He glanced at the dome on the stern. The shutters were closed. Giordino was not preparing to launch the remaining six rockets. He was attaching them around the fuel tanks before wiring them to a timer/detonator. Gunn, Pitt knew, was below, stuffing the analysis data tapes and water sample records in a plastic cover that he tightly bound and stuffed in a small backpack along with food and survival gear.
Pitt turned his attention to the radar, fixing the position of the Malian gunboat in his mind. He found it surprisingly easy to shake off the tentacles of fatigue. His adrenaline was pumping now that their course was irrevocably set.
He took a deep breath and jammed the triple throttles wide open and crammed the wheel to the starboard stop.
To the men watching from the command aircraft it was as though the Calliope had suddenly leaped from the water and twisted around in midair. She carved a sharp arc in the center of the river, and hurtled downriver under full power, sheeted in a great curtain of foam and spray. Her bow came out of the water like an uplifted sword as her stern plunged deep under a great rooster tail that exploded in the air behind her transom.
The stars and stripes jerked taut and streamed out under the sudden onslaught of wind. Pitt well knew he was going against all government policy, defiantly flying the national emblem on foreign soil during an illegal intrusion. The State Department would scream bloody murder when the enraged Malians beat their breasts and lodged a flaming protest. God only knew the hell that would erupt inside the White House. But he flat didn't give a damn.
The dice were rolling. The black ribbon of water beckoned. Only the dim light of the stars reflected on the smooth surface, and Pitt did not trust his night vision to keep him in the deep part of the channel. If he ran the boat aground at its maximum speed it would disintegrate. His eyes constantly darted from the radar screen to the depth sounder to the dark watercourse ahead before repeating the routine.
He did not waste a glance at the speedometer as the needle hung at the 70-knot mark and then quivered beyond it. Nor did he have to look at the tachometers to know they were creeping past their red lines. The Calliope was giving it everything she had for her final voyage, like a thoroughbred running a race beyond her limits. It was almost as if she knew she would never make home port.
When the Malian gunboat moved almost to the center of the radar screen, Pitt squinted into the darkness. He just discerned the low silhouette of the vessel turning broadside to the channel in an effort to block his passage. It ran no lights, but he didn't doubt for an instant that the crew had their guns aimed down his throat.
He decided to feint to starboard and then cut port to throw off the gunners before skirting the shallows and charging under the gunboat's bow. The Malians had the initiative, but Pitt was banking on Kazim's unwillingness to ruin one of the world's finest speed yachts. The General would be in no hurry. He still had a comfortable margin of several hundred kilometers of river to stop the fleeing boat.
Pitt planted his feet squarely on the deck and positioned his hands on the wheel in preparation for the fast turns. For some unearthly reason the roar from the flat-out turbo diesels and the crescendo of wind pounding in his ears reminded him of the last act of Wagner's Twilight of the Gods. All that was missing was the thunder and lightning.
And then that struck too.
The gunboat let loose, and a whole mass of shrieking fire burst through the night, ear-piercing, a nightmare bedlam of shells that found and slammed into the Calliope.
Aboard the command plane, Kazim stared in shock at the unexpected attack. Then he flew into a rage.
"Who told the Captain of that gunboat to open fire?" he demanded.
Cheik looked stunned. "He must have taken it upon himself."
"Order him to cease fire, immediately. I want that boat intact and undamaged."
"Yes, sir," Cheik acknowledged, jumping from his chair and rushing to the communications cabin of the aircraft.
"Idiot!" Kazim snapped, his face twisted in anger. "My orders were explicit. No battle unless I so ordered. I want the Captain and his ship's officers executed for disobeying my command."
Foreign Minister Messaoud Djerma stared at Kazim in disapproval. "Those are harsh measures--"
Kazim cut Djerma off with a withering stare. "Not for those who are disloyal."
Djerma shrank from the murderous gaze of his superior. No man with a wife and family dared face up to Kazim. Those who questioned the General's demands disappeared as though they never existed.
Very slowly Kazim's eyes turned from Djerma and refocused on the action taking place on the river.
The vicious tracers, glowing weirdly in the desert blackness, streaked across the water, at first swinging wildly to the port of the Calliope. It sounded as if a dozen guns were blazing at once. Waterspouts thrashed the water like hail.
Then the aim of the gunners steadied and became deadly as the fiery shells walked across the river and began thudding into the now defenseless boat at almost point-blank range. Jagged holes appeared in the bow and foredeck; the shells would have traveled the interior length of the unarmored boat if they hadn't been absorbed by spare coils of nylon line and deflected by the anchor chain in the forecastle.
There was no time to avoid the initial barrage, barely time to react. Caught totally off balance, Pitt instinctively crouched and in the same movement desperately spun the wheel to avert the devastating fire. The Calliope responded and shot clear for a few moments until the gunners corrected and the orange, searing flashes skipped across the river and found the high-speed craft again, ripping the steel hull and shattering the fiberglass superstructure. The thud of the impacts sounded like the tire of a speeding car thumping over highway centerline reflectors.
Smoke and flame leaped from the holes torn in the forecastle where the tracers had fired the coils of line. The instrument panel shattered and exploded around Pitt. Miraculously, he wasn't hit by the shell, but he faintly felt a trickle of liquid down his cheek. He cursed his stupidity in thinking the Malians wouldn't destroy the Calliope. He deeply regretted having Giordino remove the missiles from their launchers and secure them to the fuel tanks. One shell into the engine room and they would all be blown into unidentifiable morsels for the fish.
He was so close to the gunboat now, if he had looked, he could have read the orange dial of his old Doxa dive watch from the muzzle flashes.
He cranked the wheel savagely, swerving the riddled yacht around the gunboat's bow with less than 2 meters to spare. And then he was past, the avalanching slab of water from the sport yacht's wash pitching the gunboat into a rolling motion that threw off the aim of the gunners and sent their shells whistling harmlessly into the night.
And then, quite suddenly, the continuous blast from the gunboat's cannon stopped. Pitt did not bother to fathom the reason for the reprieve. He maintained a zigzag course until the gunboat was left far behind in the darkness. Only when he was sure they were in the clear and the still functioning radar unit showed no indication of attacking aircraft did he relax and exhale his breath in welcome relief.
Giordino appeared beside him, concern on his face. "You okay?"
"Mad at myself for playing a sucker. How about you and Rudi?"
"A few bruises from being thrown around by your lousy driving. Rudi received a nasty knot on his head when he was knocked flat during a hard turn, but it hasn't stopped him from fighting the fire in the bow."
"He's a tough little guy."
Giordino raised a flashlight and shined it on Pitt's face. "Did you know you have a piece of glass sticking out of your ugly mug?"
Pitt raised one hand from the wheel and tenderly touched a small piece of glass from a gauge that was embedded in his cheek. "You can see it better than I can. Pull it out."
Giordino slipped the butt end of the flashlight between his teeth, pointed the beam at Pitt's wound, and gently took hold of the glass shard between his forefinger and thumb. Then with a quick jerk, he yanked it free. "Bigger than I thou
ght," he commented offhandedly. He threw the glass overboard and retrieved a first aid kit from a cockpit cabinet. Three stitches and a bandage later, while Pitt kept his eyes on the instruments and the river, Giordino stood back and admired his handiwork. "There you go. Another brilliant operation in the continuing saga of Dr. Albert Giordino, desert surgeon."
"What's your next great moment in medicine?" Pitt asked as he spied a dim yellow glow from a lantern and slewed the Calliope into a wide arc, just missing a pinnace sailing in the dark.
"Why, presenting the bill, of course."
"I'll mail you a check."
Gunn appeared from below, holding a cube of ice against a blossoming bump on the back of his head. "It's going to break the Admiral's heart when he hears what we did to his boat."
"Down deep, I don't think he ever expected to see her again," Giordino prophesied.
"Fire out?" Pitt asked Gunn.
"Still smoldering, but I'll give it another shot from an extinguisher after I breathe the smoke out of my lungs."
"Any leaks below?"
Gunn shook his head. "Most of the hits we took were topside. None below the waterline. The bilge is dry."
"Are the aircraft still in the neighborhood? The radar only shows one."
Giordino tilted his head at the sky. "The big one is still giving us the eye," he confirmed. "Too dark to make out the fighters, and they're out of earshot, but my old bones tell me they're hanging around."
"How far to Gao?" asked Gunn.
"About 75 or 80 kilometers," Pitt estimated. "Even at this speed we won't see the city's lights for another hour or more."
"Providing those characters up there leave us alone," Giordino said, his voice raised two octaves to overcome the wind and exhaust.
Gunn pointed to the portable radio that rested on a counter shelf. "Might help if we strung them along."
Pitt smiled in the darkness. "Yes, I think it's time we take calls."
"Why not?" Giordino went along. "I'm curious to hear what they have to say."
"Talking to them might buy us the time we need to reach Gao," advised Gunn. "We've a fair way to go."
Pitt turned the helm over to Giordino, tuned up the volume on the portable radio's speaker so they could all hear above the roar, and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Good evening," he answered pleasantly. "How may I help you?"
There was a short pause. Then a voice replied in French.
"I hate this," muttered Giordino.
Pitt stared up at the plane as he spoke. "Non parley vous francais."
Gunn wrinkled his brows. "Do you know what you said?"
Pitt looked at him innocently. "I informed him I can't speak French."
"Vous is you," Gunn lectured him. "You just told him, he can't speak French."
"Whoever he is will get the drift."
The voice crackled through the speaker again. "I understand English."
"That's helpful," Pitt replied. "Go ahead."
"Identify yourself."
"You first."
"Very well, I am General Zateb Kazim, Chief of the Mali Supreme Military Council."
At the reply Pitt turned and looked at Giordino and Gunn. "The big man himself."
"I've always wanted to be recognized by a celebrity," Giordino said with heavy sarcasm. "Never thought it would happen in the middle of nowhere."
"Identify yourself," Kazim repeated. "Are you commanding an American vessel?"
"Edward Teach, Captain of the Queen Anne's Revenge."
"I attended university at Princeton," Kazim replied dryly. "I am quite familiar with Blackbeard the pirate. Please cease with the satire and surrender your ship."
"And if I have other plans?"
"You and your crew will be destroyed by Malian Air Force fighter-bombers."
"If they don't shoot any better than your navy gunboats," Pitt needled Kazim, "we haven't a care in the world."
"Do not toy with me," Kazim said, his tone suddenly viperous. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my country?"
"You might say we're down-home folks on a little fishing trip."
"Stop and surrender your vessel immediately!" Kazim spat.
No, I don't think I will," Pitt answered cavalierly.
"You and your crew will surely die if you do not."
"Then you will lose a boat like no other in the world. A one of a kind. I assume you have an idea of what she's capable of."
There was a long silence, and Pitt knew that his long shot had struck home.
"I've read the reports of your little altercation with my late friend, Admiral Matabu. I am fully versed on your boat's firepower."
"Then you know we could have blasted your gunboat to the bottom of the river."
"I regret that they fired on you against my orders."
"We can also knock your lumbering command plane out of the sky," Pitt bluffed.
Kazim was not mentally deficient. He had already considered that event. "I die, you die. What is the percentage in that?"
"Give me some time to think that over, say until we reach Gao."
"I'm a generous man," Kazim said with unaccustomed patience. "But at Gao you will cease headway and bring your boat alongside the city's ferry dock. If you persist in your foolish attempt to escape, my air force will put you in infidel hell."
"I understand, General. You make our choice crystal clear." Pitt flicked off the radio transmit switch and grinned from ear to ear. "I just love it when I make a good deal."
The lights of Gao bloomed in the darkness, less than 5 kilometers ahead. Pitt took the wheel from Giordino and motioned at Gunn. "Get set to hit the water, Rudi."
Gunn peered hesitantly at the white water swirling past at nearly 75 knots. "Not at this speed, I won't."
"Not to worry," Pitt eased his mind. "I'll make a sudden cut down to 10 knots. You slip over the side opposite the aircraft. Soon as you're away, I'll crank her up again." Then to Giordino, "Sweet talk Kazim. Keep him occupied."
Giordino lifted the radio and spoke in a muffled tone. "Could you repeat your terms, General?"
"Stop your senseless attempt at escape, turn over your vessel at Gao, and you live. Those are the terms."
As Kazim talked, Pitt edged the Calliope closer to the shore of the river that held the town. The tension in the cockpit and his anxiety increased, a tension that spread to his three friends. He reasoned that Gunn had to go in before the lights of Gao revealed him in the black water by their reflection. And he had cause to be anxious. The game was to keep the Maligns from becoming suspicious by his deceptive maneuver. The depth-sounder showed the bottom was coming up fast. He yanked the throttles back, lurching the Calliope's bow deep into the water. The speed fell off so quickly that he was thrown forward against the cockpit counter.
"Now!" Pitt yelled at Gunn. "Go for it and good luck."
Without a word of farewell, the little scientist from NUMA tightly clutched the straps to his backpack and rolled over the railing out of sight. Almost instantly, Pitt shoved the throttles to their stops again.
Giordino stared out over the stern, but Gunn was completely lost in the black river. Satisfied his friend was safely swimming across the 50 meters of water separating the bank from the boat, he turned back and calmly continued his conversation with General Kazim.
"If you promise us safe passage out of your country, the boat is yours, or what's left of it after your gunboat mangled it."
Kazim indicated no suspicion of the brief pause in the Calliope's velocity through the water. "I accept," he purred, fooling nobody.
"We have no wish to die in a hail of gunfire in a polluted river."
"A wise choice," replied Kazim. The words came formal and civil, but the hostility, the triumph were apparent in his tone. "Indeed there are no options for you to do anything else."
Pitt had a sinking feeling he had overplayed his hand. There was little doubt in his mind, or in Giordino's mind too, that Kazim meant to kill them and throw their bodies to the vultures. Th
ey had one shot at diverting the Maligns from Gunn, one shot at staying alive, but the odds were slim, so low in fact that no self-respecting gambler would waste a cheap bet on them.
His plan, if it could subtly be called that, would buy them a few hours time, nothing more. He began to curse his folly for thinking they might get away with it.
But a moment later, salvation, unexpected and unimagined, appeared through the night.
<<20>>
Giordino tapped Pitt's shoulder and pointed down the river. "That blaze of lights off the starboard bow, that's the jazzy houseboat I told you about. The one we passed earlier. It's decked out like a billionaire's yacht, complete with helicopter and a bevy of friendly women."
Treasure / Dragon / Sahara: Clive Cussler Gift Set Page 19