Clive Cussler - KA04 - White Death

by White Death(lit)

  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.

  He yelled at Zavala to cover him. The shotgun fired off three shots in rapid succession. From the screams at the other end of the boat, one or more rounds found their deadly mark. Austin bolstered his revolver, launched himself at the nearest struggling form and pulled it off the belt. Another, smaller body took its place on the nightmar- ish assembly line. Austin pulled it aside out of harm's way and saw that it was a child.

  More bodies were coming at him. He wondered how long he could pull them to safety, but he was determined to try. He grabbed another by the legs. From the weight, he guessed that it was a man, and he grunted with exertion as he pulled him to safety. He had his hands around the ankles of another, when the belt stopped. He stood up. Sweat poured down his face, and he was breathing hard. He felt a twinge of pain from his old chest wound. He looked up and saw a figure holding a flashlight coming his way. The Bowen filled Austin's hand.

  "Don't shoot, amigo," came the familiar voice of his partner. Austin lowered the Bowen. "I thought you were covering me." "I was. Then there was nothing left to cover you from. After I nailed a couple of guys, the rest of them jumped ship. I found the OFF switch on the belt controls."

  The first body Austin had pulled from an almost certain death was making muffled sounds behind the duct tape. Austin borrowed the flashlight and found himself looking into the unmistakable gentian eyes of Therri Weld. He carefully stripped the duct tape from her mouth, then freed her hands and feet. She gave him a quick thanks, then freed the little girl who had almost been her companion in death. Austin handed over the doll, and the girl hugged it in a crush- ing embrace.

  Working together, they quickly freed the others. Ryan beamed his smile at Austin and started to shower him with praise. Austin had had enough of the egotistic activist. He was angry at Ryan for get- ting in the way of the rescue and for risking Them's life. A wrong look from Ryan and he would have thrown him overboard.

  "Just shut up for now," he said.

  Ryan saw that Austin was in a no-nonsense mood, and he clamped his lips together.

  The last prisoners were being freed, when Austin heard a boat motor. He grabbed for his Bowen, and he and Zavala crouched be- hind the rail. They heard the boat shut its motor down and bump against the hull. Austin stood and flicked on the light. The bull's-eye fell on the anxious face of Ben Nighthawk.

  "Come ahead," Austin yelled out. "Everyone's okay here."

  A look of relief crossed Ben's face. He and the Aguirrez brothers climbed onto the catamaran. Pablo was bent over and seemed to be having some problems moving, and the other men had to help him. The Basque's sleeve was stained with blood above the elbow.

  "What happened?" Austin said.

  Diego smiled and said, "While you were out here, some of the guards saw us taking their boat and wanted us to pay rent. We gave them what we had. Pablo was wounded, but we killed the pigs." He looked around the boat and saw at least three bodies. "I see you have been busy, too."

  "Busier than I would have liked." Austin glanced toward the dock, where lights were moving about. "Looks like you stirred up a hor- nets' nest."

  "A very big hornets' nest," Pablo replied. He looked up at the thut- thut sound of a helicopter. "But we have stingers as well."

  Austin saw a flitting shadow against the blue-blackness of the night sky. The SeaCobra had arrived in the nick of time. It flew like an arrow toward land. As it drew near Barker's complex, it slowed and, instead of unleashing the expected destruction on the igloo, went into a circle. It was searching for its target and not finding it. The igloo's camouflage had been turned on, and the huge building blended in with the dark forest.

  It was a fatal moment of indecision. Searchlights illuminated the helicopter like a German bomber in the London blitzkrieg. Seeing that they had been discovered, the helicopter crew launched a mis- sile at the plaza. Too late. The missile smashed into the plaza and killed a handful of Barker's men, but at the same time, a streak of light shot upward. The heat-seeking ground-to-air missile couldn't miss at such close range. It zeroed in on the helicopter's exhaust. There was a brilliant flash of hot yellow and red light, and the chop- per fell in fiery, sizzling pieces into the lake.

  It happened so fast that the people watching from the catamaran could hardly believe what they saw. It was as if the cavalry had come to the rescue, only to be wiped out in an Indian ambush. Even Austin who knew the tide of battle could turn in an instant, was in a state of shock, but he quickly got over it. There was no time to waste. Barker's murderous myrmidons could be on them within minutes. He called Ben over and told him to ferry those on board to land where they could hide in the woods.

  Ryan came over and said, "Look, I'm sorry about all this, but I do owe you again."

  "This one's on the house, but the next time you get into trouble, you're on your own."

  "Maybe I can repay you by lending a hand."

  "Maybe you can repay me by getting your butt out of here. Make sure Therri and the others make it safely to shore."

  "And what are you going to do?" Therri said. She had come up behind Ryan.

  "I intend to have a few words with Dr. Barker, or Toonook." She stared at him in disbelief. "Now who's being reckless. You're the one who scolded me for putting myself in needless danger. He and his men will kill you."

  "You're not getting out of our dinner date that easily." "Dinner? How can you think about such a thing with all this in- sanity going on? You're crazy!"

  "I'm quite sane, but I'm determined to get through a romantic meal for two without interruption."

  Her face softened and a faint smile came to her lips. "I'd like that, too. So be careful."

  He kissed her lightly on the mouth. Then he and Zavala pushed the Jet Ski back into the water. It had suffered a few dents and bul- let holes during the rescue assault on the catamaran, but the motor was in fine shape and Zavala had no trouble getting it running again. As Austin pointed the watercraft back toward the vortex of violence, he realized that he didn't know what he was going to do when he fi- nally met up with Dr. Barker. But he was certain he'd come up with something.

  Austin and Zavala landed on the beach a few hundred yards from the dock and made their way back toward the plaza, where Barker had ad- dressed his gang of thugs. The plaza was empty. Many of the defend- ers had scattered into the forest when the helicopter attacked. Austin and Zavala made their way around a crater and several bodies.

  With its electronic camouflage in use, the dome itself was invisi- ble, but light streamed from a slim rectangular opening in the forest where the portal had been left open. No one barred the way as Austin and Zavala stepped inside and got their first breathtaking glance of the huge silver torpedo that filled most of the hangar. Powerful flood- lights reflected off the zeppelin's shiny aluminum skin, leavin
g the perimeter of the dome in darkness. They slipped into the shadows and hid behind a scaffold on wheels, where they had a good view of the scene.

  The men scurrying around the zeppelin, apparently making last- minute preparations for take-off, lent scale to the gigantic aircraft. Launch crews strained at the anchor lines like contestants engaged in a tug-of-war game. High above, the dome's roof was slowly open- ing, and stars were visible through the gap. Austin ran his eyes along the zeppelin's length, coolly taking in every detail, from the blunt nose to the tapering tail, his gaze lingering for a second on the tri- angular top fin and the word Nietzsche. The airship was a beautiful example of form following function, but aesthetics were secondary in his mind.

  The control cabin was only a few feet above the floor, but it was surrounded by guards. He surveyed the airship again and saw what he was looking for. He pointed to the nearest engine nacelle and quickly outlined his idea to Zavala, who nodded and gave him the okay sign, signifying he understood. Zavala radioed Diego that they were boarding the airship. The roof opening was almost big enough to let the airship through. In another few seconds, the launch crews would begin to let up the slack on the anchor lines.

  The zeppelin rested on tapering supports that resembled old- fashioned oil derricks. Other towers were arranged closer to the air- craft. With Zavala close on his heels, Austin made his way from tower to tower, finally reaching two scaffolds that supported the star- board rear nacelle. He glanced around. The crews were still intent on keeping the zeppelin down as it strained against the anchor lines. Satisfied that they had not been seen, he climbed to the top of the tower.

  The egg-shaped engine housing was about the size of an SUV and attached to the fuselage by metal struts. The spinning propeller was the height of two men. Austin grabbed onto a strut and pulled him- self onto the top of the nacelle. He could feel the vibration from the powerful engine through the soles of his boots. As the propeller picked up speed, it created a backwash, and he had to hold on tightly to prevent being blown off. He reached down to lend a hand to Zavala, who was still scrambling onto the engine housing, when the launch crew slacked the lines and the zeppelin began to rise. Zavala's legs dangled as he tried to get a foot up on the rounded side of the nacelle. Holding on with one hand, Austin used the considerable strength in his shoulders to give Zavala the lift he needed.

  By then, the zeppelin was halfway to the roof. From their position atop the nacelle, they were shielded from eyes below. But the prop wash was picking up, and it was becoming harder to hold on to the slick, rounded surface. Austin looked up and saw a rectangular open- ing where the struts disappeared into the fuselage. He yelled at Zavala, but his words were blown away by the wind, so he simply pointed. Zavala answered, and although Austin couldn't hear his partner's reply, he was sure Joe was saying, "After you."

  Austin began to climb. The strut had been made with ladder rungs to allow an engineer access to the engine pod for midair repairs. With the prop turning and the zeppelin rising, the journey of several feet was the ultimate challenge. Austin's progress wasn't pretty, but he made it through the rectangular opening in the zeppelin's belly.

  Once out of the main force of the prop wash, he hung on the lad- der and looked back. Zavala was right behind him. The zeppelin had risen through the top of the dome, and the doors in the roof were closing. The people in the dome looked to be the size of ants. By the time Zavala made it into the fuselage, the dome was closed completely. Having made their decision to stow away, he and Zavala had no other choice. They began to climb into the darkness.

  37

  THE NIETZSCHE WAS a miracle of aeronautical design. Twice as long as a Booing 747 Jumbo Jet, it had been built in an age before computers and space-age materials. The Nietzsche had been modeled after the Graf Zeppelin, the 776-foot-long silver cigar built in 1928 by airship pioneer Hugo Eckener, but innovations that would later be part of the Hindenburg had also been incorporated into the design. In the Graf, passenger quarters were behind the control room. But the Nietzsche had been designed with living space within the fuselage itself.

  Once inside the fuselage, Austin and Zavala found themselves in a small room, after their perilous climb from the nacelle. Hanging on the wall were machinists' tools and spare parts and long black leather coats like those favored by aviators of a bygone era. The room was unheated, and the coats would come in handy for those who worked there. Austin tried a coat on and found that it fit.

  "You look like the Red Baron," Zavala said.

  Austin slipped a leather cap down on his head. "I prefer to think of myself as a master of disguise." Seeing the skepticism in his part- ner's face, Austin said: "Maybe you've noticed that we're somewhat different in appearance from the Eskimo gentlemen we've seen on this little adventure. If these ridiculous outfits give us a second's edge, they might be worth it."

  "The sacrifices I make for NUMA," Zavala said, searching for a coat that fit him.

  The room's single door opened onto a long corridor. The walls of the plushly carpeted passageway were decorated with fanciful scenes of men in top hats flying a variety of odd-shaped hot-air balloons and flying machines. Antique crystal lamps hung from the ceiling. At the end of the corridor was a passenger area of comfortably appointed staterooms, each with two berths and its own unique pattern of flow- ery wallpaper.

  A short walk led to an elegant dining salon. There were about a dozen small rectangular tables, each covered with a white tablecloth, neatly creased napkins set in place. Two upholstered chairs with ma- hogany arms and legs were pulled slightly back from each table, as if guests were to arrive momentarily.

  Tall curtained windows would have given the diners a God's-eye view of the world below. Next to the dining room was a lounge, complete with bar and bandstand, and a dance floor of highly pol- ished wood. Like the dining salon, the lounge was decorated in Art Deco motif. Geometric patterns prevailed. The wall behind the bar was an art gallery ofzeppelin photos.

  The lounge was hushed except for the muted rumble of engines.

  Zavala looked around in wonder. "This is like being on an old ocean liner."

  "Just pray that it isn't the Titanic," Austin said.

  Austin led the way toward a room furnished with leather sofas and chairs. His knowledge of German was limited, but he guessed that the sign on the wall designated the area as the smoking room. They left the room and followed another corridor that led to an expansive space that seemed to be a work area. They could see a large functional table illuminated by halogen lamps, computers and several chairs that were designed more for function than comfort. Part of the room was in shadow. Austin found a wall light switch and flicked it on. The entire room was flooded with light, and both men tensed when they discovered that they were not alone. Two figures stood against the far wall, and Zavala swore in Spanish. Out of the corner of his eye, Austin saw the shotgun coming to bear.

  "Wait!" he said.

  Zavala lowered the gun and smiled as he studied the figures. He was looking at the mummified bodies of two men, propped up on metal stands. They stood in a natural position, arms hanging down by their sides. Their skin was as dark as leather and stretched tightly against their skulls. The eye sockets were empty, but the faces were remarkably well preserved. Austin and Zavala moved in for a closer look.

  Zavala said, "I don't think these guys are the Blues Brothers."

  "I don't think they're brothers at all. Judging from their clothing, I'd say they come from different eras."

  One man was dressed in a heavy shirt and leggings of coarse ma- terial. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders. The taller man had short blond hair and wore a pro-World War II leather coat, not unlike the ones Austin and Zavala were wearing. Hanging above the mummies was a large, ragged-edged piece of aluminum. The word Nietzsche was printed on it.

  Next to the mummies was a glass display case like those found in museums. Inside the case were a Leica 35mm still camera and sev- eral lenses, a Zeiss movie camera, charts of
the northern hemisphere and a leather-bound book. Austin opened the case and leafed through the pages of the book. It was filled with entries in German, stopping in 1935. He stuffed the book into his pocket. He was examining a dis- play of Eskimo harpoons and knives, when Zavala called him over.

  "Kurt. You've got to see this."

  Zavala had wandered over to the long ebony chest that rested on a waist-high platform. On top of the chest was a horn that looked as if it had been made from an elephant's tusk. The instrument was studded with gems and banded in gold. Austin carefully removed the horn and handed it to Zavala, who marveled at the detail of the bat- tle scenes carved into the ivory.

  Austin opened the chest and pushed back the lid. Lying on pur- ple velvet inside the chest was a sword in its scabbard. He lifted the leather scabbard from the chest and inspected the gold-clad hilt and hand guard. Set into the heavy triangular pommel was a huge ruby. The elaborate hand guard was etched with flowers. He mused at the incongruity of the beautiful decoration on a weapon with such deadly potential.