, and Barker's eyes seemed to glitter in the flickering light. His face was wreathed in a satanic smile.

  "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said, with the geniality of a tour guide. "Thank you for coming. Within a few minutes, I will rise high above this place on the first phase of a journey into the fu- ture. I wish to thank you all for helping to get this project launched. To those of you from SOS, I wish you'd been in my hands earlier, so that by the sweat of your labor you would come to appreciate the bril- liance of this plan."

  Ryan had regained his composure. "Cut the crap. What do you in- tend to do with us?"

  Barker surveyed Ryan's bloodied face as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Why, Mr. Ryan, you're looking a little rumpled these days. Not your usual blow-dried self."

  "You haven't answered my question."

  "To the contrary, I answered it when you were first brought to me. I said you and your friends would remain alive as long as I found you useful." He smiled again. "I no longer find you useful. I'm having the air dome lit up for your entertainment. It will be the last thing your dying brain will record."

  The words chilled Therri to the bone. "What about the children?" she said.

  "What about them?" Barker's icy gaze swept the prisoners as ifj

  surveying cattle being led to slaughter. "Do you think I care for any one of you, young or old? You are nothing more to me than snow- flakes. You'll all be forgotten once the world learns that an insignif- icant Eskimo tribe controls a significant portion of the ocean. Sorry I can't stay. Our timetable is very precise."

  He spun on his heel and disappeared into the night. The prison- ers were rounded up and herded outside and toward the lake. Mo- ments later, their steps echoed on the long wooden pier. The dock was in darkness, except for the lights on what looked like a barge, only with a catamaran hull. As they moved closer, Therri saw that a con- veyor belt, flush with the deck, led from a bin in the bow to a wide chute at the stern end. She surmised that the strange craft must be used as a moveable feeding station. The feed went into the bin, and was transported via the belt and dumped into the fish cages through the chute. An awful thought came to her, and she yelled a warning:

  "They're going to drown us!"

  Marcus and Chuck had seen the barge as well, and at her words, they struggled against their captors. All they got for their trouble were club blows that took the fight out of them. Rough hands grabbed Therri and pushed her onto the barge. She stumbled and crashed onto the deck. She managed to twist her body so that she didn't come down face first on the hard surface, and most of the shock was absorbed at great painful cost by her right arm. Her knee hurt like hell, too. She didn't have time to dwell on her injuries. Duct tape was slapped across her mouth so she couldn't cry out. Then her ankles were bound, a heavy weight was tied onto her wrist bindings, and she was dragged along to the end of the barge and stretched crosswise across the belt.

  She felt another, smaller body against hers. She looked over, and to her horror she saw that the next victim in line was Rachael, the lit- tle girl she had befriended. Then came the SOS men and the other prisoners. The preparations for multiple murder went on until all the prisoners were laid across the belt like cordwood. Then the barge's inboard motors rumbled into life.

  The lines were cast off the pier and the barge began to move. Therri couldn't see where they were going, but she managed to turn to face the child and tried to comfort the girl with her eyes, although she was sure they were filled with terror. In the distance, she could see the light from the dome rising above the trees, as Barker had promised. She vowed that if she ever got the chance, she would kill him personally.

  The motors went for only a short while, then they cut out and there was the splash of an anchor in the water. Therri struggled against her bindings, to no avail. She tensed, preparing for the worst. It came a minute later, when the motor that powered the conveyor belt started. The belt began to move, carrying her closer to the lip of the chute and to the cold dark water beyond.

  36

  AUSTIN HAD LED his ragtag assault group through the woods, skirting the darkened plaza, using the dimly lit footpath visible through the trees as a rough guide. He moved slowly and with great deliberation, making sure his path was free of twigs and branches before he put his full weight on his advancing foot.

  The slow pace was maddening, but while they had seen no one since encountering the guard, Austin had the creepy feeling that they were not alone. His instincts were vindicated when the airship dome lit up like a giant lightbulb and a low roar arose from the plaza.

  Austin and the others froze like living statues. Then a delayed re- action set in and they hit the ground belly-first, their weapons cocked and ready to repel an assault. The hail of bullets they expected never came. Instead, the roar grew in intensity and volume and flowed around them in a vast rushing river of sound. The noise came from the mouths of hundreds ofKiolya men, their broad, upturned faces cast in bluish light, zombie eyes transfixed on Barker, who stood on a raised dais in front of the dome.

  Then came the monotonous chorus of a dozen tom-toms ringinp- in the plaza, and the crowd began to chant:

  "Toonook… Toonook… Toonook…"

 
Barker bathed in the adulation, letting it wash over him, drink- ing it in as if it were an elixir before he raised his arms to the sky. Then the chanting and the drumbeat stopped as if a switch had been pulled. Barker began to speak in a strange tongue that had its origins beyond the far reaches of the aurora borealis. He started speaking slowly, his voice growing in power.

  Zavala crawled up beside Austin. "What's going on?"

  "Looks like our friend is having a high school pep rally."

  "Ugh. Those cheerleaders wouldn't win any beauty contests," Zavala said.

  Austin stared through the trees, mesmerized by the barbaric spec- tacle. As Ben had said, the dome actually did resemble a huge igloo. Barker was doing them a favor by whipping his gang of cutthroats into a murderous frenzy. With all its attention focused on their leader, Barker's private army would hardly notice a handful of intruders sneaking through the woods. Austin scrambled to his feet and sig- naled to the others to do the same. Crouching low, they made their way through the forest until at last they broke into the open at the edge of the lake.

  The area around the dock seemed to be deserted. Austin assumed that all of Barker's men had been summoned back to the big igloo for their leader's command performance. He wasn't about to take any chances, though. The shed near the dock was large enough to har- bor dozens of assassins. He edged along one side of the building and peered around the corner. The shed's twin doors facing the water were wide open, as if the last person out had been in a hurry.

  With Zavala and the Basques keeping watch, Austin stepped in- side and flashed his light around. The shed was empty, except for some lines, anchors, buoys and other boating paraphernalia. After a quick glance around, he was about to leave, when Ben, who had fol- lowed him inside, said, "Wait."

  The Indian pointed to the concrete floor. All Austin saw were mounds of dirt tracked in by those using the building. Ben got down on one knee, and with his finger, traced the small footprint of a child. Austin's eyes hardened, and he strode back outside to find Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers staring at some lights that were moving in the lake. Austin thought he heard the sound of a motor. He couldn't be sure, because the sound of Barker's voice was still being carried on the wind. He reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of night- vision goggles, which he put to his eyes. "It's some sort of boat. Square-built with low sides."

  He handed the goggles to Ben, who peered through the lenses and said, "That's the catamaran I saw the first time I was here."

  "I don't recall you mentioning it."

  "Sorry. There was so much happening that night. When Josh Green and I brought my canoe in, we saw it tied up to the dock. Didn't seem important at the time."

  "It could be very important. Tell me about it."

  Ben shrugged. "I'd say it was more than fifty feet long. Kind of a barge, but with a catamaran hull. A conveyor belt a couple of yards across ran down the center from a big bin at the bow back to the stern, which slopes down. We figured it was used to feed the fish."

  "Feed the fish," Austin murmured.

  "You remember what I told you about the fish cages I saw."

  Austin wasn't thinking about fish in cages. Ben's words had con- jured up the Mafia cliche associated with concrete overshoes and a trip to the bottom of the East River. He cursed as he recalled the nasty habit that had got the Kiolya in trouble with its neighbor tribes. Barker had cooked up a mass human sacrifice to go along with his send-off.

  Austin trotted to the end of the dock. He stopped and squinted through the night-vision goggles again. With Ben's description run- ning through his mind, he had a better understanding of what he was seeing. The low-slung craft was moving slowly and had almost reached the middle of the lake. In the illumination cast by the run- ning lights, he could see people moving around the deck. He couldn't tell what they were up to, but he had a good idea.

  Pablo had followed him. "What is it?" he said, looking out at the lights reflected in the water.

  "Trouble," Austin replied. "Call in the SeaCobra."

  Pablo undipped the radio from his belt and barked an order in Spanish.

  "They're on their way," he said. "What do you want them to do when they get here?"

  "Tell them to thaw out that big igloo for starters."

  Pablo smiled and relayed the order.

  Austin called Zavala over and they talked briefly. While Zavala set off along the pier, Austin got the others together. "I want you to head for Ben's village on the far side of the lake. Wait for us there. If things get too hot after the fireworks start, lose yourselves in the woods."

  "Are those my people out there on the barge?" Ben said anxiously.

  "I think so. Joe and I will take a closer look."

  I want to go.

  "I know you do. But we're going to need your knowledge of the forest to get us out of here." Seeing the stubborn set to Ben's jaw, he added: "The danger to your people becomes greater with every sec- ond we spend talking."

  The rumble of a motor came from where Zavala had been at work on one of the boats tied up at the dock. Barker's men had taken no chances after Bens last visit, and there were no keys left in the igni- tion, but Zavala could take a marine engine apart in his sleep. Mo- ments later, the husky power plant of a Jet Ski could be heard purring. Zavala came back to where the others were standing. "I knew my Swiss army knife would come in handy," he said.

  Austin glanced anxiously out into the lake, then climbed down from the pier onto the Jet Ski. Zavala got on behind to ride shotgun, literally. Austin pushed off from the pier and twisted the throttle, and seconds later, the Jet Ski was scudding across the lake at fifty miles per hour in pursuit of the distant lights.

  Austin was ambivalent about personal watercraft. They were noisy polluters with no purpose beyond disturbing beachgoers, wildlife and sailboats. At the same time, he had to admit, riding a Jet Ski was like tearing around on a waterborne motorcycle. Within minutes, he could see the outlines of the catamaran without the use of the night goggles. The barge seemed to have stopped. Those aboard the craft heard the sound of the fast-approaching watercraft and saw the foamy rooster tail it was creating in its wake. A spotlight blinked on.

  Temporarily blinded by the bright light, Austin ducked low over the handlebars, knowing that his reaction came too late. He had hoped to get close to the barge before being discovered. Even the shortest glimpse of his Caucasian features and pale hair would have identified him as a stranger, and by definition, as the enemy. He put the Jet Ski into a sharp turn that kicked up a wall of foam. The light found them within seconds. Austin swerved in the opposite direction, not knowing how long he could keep up the water acrobatics, or even if the slalom turns would do any good. He yelled over his shoulder.

  "Can you douse that light?"

  "Keep this thing steady and I will," Zavala shouted back.

  Austin obliged by slowing the Jet Ski and putting it broadside to the catamaran. He knew he was giving those on board an easy shot but felt he had to risk it. Zavala raised his shotgun to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed. The light stayed on, and the beam found them again. Ears still ringing from the first blast, Austin felt rather than heard the second shot. The light blinked out.

  The men on the boat broke out their flashlights. Soon, thin beams probed the darkness, and Austin could hear the rattle and snap of small-arms fire. By then, he was outside the range of the lights, keep- ing the Jet Ski at a low speed so its wake wouldn't be so obvious. They could hear the bullets ripping up nearby sections of water. The cata- maran had pulled anchor and was moving again.

  Austin was certain that the encounter had not delayed the evil task of those on board, but only hastened it. He suspected that if he tried to pull the boat over like a traffic cop, he and Zavala would end up with more holes than a sieve. Precious seconds went by as he scoured his brains. He recalled what Ben had said about the cata- maran, and an idea came to him. He outlined his plan to Zavala. 'I'm starting to worry," Zavala said. 'I don't
blame you. I know it's risky."

  'You don't understand. I like the plan. That's what worries me." 'I'll make an appointment with a NUMA shrink when we get back. See if you can soften up the opposition in the meantime."

  Zavala nodded and leveled his shotgun at a figure of a man who had the bad judgment to stand where he was silhouetted by the run- ning lights. The shotgun thundered and the man threw his arms up and disappeared from view like a duck in a shooting gallery.

  Austin throttled up, and seconds later, when a fusillade from the boat lacerated the surface of the lake, he was well away from the spot. The shotgun thundered and another body toppled over. The men aboard the barge finally figured out that they were easy targets and doused the running lights. It was exactly the reaction Austin had counted on.

  The catamaran was starting to pick up speed. Austin ran the Jet Ski parallel to the barge for a moment, then circled around until he was a couple of hundred yards astern. Eyes riveted on the twin wakes ahead, he accelerated the Jet Ski. He aimed directly off to one side of the stern and cut power at the last second.

  The front of the Jet Ski hit the catamaran's stern with a loud and hollow thump, then the watercraft made a horrible scraping noise as it slid up and onto the sloping deck. A crewman who had heard the approaching watercraft stood in the stern with his machine pistol at the ready. The Jet Ski's rounded bow slammed into his legs. There was the audible snap of bone, and he was catapulted halfway down the length of the deck. Zavala had rolled off before the Jet Ski had come to a stop. Austin dismounted and yanked the Bowen from its holster.

  The Jet Ski had skidded so that it was sideways on the deck, of- fering them some protection. Austin drew a quick bead on a figure moving in the darkness and fired off a shot. He missed, but the muz- zle flash illuminated a horrifying sight. Bodies-he couldn't tell if they were alive or dead in the dark-were lined up crosswise on the conveyor belt and were slowly moving toward the stern, where they would slide down a chute into the lake.