The second motorcycle halted its attack, and the rider pointed his headlight at the still form. He dismounted, but he knew even before he crouched down beside the twisted body that his brother was dead. He had felt his brother’s fear and pain as his neck snapped. Then came a moan that rose to an agonizing scream. A chill went up Gamay’s spine as the remaining Kradzik brother began to howl like a wolf. She edged toward the rear of the boat, hoping that if she made it to the deck she’d find another weapon. The brother saw her move. He straddled his bike in an instant. She held her spear out straight. As he came in from the side she felt the spear jerk, then heard a clink of metal. He had chopped the spear tip neatly off with a short-handled battle-ax. He stopped and held the ax high above his head with both hands. Then he came for her.
She ran for the stern of the boat. He caught up in an instant and crashed his motorcycle into the back of her legs, knocking her down. Pain shot up from her knees and elbows as they smashed against the hard floor, but she had more to worry about. A figure was standing over her.
“My brother . . . is dead . . . ”
He spoke haltingly, as if he were waiting for a cadenced answer from his twin.
“You killed . . . now I will kill you. I will start . . . with legs. One by one. Then your arms.”
With his black leather pants and sleeveless jacket, he looked like an executioner. His teeth gleamed as he grinned in anticipation. Gamay tried to roll out of the way, but he put his boot on her ankle and she cried out.
As the ax came up there was a whirring sound, and he grunted in surprise. His free hand reached up to feel the shaft of a crossbow bolt protruding from the side of his head, but he was already dead by then. The gleam disappeared from the red-rimmed eyes, and he keeled over. Gamay rolled out of the way as the falling ax clanked onto the floor. She heard quick footsteps, strong arms were picking her up, and she saw Zavala’s familiar grin. Then Austin appeared. He was holding an old crossbow in his hands.
“Are you okay?” Austin asked.
“Nothing a good skin transplant won’t cure.” She saw that Joe was carrying the gun he had borrowed from the guard. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but why play William Tell when you had that thing?”
“This throws quite a spray of bullets,” Zavala said. “It’s great for cutting down a full assault but not very good for a precision sniper shot. I would have backed Kurt up if he missed.” He knelt beside the dead twin. “You were supposed to hit the apple on top of his head.”
“Next time I’ll aim higher,” Austin said, tossing the crossbow aside.
She gave them each a peck on the cheek. “Nice to see you even if I have to endure your dumb wisecracks.”
Austin inspected the dead man near the motorcycle. “It looks like you were doing pretty well on your own.”
“I was about to go to pieces,” Gamay said, wondering how she could joke about her near dismemberment. “Where are we?”
“Lake Tahoe.”
“Tahoe! How did you find me?”
“We’ll explain after we pick up Francesca. Can you walk?”
“I’ll crawl on my knees to get out of this dump. Nice outfits,” she said, eyeing their white caps and suits. “Is that what got you past the guards at the door?”
“There weren’t any guards.”
“I guess they didn’t want to be responsible for Daryll and Daryll.”
“Truth is, we blundered in here. We saw you playing a losing game of tag with your friend. I grabbed a crossbow off the wall and watched as you set him up beautifully for a shot.” Austin took a pistol from one of the dead men. “What say we saddle up before the posse comes?”
Gamay nodded and started to limp toward the doors, protectively flanked by the two men. The doors opened, and Brynhild stepped in. She was alone, but that didn’t make her any less imposing as she strode across the hall. She barely glanced at the dead bodies as she came over and stood before them, muscular legs spread wide apart like tree trunks, her hands on her hips.
“I take it this is your handiwork,” she said.
Austin shrugged. “Sorry about the mess.”
“They were fools. If you hadn’t killed them, I would have. They disobeyed my orders and defiled this sacred place.”
“Still, I know how hard it is to get good help these days.”
“Not as hard as you think. There’s no shortage of people who like to kill. How did you get in here?”
“We walked in the front door. What is this place?”
“It’s the heart and soul of my empire.”
“You must be the elusive Brynhild Sigurd,” Austin said.
“That’s correct, and I know who you are, Mr. Austin, and your friend, Mr. Zavala. We’ve been watching you since you visited our facility in Mexico. It was thoughtful of you to honor us with your visit.”
“Don’t mention it. You must let us know who your interior decorator is. What do you think, Joe, early Addams Family or late Transylvanian?”
“I was thinking more like Munster modern. The boat-shaped coffee table is a nice touch.”
“You will learn,” the woman said. “That boat symbolizes the past, the present, and the glorious future.”
Austin laughed. “An appropriate symbol. That boat isn’t going anywhere, and neither is your empire.”
“You NUMA people are becoming tiresome.”
“I was just telling Joe the same thing before you arrived. We don’t want to wear out our welcome. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way. Saddle up, guys.”
Zavala, who was in the lead, tried to step around Brynhild. Out of habit he flashed his trademark smile. Brynhild was a freak, he reasoned, but she was still a female. The famous Zavala charm was lost on the giantess. She reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, shook him like a terrier with a rat, then with her great strength threw him onto the floor. Zavala quickly regained his feet. Ever the gentleman when it came to women of any size or age, he smiled again. “I know how you feel, but this isn’t a good way to end our relationship.”
Brynhild replied with a backhand slap across his face. Joe staggered back a few steps and wiped the blood that was trickling from a corner of his mouth. Brynhild cocked her right fist for another blow. Austin moved in to protect Joe. He was watching Brynhild’s hands, so when she lashed out to the left leg in a classic kickboxing maneuver he was caught by surprise. Her boot smashed into his chest. He felt ribs crack from the tremendous force even before he slammed against the floor with an impact that rattled his teeth.
Seeing Austin fall removed all of Zavala’s inhibitions against striking a woman.
“That makes two sucker punches,” he said softly.
Joe had financed his way through the New York Maritime College by boxing professionally as a middleweight. He won most of his fights, many by knockouts. He had gained weight since college but still managed to keep down to a fighting trim of one hundred seventy-five pounds. He was five foot ten, which gave Brynhild a height advantage of about a foot. She probably outweighed him by fifty pounds, none of it fat.
Brynhild’s kick had put her in a good position to unload a roundhouse right aimed at removing Zavala’s head from his shoulders. Zavala’s old ring instincts were coming back. He saw the punch coming and ducked as the right fist grazed the top of his head, and then he drove a left hard into Brynhild’s midsection. The effort almost cost him a broken wrist, but it threw off his opponent’s timing. She threw a long, loose left that caught air. Tucking his chin in and bringing his hands up, he tried a three-punch combo that had decked more than one opponent in his college days. He followed up a quick left jab with a short right cross and a left hook.
The right missed, but the left hook caught Brynhild solidly in the jaw. Her eyes went glassy, but only for a second. She stepped back as he moved in and shot a hard overhand right to the heart that took his breath away. While he sucked in air she got past his lowered guard and clouted him in the midsection. Zavala absorbed the blow with his hard stomach muscles
and swung a right and a left aimed at her jaw. Both missed. Brynhild had been surprised by Joe’s quick and skillful reaction, but now that she had his measure she stood off and used her superior height and reach to pound him with the long artillery.
Zavala guessed her strategy and tried to move in for an uppercut to her chin, but each time she lobbed haymakers at him while staying safely out of reach. His left eye was partially closed, and his nose was bleeding. He threw a long overhand left that caught Brynhild in the throat, but it cost him another stinging punch to the head in return. In spite of her size, she was as fast as any middleweight he had ever seen. The old ring aficionados used to say that a good big man can beat a good small man any day. Zavala hoped the same truism didn’t apply to a big woman.
He kept doggedly on, his timing completely off, throwing soggy punches that caught air. He’d only last another minute. Then she’d finish him off with a couple of neck-snapping kicks.
Quite unexpectedly, Brynhild lowered her guard. Before Zavala’s weary reflexes could take advantage, the giant woman collapsed in a heap. Joe stood there stupidly and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He saw Gamay standing over Brynhild, holding one of the wooden shields from the ship in both hands.
“There’s more than one way to swat a Viking bitch,” she said with fury in her eyes.
Austin had managed to get to his feet. Holding his cracked ribs, he looked at the others and said, “I hope we feel better than we look.”
“I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when we’re out of here,” Zavala said through puffy lips.
“Wait,” Austin said, looking around. “We need a diversion.”
Without hesitation he went over to one of the braziers near the boat. He picked it up by the metal legs and dumped the burning coals onto the boat’s deck. Then he went on board and tossed the shields into a pile. The flames from the impromptu bonfire flared up the mast and licked the bottom of the hide sail. Within seconds the square sail was a sheet of fire. Black, noxious smoke from the blaze curled up to the roof and began to move horizontally along the ceiling.
With his work done, Austin led the way to the doors. They waited off to the side as the chamber filled with smoke. Within minutes the big doors swung open, and a group of shouting guards piled into the hall. The new supply of fresh air fueled the fire and sent the black clouds billowing throughout the Great Hall. The guards who ran directly to the boat never saw the three shadowy figures slip through the open portal.
40
INSIDE THE DOMED underwater facility Francesca was becoming increasingly frantic. One more piece in place, and her plan would be complete. She didn’t dare make her move until she knew the others were safe, especially after Brynhild’s hurried exit. She glanced around. The technicians were busy currying favor with the directors who milled around tossing back cups of purified water as if it were Moët champagne. The party wouldn’t last forever. Someone was bound to notice her continued attention to the control panel.
The babble of conversation stopped suddenly, and Francesca turned to see three bizarre figures step out of the staff elevator. She gasped at the sight of her friends. They were almost unrecognizable. Gamay was limping, her beautiful dark red hair looked as if it had been caught in an egg beater, and her arms and legs were marked with angry bruises. The white coveralls Austin and Zavala wore were streaked with blood and soot. Zavala’s face was puffy, and he had adopted a Popeye squint.
They shoved their way through the crowd and came up to Francesca. Austin managed a grin. “Sorry we took so long. We ran into a few, uh, obstacles.”
“Thank God you’re here.”
Austin put his arm around her shoulders. “We don’t plan to stay. We’ve got a taxi sitting under this thing. Can we offer you a lift?”
Francesca said, “There is one more thing I have to do.” She went over to the control panel and punched a series of numbers into the computer keyboard. She watched the digital gauges for a moment. Satisfied all was going as planned, she turned and said, “I’m ready.”
Zavala had been keeping the Gogstad people cowed with his weapon in the event someone had an unexpected attack of courage. Austin inspected the board of directors with curiosity. They returned his gaze with glares of pure hatred. At one point the Englishman named Grimley stepped forward. He stuck his nose in Austin’s face and said, “We demand that you tell us who you are and what you want here.”
Austin laughed unpleasantly, put his hand on the man’s bony chest, and shoved him back with the others. “Who is this clown?” he asked Francesca.
“He and his friends are a symbol of all that is wrong with the world.”
As an amateur philosopher Austin had long been intrigued by questions of good and evil, but metaphysical discussions would have to wait. He ignored the Englishman and took Francesca’s arm, guiding her toward the exit that would take them down to the air lock and the submersible. Gamay followed, then Zavala, who covered their rear.
They had taken only a few steps when the freight elevator doors flew open and about twenty guards spilled out into the lab. They quickly surrounded the fugitives and relieved Zavala of his gun.
Brynhild strode from the elevator, and the guards stepped aside to let her through. Her blond hair was disheveled as a result of the encounter with Gamay’s shield, and her pale face was smudged with soot. But her disarray didn’t diminish her imposing physique and the malevolence in her pale blue eyes. Quivering with rage, she pointed to the NUMA crew as if she were about to unleash a bolt of lightning.
“Kill them,” she ordered.
The Gogstad directors murmured with pleasure at the turn of events, and their eyes glittered in anticipation of the slaughter of the upstarts. But as the guards raised their weapons and prepared to unleash a lethal volley, Francesca stepped in front of her battered friends. In a voice whose strength and tenor evoked her reign as a white goddess, she shouted, “Stop!”
“Get out of the way, or they’ll kill you as well,” Brynhild ordered.
Francesca thrust her chin out. “I don’t think so.”
Brynhild seemed to grow another foot. “Who are you to defy me?” she snarled.
In reply, Francesca walked over and stood before the controls. The panel was lighting up like a pinball machine. Numerical phalanxes marched across the computer screen. There was no mistaking the fact that something was dreadfully out of kilter.
Brynhild swooped down on Francesca like an avenging angel. “What have you done?”
“See for yourself,” Francesca said, and stepped aside.
Brynhild stared at the colorful display. “What’s happening?”
“The instrumentation is having a nervous breakdown as it tries to deal with the equivalent of a chain reaction.”
“What do you mean? Tell me, or I’ll—”
“You’ll kill me? Go ahead. I’m the only one who can stop the reaction.” She smiled. “There’s something you never knew about anasazium. Left alone, it’s no more dangerous than iron. But its atoms become highly unstable when the material is subjected to certain conditions.”
“What kind of conditions?”
“Exactly the combination of temperature, power, and sonic vibration that the core is being subjected to at this minute. Unless I alter the instructions the core will explode.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? See for yourself. The heat levels are going off the charts. Still not convinced?” she said. “Think about the mysterious explosion at your Mexican facility. The moment you told me about the blast I knew exactly what had caused it. Only a few pounds of material destroyed your facility. Think of what will happen when hundreds of pounds reach critical mass.”
Brynhild turned to the technicians who had gathered around and shouted for someone to stop the reaction. The head technician had been watching the insane pattern on the computer screen with fascination. He stepped forward, sweat beading on his forehead, and said, “We don’t know how. Anything we do might make it worse.”
Brynhild yanked a machine pistol out of the hands of the nearest guard and pointed it at Gamay.
“If you don’t stop this I will kill your friends one by one. Her first.”
“Now who’s bluffing?” Francesca replied. “You plan to kill them anyhow. This way we’ll all die together.”
Brynhild’s white skin grew impossibly paler. She lowered the gun.
“Tell me what you want,” she demanded, her voice taut with anger.
“I want these people safely out of here.”
Brynhild had been trained as an engineer to assemble the facts before making a decision. If the reaction were not stopped the resulting explosion would destroy the plant. Francesca was the only one who knew how to defuse the situation. Brynhild would let the NUMA people go. As soon as the reaction was stabilized she would order her security forces to round them up. Then she would deal with Francesca. She wanted revenge for the destruction of her ship, but she could be patient. It had taken her years to get to this moment.
She handed the machine pistol back to the guard. “Agreed,” she said. “But you must stay.”
Francesca heaved a sigh of relief and turned to Austin. “You said you came by water?”
“Yes. We have scuba gear and a submersible waiting for us directly under the lab.”
“You won’t be able to go that way,” Francesca said. “The heat levels have already built up too far. You’d be boiled before you got to your submarine.”
“We’ll try to take the elevator up to the pier. There’s a boat there.”
“That’s your best course.”
“We can’t leave you.”
“It’s all right. They won’t hurt me as long as I’m of use to them.” She smiled beguilingly. “I’ll look forward to being rescued by NUMA once again.” She turned to Brynhild. “I’ll see them to the elevator.”
Blue Gold Page 36