White Death by Clive Cussler
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
“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.
NUMA 4 - White Death
35
WHEN THE GUARDS had burst into the garage prison brandishing truncheons, Marcus Ryan was huddled with Jesse Nighthawk. He had been probing the Indian's knowledge of the forest so that he could put together an escape plan. Ryan's hopes were dashed as the guards, at least two dozen of them, clubbed the pris- oners at random. Most of the Indians were used to the sporadic beat- ings aimed to discourage resistance, and they cowered against the far wall. But Ryan was slow to move, and blows rained down on his shoulders and head.
Therri had been playing with a little girl named Rachael, when the door burst open and the makeshift prison was suddenly filled with shouts and swinging clubs. Rachael was about five years old, the youngest child in the group, and like many of the villagers, she was part of Ben's extended family. Therri stepped between one of the at- tackers and the little girl, and braced herself for the blow to come. The guard froze, confused at the unexpected show of defiance. Then he laughed and lowered his upraised club. He glared at Therri with pitiless eyes. “For that, you and the girl will go first.”
He called out to one of his companions, who grabbed Therri by the hair. She was pushed facedown onto the floor, and a club was pressed across the back of her neck. Her hands were bound behind her back with wire that cut painfully into her wrists. Then she was pulled to her feet and saw Marcus and Chuck, whose heads were bloodied from the club blows.
When all the prisoners had been trussed like hogs, the guards herded them through the doorway and marched them through the woods. They walked through the woods for several minutes, until the dull sheen of the lake was visible through the trees. Although it seemed like several days, only a few hours had passed since they had been captured.
They were shoved into a shed near the lake and left alone. They stood in the darkened building, the children whimpering, the older people trying to comfort the younger ones with their stoic attitude. The fear of the unknown was even more torturous than being beaten. Then there was a commotion at the door, which opened to admit Barker, surrounded by a contingent of his inscrutable guards. He had removed his sunglasses, and Therri saw the strangely pale eyes for the first time. They were the color of a rattlesnake belly, she thought. Some of the guards carried blazing torches, and Barker's eyes seemed to glitter in the flickering light. His face was wreathed in a satanic smile.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, with the geniality of a tour guide. “Thank you for coming. Within a few minutes, I will rise high above this place on the first phase of a journey into the fu- ture. I wish to thank you all for helping to get this project launched. To those of you from SOS, I wish you'd been in my hands earlier, so that by the sweat of your labor you would come to appreciate the bril- liance of this plan.”
Ryan had regained his composure. “Cut the crap. What do you in- tend to do with us?”
Barker surveyed Ryan's bloodied face as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Why, Mr. Ryan, you're looking a little rumpled these days. Not your usual blow-dried self.”
“You haven't answered my question.”
“To the contrary, I answered it when you were first brought to me. I said you and your friends would remain alive as long as I found you useful.” He smiled again. “I no longer find you useful. I'm having the air dome lit up for your entertainment. It will be the last thing your dying brain will record.”
The words chilled Therri to the bone. “What about the children?” she said.
“What about them?” Barker's icy gaze swept the prisoners as ifj
surveying cattle being led to slaughter. “Do you think I care for any one of you, young or old? You are nothing more to me than snow- flakes. You'll all be forgotten once the world learns that an insignif- icant Eskimo tribe controls a significant portion of the ocean. Sorry I can't stay. Our timetable is very precise.”
He spun on his heel and disappeared into the night. The prison- ers were rounded up and herded outside and toward the lake. Mo- ments later, their steps echoed on the long wooden pier. The dock was in darkness, except for the lights on what looked like a barge, only with a catamaran hull. As they moved closer, Therri saw that a con- veyor belt, flush with the deck, led from a bin in the bow to a wide chute at the stern end. She surmised that the strange craft must be used as a moveable feeding station. The feed went into the bin, and was transported via the belt and dumped into the fish cages through the chute. An awful thought came to her, and she yelled a warning:
“They're going to drown us!”
Marcus and Chuck had seen the barge as well, and at her words, they struggled against their captors. All they got for their trouble were club blows that took the fight out of them. Rough hands grabbed Therri and pushed her onto the barge. She stumbled and crashed onto the deck. She managed to twist her body so that she didn't come down face first on the hard surface, and most of the shock was absorbed at great painful cost by her right arm. Her knee hurt like hell, too. She didn't have time to dwell on her injuries. Duct tape was slapped across her mouth so she couldn't cry out. Then her ankles were bound, a heavy weight was tied onto her wrist bindings, and she was dragged along to the end of the barge and stretched crosswise across the belt.
She felt another, smaller body against hers. She looked over, and to her horror she saw that the next victim in line was Rachael, the lit- tle girl she had befriended. Then came the SOS men and the other prisoners. The preparations for multiple murder went on until all the prisoners were laid across the belt like cordwood. Then the barge's inboard motors rumbled into life.
The lines were cast off the pier and the barge began to move. Therri couldn't see where they were going, but she managed to turn to face the child and tried to comfort the girl with her eyes, although she was sure they were filled with terror. In the distance, she could see the light from the dome rising above the trees, as Barker had promised. She vowed that if she ever got the chance, she would kill him personally.
The motors went for only a short while, then they cut out and there was the splash of an anchor in the water. Therri struggled against her bindings, to no avail. She tensed, prep
NUMA 4 - 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.