White Death

34

THE EUROCOPTER CARRYING Austin, Zavala, Ben Nighthawk and the two Basques lifted off the Navarras heli- copter pad and wheeled above the yacht in a big circle. Minutes later, the SeaCobra joined the circling chopper. Flying side by side, the choppers headed west toward the afternoon sun.

From his seat next to the pilot, Austin had a clear view of the Sea- Cobra's lethal silhouette pacing the Eurocopter a few hundred feet away. The combat helicopter carried enough weaponry to level a small city. Austin was under no illusions. Oceanus would be no pushover.

Cruising at a speed of one hundred twenty-five knots, the heli- copters soon passed over a rocky shoreline and left the sea behind them. They were traveling over a dense forest of fir trees, keeping a tight formation, hugging the treetops in the hope of avoiding detec- tion. Austin checked the load in his Bowen revolver, then he sat back in his seat, closed his eyes and worked through their plan in his head.

Zavala sometimes jokingly accused Austin of making things up as he went along. There was some truth to the charge. Austin knew planning could only go so far. Having grown up on and around the water, his views were colored by his nautical experiences. He knew that a mission was like sailing a boat into foul weather; when things went wrong, they really went wrong. A good sailor kept his lines clear and his bailing can handy.

He was a strong believer in the KISS principle. Keep It Simple Stupid. Since his primary goal was to get Ben's family and friends out safely, the SeaCobra couldn't just swoop down and blast away at everything in sight. Austin knew there was no such thing as a surgi- cal strike. The chopper's armament would have to be used sparingly, a fact which neutered its fearsome capability. He furrowed his brow at the wild card that fanatical idiot Marcus Ryan had dealt him.

Austin didn't need his fondness for Therri Weld to cloud his judg- ment.

The Eurocopter's engine changed pitch as the aircraft cut speed and came to a hover over the forest. Ben, who was sitting behind Austin with Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers, was signaling the pilot to descend. The pilot shook his head and insisted that there was no place to land.

Pablo glanced out the window. "Do you trust the Indian?" Austin checked the landing zone. Visibility was restricted, and he could see nothing but dark greenery in the lowering sun. They were now in Ben Nighthawk's backyard. "This is his country, not mine.

Pablo nodded, then barked in Spanish at the pilot, who muttered to himself and radioed the other helicopter of his plans to land. The SeaCobra peeled off and flew a back-and-forth pattern over the woods, using its infrared detectors to see if there were any warm bodies lurking in the vicinity. Detecting no sign of human life, the SeaCobra gave the okay to land.

The Eurocopter sank into the forest. No one except Ben would have been surprised to hear the rotors shred themselves in an unequal match with the sturdy tree trunks. But the only sound was a crackle and snap of thin branches and the soft thump of the skids hitting the around. Ben's sharp eyes had seen what the others had not, that what appeared to be thick forest was in reality a cleared area overgrown with heavy underbrush. The SeaCobra dropped down a short dis- tance away.

Austin let out the breath he had been holding and jumped from the chopper with Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers right behind him. They ducked into a combat crouch with guns at the ready, de- spite the infrared sweep. As the rotors spun to a stop, a silence so com- plete that it seemed to have substance settled on them. Ben climbed out of the chopper and glanced at the upheld machine rifles.

"You won't find anyone here," he said. "This place hasn't been used since I was a kid. There's a river over there through the trees." He pointed to some ramshackle buildings that were barely visible in the dusky light. "That's the bunkhouse and the sawmill. It's a bad- luck place. My father said they had lots of accidents. They built a new camp downriver where they could float the logs to market quicker."

Austin had more temporal things on his mind. "The light's fad- ing. We'd better get moving."

They rounded up their rucksacks and broke into two groups. The NUMA men, Nighthawk and the Aguirrez brothers would be the assault group. The muscular Basques moved with an air of assurance that suggested they were no strangers to clandestine missions.

The two pilots, who were also heavily armed, would wait for a call to provide backup. Ben led the way into the forest, and they went from dusk to darkness the second they were under the trees. Each man except the last in line carried a small halogen flashlight, which they held beam-pointed-down as they followed Ben, who moved through the woods as silently and as swiftly as a woodland wraith. They traveled between a walk and a trot for several miles, making good time on the soft carpet of pine needles, until Ben finally called a halt. They stood in the piney darkness, panting with exertion, sweat pouring down their faces.

Ben cocked his ear, listening. After a moment, he said, "We're less than a mile away."

Zavala slipped the shotgun off his shoulder. "Time to make sure our powder is dry."

"Don't worry about the guards," Ben said. "They're all on the lakeside. Nobody would expect us to come in this way."

"Why not?" Zavala replied.

"You'll see. Make sure you don't get ahead of me," Nighthawk said, and without another word, he pushed on. Ten minutes later, Ben slowed his pace to a walk. Advising them to proceed with care, he brought the group to an abrupt halt at the edge of a chasm. Austin flashed his light on the steep vertical walls, then pointed it downward toward the sound of rushing water. The beam exhausted itself before reaching the river far below.

"I think I know why there are no guards on this side," Zavala said. "We took a wrong turn and ended up on the north rim of the Grand Canyon."

"This is called 'Dead Man's Leap,' " Ben said. "The people around here aren't very original when it comes to naming things." "They make their point well enough," Austin said.

Zavala looked to the right and the left. "Can we detour around this little ditch?"

"We'd have to travel another ten miles through thick forest," Ben said. "This is the narrowest point. The lake is a half mile from here." "I remember an Indiana Jones movie where they crossed a chasm on an invisible bridge," Zavala said.

"Ask and you shall receive," Austin said, as he removed his back- pack. He unsnapped the flap and pulled out a coil of nylon rope and a compact folding grapnel.

Zavala's eyes widened. "You never cease to amaze me, amigo. Here I was thinking I was well prepared because I brought a Swiss army knife with the corkscrew. I'll bet you have a bottle of fine wine in your little baggie as well."

Austin produced a pulley and rappelling harness. "Before you nominate me for a Boy Scout merit badge, I should confess that Ben told me we'd have to cross this moat before we scaled the castle walls."

Austin warned everyone to give him room. He stepped danger- ously close to the rim, whirled the grapnel over his head and let it fly. The first try fell short and clanged against the chasm wall. Two other tosses landed on the other side but failed to hook on. On the fourth throw, the hooks wedged into a cleft between some rocks. Austin be- layed the other end of the rope to a tree and tested his weight to see if the grapnel would hold. Then he attached the pulley and rap- pelling harness to the rope, took a deep breath and stepped out into space.

By the time he reached the other side, he seemed to be moving at Mach 2. A clump of bushes cushioned his landing. Using a retrieval line, Zavala pulled the pulley back, attached Austin's backpack and sent it over. After the rest of their gear was transported the same way, Zavala and Ben made the next crossing, then the two Basques followed.

They gathered up their packs and kept on moving through the woods until they began to see will-o'-the-wisp lights sprinkled among the trees like the campfires of a gypsy encampment. They could hear the muffled sounds of machinery.

Ben brought them to a halt. "Now you can worry about the guards," he whispered.

Zavala and the Basques slipped their weapons off their shoulders and Austin loosened the flap on his belt holster. He had studied the satellite photos of the complex, trying to glean the layout as best he could even without the dome. Ben had helped fill in the gaps.

The zeppelin dome lay a short distance from the lake, surrounded by a network of paved walkways and roads that connected several smaller buildings hidden in the woods. He asked Ben to take him to where he saw the dome. While the others waited, the Indian led the way through the woods to the edge of a tarmac path that was lit by low-intensity, ankle-high lights. Seeing that the way was clear, they quickly crossed the tarred path into another patch of woods.

At one point, Ben stopped, then raised his hands like a sleepwalker and began to move toward the trees barring their way. He stopped again and whispered for Austin to do the same. Austin followed with arms outstretched until his hands were about to touch the shadowy tree trunks. But instead of rough bark, his palm encountered a smooth, cold surface. He put his ear against the exterior and heard a low humming. He backed off and saw the tree trunks again. Adap- tive camouflage has a great future, he thought.

He and Ben quickly retraced their path and rejoined the others. Austin suggested that they investigate the outbuildings. They would regroup in fifteen minutes.

"Don't take any wooden Eskimo pies," Zavala said, as he slipped away into the darkness.

Pablo hesitated. "What if we're discovered?"

"If you can do so quietly, neutralize anyone who sees you," Austin said. "If not, and all hell breaks loose, escape the way we came."

"What about me?" Ben asked. "You've done enough leading us here. Take a rest."

"I can't rest until my family is safe." Austin didn't blame Ben for wanting to find his family. "Stay close behind me." He drew his Bowen from its holster and waited until the others had melted into the darkness. Then he motioned for Ben to follow, and they struck off along the pathway, sacrificing the cover of the woods for speed.

They could hear activity from the direction of the lake, but the way was clear, and before long, they came across a long, low building. It was unguarded.

"Shall we?" Austin said to Ben. They stepped inside. The build- ing was only a storage warehouse. They made a quick inspection and headed back to the rendezvous. Zavala showed up a few min- utes later.

"We checked out a warehouse," Austin said. "Did you find any- thing exciting?"

"I wish I hadnt Zavala said. "I'm swearing off fish and chips forever. I think I hit the Frankenfish mother lode."

' He described the strange, deformed creatures that he had seen in the building he'd investigated. It took a lot to disrupt Zavala's natu- ral calm, but from the tone of his voice, he was clearly rattled by the mutant monsters in the fish tanks. "Sounds like the things in your finny freak show constitute the prototype models," Austin said.

He stopped talking at a soft rustling in the woods. It was only Pablo returning. He said that he had found what looked like an empty garage. Inside there were signs of human habitation, scraps of food, slop buckets and blankets that might have been used to sleep on. He handed Austin an object that made Austin's jaw go hard. It was a child's doll.

They waited for Diego to appear, and when he did show up, they saw why he was late. He was bent low, carrying a heavy burden across his shoulders. He stood up, and an unconscious guard crashed to the ground. "You said to neutralize anyone who got in the way, but I thought this pig might be more useful alive."

"Where did you find him?"

"He was in a barracks for the guards. Maybe one or two hundred bunks. This thing was taking a siesta."

"Bet it's the last time he sleeps on the job," Austin said. He got down on one knee and flashed his light in the guard's face. The high cheekbones and wide mouth were indistinguishable from the other guards he had seen, except that he had a bruised forehead. Austin stood and unscrewed the top of a canteen. He took a sip, then poured water onto the guard's face. The heavy features stirred and the eyes fluttered open. They widened when they saw the guns pointed at his head.

"Where are the prisoners?" Austin said. He held the doll out so the guard could see what he wanted.

The man's lips spread wide in a mirthless grin, and the dark eyes seemed to glow like fanned coals. He snarled something in an in- comprehensible language. Diego added a little persuasion, putting his boot on the man's crotch and placing the muzzle between the fierce eyes. The grin vanished, but it was clear to Austin that the guard was bound by a fanaticism that would withstand all the threats and pain that could be brought to bear.

Diego saw that he was getting nowhere, and switched around, putting his foot on the man's face and his gun jammed into the man s crotch. The man's eyes widened and he mumbled something in his language.

"Speak English," Diego said, and jammed the gun harder. The guard caught his breath. "The lake," he gasped. "In the lake." Diego smiled. "Even a pig wants to keep his cojones he said. He removed the gun, turned it around and slammed the butt down. There was a sickening hollow sound, and the guard's head lolled like that of the doll still clutched in Austin's hand.

Austin flinched, but he had no sympathy for the guard. He was too busy pondering the frightful possibilities for the prisoners. "Sweet dreams," he said with a shrug. "Lead the way," Pablo said.

"Since we're slightly outnumbered, this may be a good time to call in the reserves," Zavala said.

Pablo undipped the radio from his belt and ordered the SeaCo- bra pilot to hover a mile away. Austin tucked the doll inside his shirt. Then, with the others following, he hurried in the direction of the lake, determined to return the doll to its rightful owner.