White Death

36

AUSTIN HAD LED his ragtag assault group through the woods, skirting the darkened plaza, using the dimly lit footpath visible through the trees as a rough guide. He moved slowly and with great deliberation, making sure his path was free of twigs and branches before he put his full weight on his advancing foot.

The slow pace was maddening, but while they had seen no one since encountering the guard, Austin had the creepy feeling that they were not alone. His instincts were vindicated when the airship dome lit up like a giant lightbulb and a low roar arose from the plaza.

Austin and the others froze like living statues. Then a delayed re- action set in and they hit the ground belly-first, their weapons cocked and ready to repel an assault. The hail of bullets they expected never came. Instead, the roar grew in intensity and volume and flowed around them in a vast rushing river of sound. The noise came from the mouths of hundreds ofKiolya men, their broad, upturned faces cast in bluish light, zombie eyes transfixed on Barker, who stood on a raised dais in front of the dome.

Then came the monotonous chorus of a dozen tom-toms ringinp- in the plaza, and the crowd began to chant:

"Toonook… Toonook… Toonook…"

Barker bathed in the adulation, letting it wash over him, drink- ing it in as if it were an elixir before he raised his arms to the sky. Then the chanting and the drumbeat stopped as if a switch had been pulled. Barker began to speak in a strange tongue that had its origins beyond the far reaches of the aurora borealis. He started speaking slowly, his voice growing in power.

Zavala crawled up beside Austin. "What's going on?"

"Looks like our friend is having a high school pep rally."

"Ugh. Those cheerleaders wouldn't win any beauty contests," Zavala said.

Austin stared through the trees, mesmerized by the barbaric spec- tacle. As Ben had said, the dome actually did resemble a huge igloo. Barker was doing them a favor by whipping his gang of cutthroats into a murderous frenzy. With all its attention focused on their leader, Barker's private army would hardly notice a handful of intruders sneaking through the woods. Austin scrambled to his feet and sig- naled to the others to do the same. Crouching low, they made their way through the forest until at last they broke into the open at the edge of the lake.

The area around the dock seemed to be deserted. Austin assumed that all of Barker's men had been summoned back to the big igloo for their leader's command performance. He wasn't about to take any chances, though. The shed near the dock was large enough to har- bor dozens of assassins. He edged along one side of the building and peered around the corner. The shed's twin doors facing the water were wide open, as if the last person out had been in a hurry.

With Zavala and the Basques keeping watch, Austin stepped in- side and flashed his light around. The shed was empty, except for some lines, anchors, buoys and other boating paraphernalia. After a quick glance around, he was about to leave, when Ben, who had fol- lowed him inside, said, "Wait."

The Indian pointed to the concrete floor. All Austin saw were mounds of dirt tracked in by those using the building. Ben got down on one knee, and with his finger, traced the small footprint of a child. Austin's eyes hardened, and he strode back outside to find Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers staring at some lights that were moving in the lake. Austin thought he heard the sound of a motor. He couldn't be sure, because the sound of Barker's voice was still being carried on the wind. He reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of night- vision goggles, which he put to his eyes. "It's some sort of boat. Square-built with low sides."

He handed the goggles to Ben, who peered through the lenses and said, "That's the catamaran I saw the first time I was here."

"I don't recall you mentioning it."

"Sorry. There was so much happening that night. When Josh Green and I brought my canoe in, we saw it tied up to the dock. Didn't seem important at the time."

"It could be very important. Tell me about it."

Ben shrugged. "I'd say it was more than fifty feet long. Kind of a barge, but with a catamaran hull. A conveyor belt a couple of yards across ran down the center from a big bin at the bow back to the stern, which slopes down. We figured it was used to feed the fish."

"Feed the fish," Austin murmured.

"You remember what I told you about the fish cages I saw."

Austin wasn't thinking about fish in cages. Ben's words had con- jured up the Mafia cliche associated with concrete overshoes and a trip to the bottom of the East River. He cursed as he recalled the nasty habit that had got the Kiolya in trouble with its neighbor tribes. Barker had cooked up a mass human sacrifice to go along with his send-off.

Austin trotted to the end of the dock. He stopped and squinted through the night-vision goggles again. With Ben's description run- ning through his mind, he had a better understanding of what he was seeing. The low-slung craft was moving slowly and had almost reached the middle of the lake. In the illumination cast by the run- ning lights, he could see people moving around the deck. He couldn't tell what they were up to, but he had a good idea.

Pablo had followed him. "What is it?" he said, looking out at the lights reflected in the water.

"Trouble," Austin replied. "Call in the SeaCobra."

Pablo undipped the radio from his belt and barked an order in Spanish.

"They're on their way," he said. "What do you want them to do when they get here?"

"Tell them to thaw out that big igloo for starters."

Pablo smiled and relayed the order.

Austin called Zavala over and they talked briefly. While Zavala set off along the pier, Austin got the others together. "I want you to head for Ben's village on the far side of the lake. Wait for us there. If things get too hot after the fireworks start, lose yourselves in the woods."

"Are those my people out there on the barge?" Ben said anxiously.

"I think so. Joe and I will take a closer look."

I want to go.

"I know you do. But we're going to need your knowledge of the forest to get us out of here." Seeing the stubborn set to Ben's jaw, he added: "The danger to your people becomes greater with every sec- ond we spend talking."

The rumble of a motor came from where Zavala had been at work on one of the boats tied up at the dock. Barker's men had taken no chances after Bens last visit, and there were no keys left in the igni- tion, but Zavala could take a marine engine apart in his sleep. Mo- ments later, the husky power plant of a Jet Ski could be heard purring. Zavala came back to where the others were standing. "I knew my Swiss army knife would come in handy," he said.

Austin glanced anxiously out into the lake, then climbed down from the pier onto the Jet Ski. Zavala got on behind to ride shotgun, literally. Austin pushed off from the pier and twisted the throttle, and seconds later, the Jet Ski was scudding across the lake at fifty miles per hour in pursuit of the distant lights.

Austin was ambivalent about personal watercraft. They were noisy polluters with no purpose beyond disturbing beachgoers, wildlife and sailboats. At the same time, he had to admit, riding a Jet Ski was like tearing around on a waterborne motorcycle. Within minutes, he could see the outlines of the catamaran without the use of the night goggles. The barge seemed to have stopped. Those aboard the craft heard the sound of the fast-approaching watercraft and saw the foamy rooster tail it was creating in its wake. A spotlight blinked on.

Temporarily blinded by the bright light, Austin ducked low over the handlebars, knowing that his reaction came too late. He had hoped to get close to the barge before being discovered. Even the shortest glimpse of his Caucasian features and pale hair would have identified him as a stranger, and by definition, as the enemy. He put the Jet Ski into a sharp turn that kicked up a wall of foam. The light found them within seconds. Austin swerved in the opposite direction, not knowing how long he could keep up the water acrobatics, or even if the slalom turns would do any good. He yelled over his shoulder.

"Can you douse that light?"

"Keep this thing steady and I will," Zavala shouted back.

Austin obliged by slowing the Jet Ski and putting it broadside to the catamaran. He knew he was giving those on board an easy shot but felt he had to risk it. Zavala raised his shotgun to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed. The light stayed on, and the beam found them again. Ears still ringing from the first blast, Austin felt rather than heard the second shot. The light blinked out.

The men on the boat broke out their flashlights. Soon, thin beams probed the darkness, and Austin could hear the rattle and snap of small-arms fire. By then, he was outside the range of the lights, keep- ing the Jet Ski at a low speed so its wake wouldn't be so obvious. They could hear the bullets ripping up nearby sections of water. The cata- maran had pulled anchor and was moving again.

Austin was certain that the encounter had not delayed the evil task of those on board, but only hastened it. He suspected that if he tried to pull the boat over like a traffic cop, he and Zavala would end up with more holes than a sieve. Precious seconds went by as he scoured his brains. He recalled what Ben had said about the cata- maran, and an idea came to him. He outlined his plan to Zavala. 'I'm starting to worry," Zavala said. 'I don't blame you. I know it's risky."

'You don't understand. I like the plan. That's what worries me." 'I'll make an appointment with a NUMA shrink when we get back. See if you can soften up the opposition in the meantime."

Zavala nodded and leveled his shotgun at a figure of a man who had the bad judgment to stand where he was silhouetted by the run- ning lights. The shotgun thundered and the man threw his arms up and disappeared from view like a duck in a shooting gallery.

Austin throttled up, and seconds later, when a fusillade from the boat lacerated the surface of the lake, he was well away from the spot. The shotgun thundered and another body toppled over. The men aboard the barge finally figured out that they were easy targets and doused the running lights. It was exactly the reaction Austin had counted on.

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, leaving 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.