Treasure dp-9

by Clive Cussler

  The labored puffing came in faster spurts as the little engine picked up speed and chugged by the front of the dining hall. The door opened and a hijacker leaned out and raised a hand as if to wave. He snapped it back down when he saw the two bodies leaning from the cab's side windows. He disappeared into the building as if jerked by an immense nibber band, wildly shouting a warning.

  Pitt and Gunn both unleashed a blast of gunfire through the windows and door of the building. Then the engine was past and heading toward the crushing mill. Pitt glanced at the ground and judged the speed to be somewhere between fifteen and twenty kilometers.

  Pitt pulled the overhead whistle lever and tied it down with a drawstring from inside his ski jacket. The spurt of steam through the brass whistle cut the air like a razor "Get ready to jump," he yelled at Gunn above the ear-splitting scream.

  Gunn didn't reply. He stared at the rough gravel flashing past as though it were hurtling by at jet speed a thousand meters below.

  "Now!" shouted Pitt.

  They hit the ground on the run, skidding and sliding but somehow managing to keep their footing, There was no hesitation, no pause to catch their breath. They ran alongside the train and straight up the steps of the crushing-mill's stairs, and didn't stop until they both stumbled, then tripped over the threshold and crashed to the floor inside.

  The first thing Pitt saw was Giordino standing above him, unconcernedly holding his machine gun in a muzzle-up position.

  "I've seen you kicked out of some pretty raunchy pubs," Giordino said in a dour voice, "but this is the first time I've ever seen YOU tossed off a train."

  "No great loss," said Pitt, coming to his feet. "It didn't have a club car."

  The gunfire. Yours or theirs?"

  "Ours.

  "Company on the way?"

  "Like mad hornets out of a vandalized nest," replied pitt. "We don't have much time to prepare for a siege."

  "They'd better be careful where they aim or their helicopter might get broken."

  "An advantage we'll play to the hilt."

  Findley had finished tying the guard and the two mechanics together in the center of the floor, and he stood up. "where do you want them?"

  "They're as safe as anywhere there on the floor," answered Pitt. He looked swiftly around at the cavernous interior of the building with the crushing mill squatting in the center. "Al, you and Findley grab whatever equipment or furniture you can lift and convert the ore crusher into a fort. Rudi and I will delay them as long as we can."

  "A fort within a fort," said Findley.

  "It would take twenty men to defend a building this big," Pitt explained. "The hijackers' only hope of capturing their helicopter intact is to blow the main door and rush us en masse. We'll pick off as many as we can from the windows and then retreat to the mill for a last-ditch defense."

  "Now I can sympathize with Davy Crockett at the Alamo," moaned Giordino.

  Findley and GiordinO began fortifying the huge building while Pitt and Gunn set up shop at windows on opposite corners of the building. The sun was beginning to cast its rays over the slopes on the other side of the mountain. Darkness was almost gone.

  Pitt could feel the wave of anxiety that washed through his mind. They might prevent the Arabs who were rapidly surrounding the crushing null from escaping, but if the hijackers on the ship eluded the Special Forces teams and made a run for the mine, he and his pitiful little force would be overwhelmed.

  He looked darkly out the window at the little engine as it roared down the track on its final run, picking up momentum with every Turn of its drive wheels. Sparks belched from the stack as a long plume of smoke trailed sideways, driven by a flanking wind. The ore cars rattled and swayed on the narrow rails. The sound of the whistle turned from a shrill shriek to the mournful wail of a lost soul in hell as the train hurtled into the distance.

  The shock and disappointment showed clearly in Ammar's eyes when he realized the glacial front was not about to fall. He whirled to face Ibn.

  "What went wrong?" he demanded, his voice ragged with growing anger.

  "There should have been a chain of explosions."

  Ibn's face was like stone. "You know me well, Suleiman Aziz-I do not make mistakes. The explosives should have detonated. The commando team we saw drop from the glacier to the ship must have found and disarmed most of them."

  Ammar stared briefly at the sky, threw up his hands and let them drop again. "Allah weaves strange patterns into our lives," he said philosophically. Then a slow smile spread across his lips. "The glacier may fall yet. Once our helicopter is airborne, we can make a pass and drop grenades into the ice fracture. "

  Ibn matched Ammar's smile. "Allah has not deserted us he said reverently. "Do not forget, we are safe here on sho while the Mexicans have inherited the job of fighting the Americans. "

  "Yes, you're right, old friend, we're in Allah's debt for our well-timed deliverance." Ammar stared contemptuously at the ship. "We'll soon see if Captain Machado's Aztec gods can protect him."

  "He was a maggot, that one ' Suddenly Ibn stopped and cocked an ear, then gazed up the mountain slope. "Gunfire, coming from the mine."

  Ammar listened, but he heard something else-the distant cry of the locomotive's whistle. The sound was continuous and grew louder. Then he saw the plume of smoke and watched in sudden puzzlement as the train shot down the mountainside, careening wildly on the curving switchbacks before barreling across a long, straight stretch toward the pier.

  "What are those fools doing?" Ammar gasped as he saw the train thundering wildly down the track, heard the whistle filling the predawn with its high-pitched scream.

  The hijackers and their hostages were not prepared for the incredible spectacle now avalanching upon them like a monster on a rampage. They stood petrified in disbelieving fascination.

  "Allah save us!" a man uttered in a hoarse voice.

  "Save yourself!" Ibn snapped. He was the first to recover, and he began shouting for everyone to clear the tracks. There was bedlam as everyone scattered away from the rails just as the ore cars, pulled by the out-of-control little engine, her drive rods whipping in blurred motion, shot onto the pier.

  The wooden pilings and flooring shuddered at the sudden onslaught. The tail-end ore car bounced off the tracks but, held by its coupling, was dragged like a screaming, unruly child by his ear across the tarred planking. Clouds of sparks sprayed as the steel wheels clattered against the rails. Then the engine ran out of track and soared off the end of the pier.

  The train seemed to arc through the air for an instant in slow motion before the engine finally dropped and dived into the fiord.

  Miraculously, the boiler failed to explode when its heated walls met the icy water. The engine vanished with a great hiss and a cloud of steam, followed by a loud grinding of to metal as the ore cars piled in on top of each other.

  Anunar and Ibn dashed to the pier's end and stared helplessly at the bubbles and steam rising from the water.

  "The bodies of our men were hanging from the cab," said Ammar. "Did you see them?"

  "I did, Suleiman Aziz."

  "The sound of gunfire you heard a minute ago!" Ammar said in a white rage. "Our men must be under attack at the mine. There is still a chance to escape if we hurry and help them before the helicopter is damaged."

  Ammar paused only long enough to give orders for one of his men to bring up the rear with the prisoners. He set off up the narrow-gauge tracks at a half-run, the other members of his hijacking force trailing behind in single file.

  growing fear and uncertainty swelled inside Ammar's mind. If the helicopter was destroyed, there could be no escape, no place to hide on the barren island. The American Special Forces would hunt them down one by one, or leave them either to freeze or starve to death.

  Ammar was determined to survive if for no other reason than to kill Yazid and find the devil who was responsible for hounding him to Santa Inez Island and devastating his intricate plans.

>   The sounds of the battle increased and reverberated down the mountain.

  He was panting heavily from the exertion of running uphill, but he gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

  Captain Machado was standing in the wheelhouse when he heard, felt, really, the muted detonation on the glacier. He stiffened for a moment, listening, but the only sound was the light tick of a large eight-day clock above the bridge windows.

  Then his face suddenly paled. The glacier, he thought, it must be ready to break off.

  Machado hurried to the communications room and found one of his men staring dumbly at the teletype.

  He looked up blankly at Machado's entr heard an explosion." ance. "I thought I Suspicion unfolded inside Machado's gut. "Have you seen the radioman or the Egyptian leader?"

  "I've seen no one."

  "No Arabs at all?"

  "Not in the past hour." The radar operator paused. "I haven't seen any of them since I left the dining salon and came on duty. They should be guarding the prisoners and patrolling the outside decks, since those are the jobs they stupidly volunteered for."

  Machado studied the empty chair at the radio thoughtfully. "Maybe they weren't so stupid."

  He stepped to the counter in front of the helm and looked through the narrow view culs in the plastic sheeting directly in front of the bridge windows. There was enough daylight now to clearly see the forward part of the ship.

  His eyes found several wide tears in the plastic. Too late he saw the ropes running from the top of the glacier down through the openings. Too late he swung around to voice an alarm over the ship's communication system.

  He came to a dead stop before he uttered a sound.

  There was a man standing in the doorway.

  A man who wore all-black dress; hands and what little face that showed through the ski mask were also blackened. Nightvision goggles hung around his neck. He wore a large bulletproof chest piece with several pockets and clips holding both fragmentation and stun grenades, three murderous-looking knives and a number of other killing devices.

  Machado's eyes suddenly squinted. "Who are you?" he demanded, knowing full well he was staring at death.

  As he spoke he made a lightning snatch of a nine-millimeter automatic pistol from a shoulder holster and snapped off a shot.

  Machado was good. Wyatt Earp, Doc Holiday and Bat Masterson would have been proud of him. His shot struck the intruder square in the center of the chest.

  With older bulletproof vests, the pure force behind the blow could snap a rib or stop a heart. The vests worn by the SOF men, however, were the latest state of the art. They could even stop a 308 NATO round and distribute the impact so it left only a bruse.

  Dillenger shuddered slightly from the bullet, took one step back and pulled the trigger of his Heckler & Koch, all in the same motion.

  Machado wore a vest too, but the older model. Dillenger's burst tore through and riddled his chest. His spine arched like a tightly strung bow and he staggered backward, falling against the Captain's chair before dropping to the deck '

  The Mexican guard raised his arms and shouted, "Don't fire! I am unarmed-"

  Dillenger's short burst into the throat cut off the Mexican's plea, knocking him into the ship's compass binnacle, where he hung suspended like a limp rag doll.

  "Don't move or I'll shoot," Dillenger said belatedly.

  Sergeant Foster stepped around the Major and looked down at the dead terrorist. "He's dead, sir."

  "I warned him," Dillenger said casually as he slipped another clip into his weapon.

  Foster kicked the body over on its stomach with his boot. A long bayonet knife slipped out of a sheath below the collar and rattled on the deck. "Intuition, Major?" asked Foster.

  "I never trust a man who says he's unarmed-"

  Suddenly Dillenger stopped and listened. Both men heard it at the same time and looked at each other, puzzled.

  "What in hell is that?" asked Foster,

  "They were a good thirty years before my time, but I'd swear that's a whistle from an old steam locomotive."

  "Sounds like it's coming down the mountain from the old mine."

  "I thought it was abandoned."

  The NUMA people were to wait there until the ship was secure .

  "Why would they stoke up an old locomotive?"

  "I don't know." Dillenger paused and stared distantly, a sudden certainty growing within him. "Unless . . . they're trying to tell us something."

  The detonation on the glacier caught Hollis and The team by surprise.

  His team entered the dining salon immediately after a wild shootout.

  His dive team had sliced their way through the plastic and found a tight passage between the fake cargo containers. They had passed wanly through a doorway into an empty bar and lounge outside the dining salon, fanned out, dodging pillars and four men covering the stairs and two elevators, and surprised Machado's Mexican terrorist team.

  All but one terrorist was down. He still stood where he'd been hit, hate and vague astonishment reflected in his dying eyes. Then his body collapsed and he fell to the carpet, staining its rich, thick pile a deep crimson.

  Hollis and his team advanced, warily stepping over and around the bodies. A blood-chilling of the ice wall sounded throughout the ship, rattling the few undamaged bottles and glasses behind an ornate bar.

  The Special Operations men stared uneasily at one another and at their Colonel, but they stood firm and ready.

  "Major Dillenger's team must have missed one," Hollis mused calmly.

  "No hostages here, sir," said one of his men. "All appear to be terrorists."

  Hollis studied several of the lifeless faces. None of them looked like they came from the Middle East. Must be the crew from the General Bravo, he thought.

  He turned away and pulled a copy of the ship's deck layout from a pocket and studied it briefly, while he talked into his radio.

  "Major, report your status."

  "Met light resistance so far," replied Dillenger. "Have only accounted for four hijackers. The bridge is secure and we've released over a hundred crew members who were locked in the baggage hold. Sorry we didn't find all the charges."

  "Good work. You did well to disarm enough to keep the glacier from collapsing. I'm heading for the master staterooms to free the passengers. Request the engine-room crew return to their station and restore power. We don't dare hang around under the ice cliff a minute longer than we have to. Watch yourselves. We took out another sixteen hijackers, all Latins. There must be another twenty Arabs still on the ship."

  "They may be on shore, sir."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "We heard a whistle from a locomotive a couple of minutes ago. I ordered one of my men to climb the radar mast and check it out. He reported a train rolling down the mountain like a bowling ball. He also observed it run off a nearby pier that was crowded with two dozen terrorists."

  "Forget it for now. Let's rescue the hostages first and see to the shore when we've secured the ship."

  "Acknowledged."

  Hollis led his men up the grand staircase and moved, quiet as a whisper, into the hallway separating the staterooms. Suddenly they froze in position as one of the elevators hummed and rose from the deck below.

  The door opened and a hijacker stepped out, unaware of the assault. He opened his mouth, the only movement he was able to make before one of Hollis's men tapped him heavily on the head with the silenced muzzle of his gun.

  Incredibly, there were no guards outside the staterooms. The men began kicking in the doors, and upon entering, found the Egyptian and Mexican advisers and Presidential staff aides, but no sign of Hasan and De Lorenzo.

  Hollis broke open the last door at the hallway, burst inside and confronted five men in ship's uniforms. One of them stepped forward and gazed at Hollis in contempt, "You might have used the door latch," he said, regarding Hollis with suspicion.

  "You must be Captain Oliver Collins?"

&
nbsp; "Yes, I'm Collins, as if you didn't know.

  "Sorry about the door. I'm Colonel Morton Hollis, Special Operations Forces."

  "By Jesus, an American!" gasped First Officer Finney.

  Collins's face lit up as he rushed forward to pump Hollis's hand.

  "Forgive me, Colonel. I thought you might be one of them. Are we ever glad to see you."

  "How many hijackers?" asked Hollis.

  "After the Mexicans came on board from the Geeral Bravo, I should judge about forty."

  "We've only accounted for twenty."

  Collins's face reflected the ordeal. He looked haggard but still stood tall. "You've freed the two presidents and Senator Pitt and Miss Kamil?"

  "I'm afraid we haven't found them yet."

  Collins rushed past him through the doorway. '-They were held in the master suite just across the passageway."

  Hollis stood aside in surprise. "No one in there," he said flatly.

  "We've already searched this deck."

  The Captain ran into the empty suite, but saw only the rumpled bedclothes, the usual light mess left by passengers. His stiff-backed composure fell away and he looked positively stunned.

  My God, they've taken them."

  Hollis spoke into his crophone. "Major Dillenger."

  "Dillenger took five seconds to respond. "I read you, Colonel. Go ahead."

  "any contact with the enemy?"

  "None, I think we've pretty well rounded them up."

  "At least twenty hijackers and the VIP passengers are missing. You see a sign of them?"

  "Negative, not so much as a stray hair."

  "Okay, finish securing the ship and have her crew move her out into the fjord."

  "No can do," said Dillenger solemnly.

  "Problems?"

  "The murdering bastards really did a number on the engine room. They smashed up everything. It'll take a week to put the ship back in operation."