Clive Cussler - KA04 - White Death

by White Death(lit)

  Austin caught the skull neatly and spun it in his hand like a ge- ographer studying a globe of the world. "Maybe it's your ancestor Diego." He tossed the skull back.

  "I wondered the same thing and had it tested for DNA. This gen- tleman and I are not related, I'm sad to say." Aguirrez put the skull back into the box and rejoined Austin at the table. "This is my sec- ond visit here. The first time, I expected that the caves would be ac- cessible from land. I was dismayed to learn that the harbor and cave area had been purchased for use as a fish farm. I located a man who had worked in demolition when the farm was set up. He said that when the owners were blasting out rock to create storage space, they broke through to the caves. I tried to persuade the owners to let me conduct archaeological explorations, but they refused. I pulled every string I could think of, but even with my connections, Oceanus wouldn't budge. So I came back for another look."

  "You're very persistent."

  "This has become a quest. Which is why I'm interested in your ad- venture. I suspected the natural arch might provide entry into the caves, but the waters around them were too dangerous for our launches. Apparently, you found a way to get in."

  "Dumb luck," Austin said briefly.

  Aguirrez chuckled. "I think it was more than luck. Please, tell me what you saw. I will bribe you with more wine."

  He snapped his fingers. The waiter brought a new bottle, opened it and refilled their glasses.

  "No bribe is necessary," Austin said. "Consider it partial repay- ment for your hospitality and the fine meal." He sipped from his glass, enjoying the buildup of suspense. "You're right, there is a way into the caves through the arch. The locals call it the 'Mer- maid's Gate.' The cave network is quite extensive. I only saw part of it."

  Austin went into detail about the cave art, saying nothing about his side trip into the fish farm. Aguirrez hung on every word.

  "Similar Paleolithic paintings dating back twelve thousand years have been found on the walls of caves in Basque country," he mur- mured at one point. "The other drawings indicate that an advanced civilization must have used the caves."

  "That was my impression. Supposedly, the Faroes were uninhab- ited before the Irish monks and the Vikings settled here. Maybe the historians were wrong."

  "I wouldn't be surprised. The scholars have no idea where my

  people came from. Our language has no antecedents in Europe or Asia. Basques have the highest percentage ofRH-negative blood type in the world, leading some to speculate that we go directly back to Cro-Magnon man." He banged his fist lightly on the table. "I'd give anything to get into those caves."

  "You saw the warm reception I got." "You seem to have stirred up a hornet's nest. While you slept, the patrol boats came out from shore and demanded permission to come aboard. We refused, of course."

  "The boat I saw had a couple of men with automatic rifles."

  Aguirrez waved toward the art hanging on the wall. "When they saw that my men outgunned and outnumbered them, they quickly left."

  "They had a helicopter, too. It was armed with rockets."

  "Oh yes, that," he said, as if he were talking about a pesky gnat.

  "I had my men brandish their handheld surface-to-air missiles, and the helicopter stopped bothering us."

  Missiles and automatic weapons. The Navarra was armed like a warship.

  Aguirrez read Austin's mind. "Wealthy men can be a target for kidnappers. The Navarra would be fair game for pirates, so I have made sure it is not exactly toothless. Of necessity, I have surrounded myself with loyal and well-armed men."

  /Why do you suppose Oceanus is so prickly about people poking into its business?" Austin said. "We're talking about a fish farm, not diamond mines."

  "I asked myself the same question," Aguirrez said, with a shrug.

  One of the men who had kept watch over Austin came into the dining room. He handed Aguirrez a plastic bag and whispered into his ear.

  Aguirrez nodded and said, "Thank you for being so forthcoming about your visit to the caves, Mr. Austin. Is there anything more I can do for you?"

  "I wouldn't mind a lift back to the village."

  "Done. My man has informed me that we are passing the sea stack and should be anchoring in a few minutes." He handed the plastic bag over. "Your clothes and personal effects have been drying out."

  Austin was ushered back to his cabin so he could change. The bag also held his wallet, which contained his NUMA photo ID card prominently displayed in its plastic window. Aguirrez was a cool one. He would have known that Austin's story about being in ma- rine salvage was made out of whole cloth, yet he'd never let on. In- side the bag was a business card with his host's name and a telephone number. Austin tucked the card into his wallet.

  Aguirrez was waiting on deck to say good-bye.

  "I appreciate your hospitality," Austin said, shaking hands with his host. "I hope I'm not being rude having to eat and run."

  "Not at all," Aguirrez said, with an enigmatic smile. "I wouldn't be surprised if our paths crossed again."

  "Stranger things have happened," Austin said, with a grin. Moments later, Austin was in the launch heading across the quiet harbor.

  14

  TWO THOUSAND FEET above Skaalshavn harbor, the Bell 206 Jet Ranger helicopter that had been tracking the yacht along the coast came to a hover and focused its Wescam high- resolution surveillance camera on the launch making its way to shore. The man in the pilot's seat stared at a video monitor, watching as a lone passenger disembarked from the boat.

  The helicopter pilot had a pie-shaped face with high cheekbones marked with vertical tattoo lines. His coal-black hair was cut in bangs over his low forehead, characteristics that might lead a casual ob- server to take him for a native of the northern tundra. But the fea- tures normally associated with the Eskimo were distorted. In place of a pleasant smile was a cruel, leering expression. Eyes that should have twinkled with innocent good humor were as hard as black di- amonds. The brownish-red skin was pockmarked, as if the corrup- tion within had seeped through the pores. The hastily applied band- age taped across the man's crushed nose intensified the grotesque image.

  'We have the target in view," he said with a nasal snarl, speaking in an ancient language that had its origins under the aurora borealis.

  The electronic signal from the camera, which was housed in a pod beneath the cockpit, was converted into microwaves and transmitted instantaneously to the other side of the globe to a darkened room, where pale-gray eyes watched the same picture seen from the heli- copter.

  "I can see him quite clearly," the gray-eyed man said. His silky voice was quiet and cultured, but it had the sullen menace of a rattle- snake. "Who is this person who violated our security so easily?"

  "His name is Kurt Austin." A pause. "The same Austin who rescued the Danish sailors from their sunken ship?"

  "Yes, great Toonook. He is a marine engineer with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

  "Are you certain ? A mere engineer wouldn't have been so bold or resourceful as to penetrate our facility. And why would NUMA be interested in our operation?"

  "I don't know, but our watcher has verified his identity." "And the yacht that picked him up and drove off your men. Is it a NUMA vessel?"

  "As far as we know, it is private, of Spanish registry. We're check- ing on the ownership through our sources in Madrid."

  "See that it is done speedily. What is the latest damage report at our facility?"

  "One guard dead. We were able to repair the damaged pipes and save the prime specimens."

  "The guard deserved to die for being careless. I want the speci- mens moved to Canada immediately. Our experiments are too vital to be jeopardized."

  "Yes, great Toonook."

  "An idiot can see what has happened. Mr. Austin has somehow drawn a connection between Oceanus and the collision we so con- veniently arranged."

  "That's impossible-"

  "The evidence is in front of your eyes, Umealiq. Don't
argue with it. You must deal with the situation!"

  The pilot tightened his grip on the controls, ready to send the hel- icopter swooping down like an eagle. The cruel eyes watching the monitor screen followed the figure making its way from the fish pier to the parked car. Within seconds, he could launch his rockets or spray the target with flesh-shredding machine-gun fire and obliterate the life of a bothersome man. The thin lips widened in a cruel smile.

  "Should we kill Austin while we have him in our sights?"

  "Do I detect a yearning to avenge the damage to your precious nose?" The voice had a mocking tone to it. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "I should kill him for the trouble he has caused me. Had he allowed the Danish sailors to die, the revulsion of the world would be directed at SOS and the attention of the press diverted away from Oceanus."

  "I will do it now-"

  "AW Don't be impatient. We must not attract any more attention to his demise than necessary."

  "He is staying at an isolated cottage. It would be the perfect place.

  We could drop his body off a cliff."

  "Thenjw to it. But make it look like an accident. Austin must not be allowed to broadcast his findings to the world. Our plans are at a critical stage."

  "I will return to the base and organize our men. I will see that Austin enjoys a lingering death, that he experiences fear and pain as the life drains from his body, that-"

  "No. Have someone else do it. I have other plans for you. You must leave for Canada immediately to make sure the specimens get there safely, then you are to go to Washington and eliminate that Senator who opposes our legislation. I have arranged cover for you and your men."

  The pilot glanced with fierce longing at the monitor and touched the tender mush that was his nose. "As you wish," he said with re- luctance.

  His hands played over the cyclic pitch control, and a moment later the hovering helicopter darted off in the direction of the old harbor.

  Unaware how close he had come to a violent end, Austin sat behind the steering wheel of Professor Jorgensen's Volvo, contemplating his next move. He was wary of the remote location of the cottage. He gazed at the warm lights of the town, then grabbed his duffel and left the car. He walked into the village without encountering a soul and went up to the house behind the church.

  Pia beamed when she opened the door at his knock and invited him inside. The exertions of the day must have been apparent in his face. When he stepped into the light, her smile disappeared. "Are you all right?" she said, with concern in her voice.

  "Nothing a glass ofalamt couldn't help."

  Clucking like a mother hen, she ushered him to the kitchen table, poured him a tall glass ofafavit, then watched as he drank. "Well?" she said finally. "Did you catch many fish?"

  "No, but I went to visit the mermaids."

  Pia let out a whooping laugh, clapped her hands and poured him a couple more fingers of liquor. "I lew it!" she said, with excitement in her voice. "And were the caves as wonderful as my father said?"

  She listened like a child as Austin described his entry through the Mermaid's Gate at slack tide and his journey into the cave network. He told her that he would have stayed longer but men with guns chased him away. Cursing impressively in Faroese, she said, "You can't go back to the cottage tonight. Gunnar says he doesn't work for those people, but I think he does."

  "I was wondering the same thing. I left the car at the fish pier. Maybe I should leave town."

  "God, no! You'll drive off the road into the sea. No, you will stay here tonight and leave early tomorrow."

  "Are you sure you want a gentleman staying the night? People will talk," Austin said with a broad smile.

  She grinned back, eyes sparkling with childlike mischief. "I hope so."

  Shortly before dawn, Austin awakened and got up from the sofa. Pia heard him stir and rose to make him a breakfast. She cooked an industrial-sized potato omelet with smoked fish and pastry on the side. Then she packed him a lunch of cold cuts, cheese and apple and sent him on his way, first eliciting a promise to return.

  The town was coming alive as he made his way in the damp morn- ing air to the fish pier. A couple of fishermen on their way to work waved at him from their trucks as he was opening the car door. The keys slipped from his fingers as he waved back-and when he bent to pick them up, his nostrils picked up a chemical smell, and he de- tected a soft splat-splat sound. He got down on his knees and peered under the car, where the odor was even stronger. Fluid dripped where the brake hoses had been cleanly cut. Austin grunted to him- self softly, then he went over to the fish pier and asked around for a aood mechanic. The harbormaster said he would call, and before long a lanky, middle-aged man showed up.

  After inspecting the damage, the mechanic stood and handed Austin a section of the hose. "Somebody don't like you."

  "No chance it was an accident?"

  The taciturn Faroese pointed to where the road out of town skirted a cliff, and he shook his head. "I figure you'd be flying with the birds up there on the first curve. No problem to fix, though."

  The mechanic repaired the brakes in short order. When Austin went to pay him, he waved away the money. "That's okay, you're a friend ofPia's."

  Austin said, "The people who did this might know I was at Pia's. I wonder if I should talk to the police."

  "No such thing here. Don't worry, the whole town will keep close watch on her."

  Austin thanked him again, and minutes later he was driving out of town. As he surveyed the sea stack in his rear view mirror, he men- tally ticked off the events of his short stay in Skaalshavn. He was leav- ing town with more questions than answers. Look on the bright side, he told himself with a grin. He had made some terrific new friends.

  15

  PAUL TROUT STEPPED onto the deck of Neals wooden- hulled trawler and appraised the boat with an expert eye. What he found surprised him. Neal was a charming conniver and a drunk, but he was a no-nonsense fisherman who took pride in his boat. The signs offender care were everywhere. Woodwork gleamed with fresh paint. The deck was scrubbed clean of oil stains. Rust was kept under control. The pilothouse had the latest in fish-finding and naviga- tional equipment.

  When Trout complimented Neal on the condition of his boat, the fisherman beamed like a father who'd been told his firstborn was his spitting image. Soon he and Neal were swapping sea stories. At one point, when Neal was out of hearing, Gamay raised an eyebrow and said, "You and Mike appear to be getting along swimmingly. I sup- pose you'll be trading recipes before long."

  "He's an interesting guy. Look at this boat. It's as well-found as anything I've ever been on."

  "Glad to hear you say that. NUMA now owns a piece of Tiffany."

  The ransom to spring the trawler from the boatyard had been closer to a thousand dollars than to seven hundred fifty. After a quick fuel-tank fill-up, which Gamay also paid for, Neal set the trawler on a course that would take it into the open sea.

  "Fishin' ground's not far," Neal yelled over the throb of the engine.

  " 'Bout seven miles. Ten fathoms. Bottom's smooth as a baby's behind.

  Prime for trawling. Be there shortly."

  After a while, Neal checked his GPS position, cut the throttle to an idle and lowered the net-a conical mesh bag, around a hundred- and-fifty-feet long, designed to be dragged along the sea bottom. The boat made two sets and caught lots of seaweed, but no fish.

  "This is very strange," Trout said, inspecting the cod end, the nar- row pouch at the end of the net where harvested fish are concen- trated. "I can understand hauling in a poor catch, but it's highly unusual to bring in nothing. Not even trash fish. The net's absolutely empty."

  A knowing grin crossed Neal's face. "You may wish it stayed empty."

  The net was lowered again, pulled along the bottom and slowly winched back onto the boat. A boom was used to hoist the cod end over the deck where any catch could be emptied out. This time, something was thrashing wildly in the net. Flashes of silve
ry-white scales were visible through the tangle of mesh, as a large fish fiercely struggled to free itself. Neal yelled out a warning as he prepared to empty the contents of the net onto the deck.

  "Stand way back, folks, we've got a live one!"

  The big fish landed on the deck with a squishy thud. Freed from the net, it became even more ferocious in its exertions, skittering across the deck as it arched and snapped its long body, round eyes staring with an unfishlike malevolence, mouth wide and snapping at air. The creature slammed into the fish hold, a raised box built into the deck. Far from slowing it down, the impact seemed to make it angrier. The convulsions became more violent, and it scudded back across the slippery deck.