White Death nf-4 Page 12

  Using the pry bar, Austin sprung the lock as quietly as possible and pushed the door open. In the dim interior light, he saw that the tanks were twice the size of those he'd seen earlier, and there were half as many. Something about the place bothered him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. For the first time since he'd begun his explorations, his skin began to crawl.

  He wasn't alone in the building. A single guard was strolling around the perimeter of the tanks. He timed the guard, waited until he was at the far end of his patrol, then set the pry bar down, climbed a ladder up the side of the nearest tank and peered over the edge.

  The smell offish was even stronger than the odor emanating from the smaller tanks in the other buildings. He leaned over and heard the soft swish of swirling water. The tank was occupied. He pointed the flashlight to see what was inside, and the water exploded. There was a blurry flash of white and a gaping mouth lined with sharp teeth. Austin jerked back in reflex. Something wet and slimy grazed his head. He lost his hold and fell off the ladder. His flailing hands grabbed a section of plastic hose, breaking it, and he crashed to the concrete floor. Water poured from the broken hose. He scrambled to his feet, and through dazed eyes he saw a red light flashing above the tank. He swore to himself. The systems failure had set off an alarm.

  The guard had heard the ruckus and was running his way. Austin ducked into a space between two tanks, nearly tripping on a stack of metal pipe. The guard ran past Austin and stopped when he saw the gushing water. Austin picked up a short length of metal pipe and stepped out behind the guard. The man must have sensed Austin's presence. He half-turned and went to unsling his rifle, but the pipe came down on his head and he crumpled to the floor.

  With the immediate threat disposed of, Austin's first instinct was to cut and run, but he decided to create a diversion first. Wielding the pipe as a sledgehammer, he methodically smashed several plastic pipe assemblies. Red alarm lights blinked over several tanks now, and water from the damaged pipes poured onto the floor and created a river.

  Austin splashed through the puddles toward the door. The rush of water had drowned out other sounds, and he didn't hear the pounding footsteps of a second man. They met at an intersection be- tween two lines of tanks, almost crashing into each other like a cou- ple of circus clowns. The comic aspect was intensified when they both slipped and went down. But Austin had no reason to laugh when the man sprang to his feet and yanked a pistol from a holster at his belt.

  Austin swung the pipe as he rose to a standing position, and the pistol went flying. The man's eyes widened with surprise at Austin's quickness. He reached under the shirt of his black uniform and pulled out a knife with a long blade made from a hard white mate- rial. He stepped back, taking up a defensive position. In that second instant, Austin had a chance to study his opponent.

  The man was about a head shorter than Austin. His head seemed to sit directly on muscular shoulders that hinted at the power in the squat body. Like the guards, he had a wide, round face with bangs, and almond-shaped eyes that were as black and hard as obsidian. Vertical tattoos decorated his high cheekbones. Beneath the flat nose were wide, fleshy lips. He spread that mouth in a toothy smile, but there was no mirth in it, only cruelty.

  Austin was in no mood for a smiling contest. Time was not on his side. More guards could show up at any second. He couldn't retreat. He had to dispatch this obstacle and pray there weren't others. His hands tightened on the pipe. His eyes must have given away his in- tentions, because the man lunged without warning. He moved with scorpion-speed despite his thickset body. Austin felt a stinging pain on the left side of his rib cage. He had been holding the pipe like a Louisville Slugger, and the knife had slipped inside his guard. Austin felt a wetness where the blade had sliced through his sweater and shirt.

  The man's smile grew wider, and the blood-tipped knife was poised for another slashing attack. He feinted to his left. Austin re- acted with pure reflex and swung the pipe as if he were hitting a home run. There was a sickening scrunch sound as the pipe con- nected with the man's nose, crushing bone and cartilage. Blood sprayed as if from a fountain. Austin couldn't believe it! After a blow that would have felled a steer, the man was still on his feet. A dazed look came into the man's eyes, and a second later, the knife fell from his limp fingers and he collapsed to the floor.

  Austin began sprinting for the exit, but he heard shouts and ducked behind a fish tank. Several guards burst through the door and ran to- ward the blinking red lights. Austin stuck his head out and heard ex- cited voices coming from the direction of the harbor. He stepped out into the open, sprinted around the side of the building and returned to the main complex offish nurseries. With most of the attention fo- cused on the damage he had left behind him, Austin was able to make his way to the fish-food warehouse.

  Austin was relieved to see that the warehouse was still deserted. Soon he could lose himself in the labyrinth of caves. He had his hand tight against his chest, but he couldn't stanch the bleeding completely. Even worse, he was leaving a trail of blood droplets. A siren wailed in the distance. He was trotting past the forklift when a thought struck him. He was making it too easy for these guys.

  He slid into the forklift seat, started the motor, aimed the tines at a tall stack of food cartons and nailed the accelerator. The vehicle lurched forward and smashed into the boxes with enough force to topple them. The boxes crashed onto the conveyor belt and blocked the opening. He knocked over a couple more piles in front of the ac- cess and freight doors. As a finishing touch, he jammed a tine into the control box for the conveyor belt.

  Moments later, he was hurrying through the caverns. He paused in the main picture gallery and listened. He could hear yells over his own heavy breathing. An even worse sound was the barking of dogs. His crude barricade had been breached. He continued at a measured trot, following the bobbing bull's-eye of the flashlight. In his haste, he mistook one fish marker for another and lost precious moments finding his way back. The shouts and barks were louder now, and he could see the phantasmagoric glow of lights behind him. The caves amplified and echoed the voices, creating the impression that a whole army was after him.

  The stutter of an automatic weapon echoed throughout the caves. Austin dove for the floor, and a hail of bullets splattered harmlessly against the walls. He tried to ignore the searing pain of his chest wound and scrambled to his feet. Another fusillade raked the pas- sageway, but by then he was around a curve and the angled wall pro- tected him. Seconds later, he was squeezing through the last narrow passageway, then he was out and climbing down the natural staircase to the boat.

  When he tried to start the engine, it coughed. He reached down into the cold water with his right hand, cleaned the seaweed that had tangled the propeller and tried the starter again. This time, the motor responded. As he pulled away and pointed the boat toward the canal that would take him back to the Mermaid's Gate, two black-clad fig- ures climbed down to the edge of the pool. The beams from their flashlights caught him, but they also illuminated the canal opening.

  Austin aimed for the cleft and slammed against the sides of the canal, tearing off hunks of wood. He saw gray daylight ahead, and then the boat burst into the Mermaid's Gate. He snapped the wheel over. The boat made a sharp right turn toward the opening, but the slack current was ending and the devilish confluence of tides and cur- rents had returned. The boat slid sideways down the side of a wave and headed for a wood-splintering collision with the far wall, only to be saved when another billow pitched it back toward the canal opening.

  Austin gunned the throttle, trying to gain control. The boat skid- ded as if it were riding on banana peels. He gave the wheel a quick jerk to avoid crashing into a jagged outcropping that would have sliced the boat in two. The propeller tinged against an underwater ledge. He brought the boat around again, but the waves caught him in another game ofFrisbee toss. The double-ender lost headway and was pushed backward into the grotto. Austin gauged the ebb and flow of the circulating wa
ter and in desperation aimed for a V that marked a calmer area between currents.

  As the boat fishtailed toward the opening, Austin saw that he had company. His pursuers had made their way along the ledges that bordered the canal. They stood on the rocks only yards away from where he was about to pass.

  One of the men aimed his rifle at Austin, who was an easy target, but his companion pushed the barrel down. He undipped a hand grenade from his belt, tossed it lightly in the air a few times like a baseball pitcher warming up, then as Austin passed, the man pulled the pin, holding down on the lever. Austin's eyes glanced from the grenade and into the merciless face of the man who had stabbed him. His nose was a bloody pulp and streams of blood had caked on his cheeks. He must have been in terrible pain, but the face broadened into a wide grin as he leisurely lofted the grenade into Austin's boat. Then he and the other man ducked behind an outcropping of rocks and covered their ears.

  The arcing grenade clunked into the boat, landing practically at

  Austin's feet. Austin wrung the last bit of torque out of the engine. The boat planed at a sharp angle, and the grenade rolled down the deck until it lodged against the narrow transom.

  The boat burst through the arch into the open water. Choosing be- tween the devil and the deep blue sea, Austin instinctively chose the latter: A part of his brain made the choice between being blown to bits instantaneously and freezing to death in a few minutes. He launched his body off the boat.

  He plunged into the frigid water, and, a second later, heard the muffled thud of the grenade, then the fuel tanks erupted in a sec- ondary explosion. Austin stayed under as long as he could and sur- faced under a rainfall of wood splinters. The boat was gone, and he dove again to avoid the burning fuel that floated on the water's sur- face. When he came up a second time, he was numb with cold, but the survival instinct burned in his chest. He started to swim in the di- rection of land, but he had taken only a few more strokes before his joints felt as if someone had poured liquid oxygen into them.

  Over the wave-tops, he caught a blurred glimpse of a boat speed- ing his way: His pursuers were no doubt coming to finish off the job. A gurgled laugh escaped from his throat. By the time they ar- rived, he'd be nothing but a giant Slurpee.

  13

  SECONDS BEFORE HE slipped below the surface, however, Austin's one-way trip to Davey Jones's locker was cut short. A hand reached over the side of the launch and grabbed him by the hair. His teeth clacked like a pair of castanets, and his scalp felt as if it were being pulled out by the roots. Then other hands were grabbing him by the armpits and collar, and he was hauled from the sea, sputter- ing and coughing, like a kitten in a well.

  His legs were still dangling in the water when the motor launch took off and raced over the waves with a roar of jet propulsion en- gines, its bow high in the air. Through blurred vision, Austin saw, to his surprise, that they were swinging alongside the blue yacht. Semi-conscious, he was passed up to the deck and carried to what must be the sick bay, where he was relieved of his soggy clothes, wrapped in warm towels and examined by a frowning man with a stethoscope. Then he was thrust into a sauna, where, eventually, he could move his fingers and toes. He was examined a second time and given a blue fleece sweat suit to wear. Apparently, he was going to live.

  His transition from near-death to near-life was accomplished under the watchful eye of two men, built like professional wrestlers, who spoke to each other in Spanish. The same guard dogs escorted him as he walked on rubber legs to a luxurious stateroom. They set- tled him into a comfortable reclining chair, covered him with a soft blanket and left him to rest.

  Austin fell into an exhausted sleep. When he awakened, he saw

  that he was under scrutiny by a pair of dark eyes. A man sat in an armchair, watching him from a few feet away, as if he were a speci- men on a lab slide.

  The man grinned when he saw Austin's eyelids flutter. "Good. You're awake," he said. His voice was deep and resonant, and he spoke American English with only a hint of an accent.

  The man reached over to a side table for a silver-plated flask and poured Austin a drink. With shaking fingers, Austin swirled the greenish-yellow amber liquor around in the bottom of the brandy snifter, breathed in the heavy fumes and took a deep sip. The fiery herbal liquor trickled down his throat, and its warmth spread throughout his body.

  Austin glanced at the flask. "This tastes too good to be antifreeze, but the effect is the same."

  The man chuckled and took a swig from the flask. "Green Izarra is one hundred proof," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's usually served in glasses hardly bigger than your thumb. I thought a little extra might be of benefit in your case. How is your wound?"

  Austin's hand reached down and touched his ribs. He could feel the stiffness of a bandage under his shirt, but there was no pain, even when he pressed with his fingers. He remembered the flash of white as the ivory knife slashed his flesh.

  "How bad was it?"

  "Another half-inch deeper and we would have been burying you at sea." The grim assessment was accompanied by a grin. "It feels okay."

  "My ship's doctor is an expert in treating trauma. He sewed you up and froze the wound."

  Austin glanced around at his surroundings, his memories return- ing. "Ship's doctor? This is the blue yacht, isn't it?"

  "That's right. My name is Balthazar Aguirrez. This is my boat." With his barrel chest and large hands, Aguirrez looked more like a longshoreman than the owner of a yacht that was probably worth several million dollars. He had a broad forehead and thick black eye- brows over a strong nose, a wide mouth that curved upward in a natural grin, and a chin like a granite ledge. His eyes were the purple- black of ripe olives. He wore a light-blue sweat suit identical to the

  one on loan to Austin. A black beret was perched at a jaunty angle on his thick pepper-and-salt hair.

  "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Aguirrez. My name is Kurt Austin. Thanks for your hospitality."

  Aguirrez extended his hand in a bone-crunching grip. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Austin. We like to entertain guests." His dark eyes danced with amusement. "Most arrive on board in a

  more conventional manner, however. May I pour you another Izarra?"

  Austin waved it off. He wanted to keep a clear head. "Perhaps after you have some food. Are you hungry?"

  Austin had worked up an appetite since the bread and cheese he'd eaten for brunch. "Yes, now that you mention it. I wouldn't mind a sandwich."

  "I would be a poor host if I could not do better than a sandwich.

  If you feel well enough, I'd like you to join me for a light meal in the salon."

  Austin levered himself out of the chair and stood, somewhat shak- ily. "I'll be fine."

  Aguirrez said, "Splendid. I'll give you a few minutes. Come when you're ready." He rose and left the cabin. Austin stared at the closed door and shook his head. His brain still felt waterlogged. He was weak from blood loss. He went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He looked like a commercial for ghoul makeup. Not sur- prising after being stabbed, shot at and blown out of the water. He washed his face with cold, then hot, water. Noticing an electric shaver, he removed the stubble on his chin. When he stepped back into the stateroom, he saw he had company.

  The tough-faced stewards who had escorted him earlier were wait- ing. One opened the door and led the way, while the other man took up the rear. The walk gave Austin ample opportunity to exercise, and he felt his legs grow stronger with every step. They came to the main deck salon, and one of the men motioned for Austin to enter. Then he and the other man left him alone.

  Austin stepped into the salon and raised his eyebrows. He had been on dozens of yachts and had found the decor to be similar. Chrome and leather and clean contemporary lines were the norm. But the Navarras salon resembled the interior of a southern European farmhouse.

  The eggshell-white walls and ceiling were of stucco, inlaid with rough-hewn beams, and the floor was a red tile. A fire w
as crackling in a large, stone fireplace that had been built into one wall. Over the mantle was a painting of men playing a game Austin recognized as jai alai. He went up to a still-life painting of assorted fruit and was examining the signature when a deep voice said, "Interested in art, Mr. Austin?"

  Aguirrez had come up from behind without making a sound. Austin said, "I collect dueling pistols, which I think of as a form of art."

  "Without question! Deadly art is still art. I picked up that Cezanne for my little collection last year. The other pieces I found at auction or acquired from private sources."

  Austin strolled past the Gauguins, a Degas, Manets and Monets. The "little collection" was more extensive than that found in many museums. He moved to another wall that was covered with large photographs.

  "These are originals, too?"

  "A few of my holdings," Aguirrez said, with a shrug. "Ship- building yards, steel mills and so forth." He sounded like a jaded waiter rattling off items on a menu. "But enough of business." He took Austin by the arm. "Dinner is ready."

  He led the way through sliding doors into an elegant dining room. At the center of the room was an oval mahogany table set for twelve. Aguirrez removed his beret and, with a snap of his wrist and great accuracy, flung it to a chair across the room. He gestured grandly to- ward the two opposite chairs at one end of the table. As the two men

  took their seats, a waiter appeared from nowhere and poured their tall goblets full of wine.

  "I think you will like this sturdy Spanish Rioja," Aguirrez said. He raised his glass. "To art."

  "To the master and crew of the Navarra "You're very gracious," Aguirrez said with obvious approval. "Ah good," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I see that our feast is about to begin.

  There were no appetizers, and they dug right into the main course, a hearty bean, pepper and pork-rib dish served with cabbage. Austin complimented the chef and asked what the dish was.