Lost City nf-5 Read online

  They could hear boots crunching in the gravel and heavy breathing and whispers.

  Austin waited until the searchers had gone down another lane, then he moved the ladder so that the other end rested on the closest hedge, bridging the space between. He crawled across the ladder and held it steady for Skye to follow. They repeated the process with the next hedge.

  As long as they stayed in astraight line, they could work their way out of the maze. They worked as a team, placing their improvised bridge, crawling across it, watching for searchers and then doing it again. The branches tore at their palms and knees, but they ignored the discomfort.

  Austin could see the black line of trees in the darkness with only a few more hedgerows to bridge when they heard the thrump of helicopter rotors coming from the direction of the chateau. The helicopter was a few hundred feet in the air, moving toward the maze. Then a twin pair of searchlights came on and scanned the ground below.

  Austin did a quick ladder shift to the next hedge, but in his haste he misjudged the distance. When he crawled across the ladder, it slipped from the furthermost hedge and he tumbled onto the gravel path. He sprang to his feet, climbed back onto the hedge next to Skye and placed the ladder with more care this time. Then he was across, quickly followed by Skye.

  The mistake had cost them precious time. The helicopter was making its first pass over the maze, the brilliant searchlights turning night into day. Austin bridged the last path and turned back to help Skye. Her foot slipped off one of the rungs about midway and he reached across to pull her toward him. The helicopter was moving closer. With Skye beside him, Austin slid the ladder down the outside of

  the last hedgerow. She climbed to the ground with the speed of a spider monkey. Her agility might have been due in part to avoid having Austin step on her hands. As soon as he hit the ground, Austin pulled the ladder down and shoved it close to the base of the hedge. Then he and Skye stretched out beside it. The helicopter roared overhead.

  They could feel the downdraft as the chopper executed a tight turn and came back over the maze and moved back and forth over the hedgerows. After a minute, the chopper darted off and began a sweep of the woods.

  In its quick swing, the chopper's lights had illuminated an opening in the tree line. Austin helped Skye to her feet and they ran along the gravel path that surrounded the hedge, then they sprinted along a grassy path into the woods, unsure of where they were going but grateful to be out of the maze.

  Several minutes later, they broke out into the open. They were at the edge of a meadow or field, but Austin was more interested in the ghostly outline of a building near the edge of the woods. "What is it?" Skye whispered. "Any port in a storm," he whispered.

  He told her to stay put and loped across the field in the silver moonlight.

  Austin MADE IT across the moonlit field without incident and edged his way along the wall of the field stone building. He found an unlocked door and stepped into the dark interior, where his nostrils picked up the garage odors of oil and gasoline. He allowed himself a measure of optimism; a garage might house a car or truck. His groping fingers found a light switch and he discovered a second later that he was not in a garage, but in a small hangar.

  The bright red biplane had swept-back wings and a heart-shaped tail decorated with a black three-headed-eagle design. He ran his fingers along the fabric fuselage, admiring the painstaking restoration that had gone into the aircraft. Attached to the underside of each wing was a torpedo-shaped metal tank. A skull and crossbones was stenciled on the outside of the containers. Poison.

  He peered into the twin cockpits. The pilot's controls in the rear cockpit consisted of a single lever in front of the seat and a foot bar that controlled the rudder for steering. The forward-and-back movement of the stick would control the elevator. Moving it from side to

  side worked the ailerons at the ends of the wings, which tilted the plane for a turn. The system was primitive, but at the same time it was a miracle of simplicity that allowed the plane to be flown with one hand.

  The cockpit housed an array of instruments that hadn't come with the original model, boasting handy devices like an up-to-date radio, a modern compass and GPS navigation system. Earphones connected the cockpits. Austin made a quick inspection of the hangar. The walls were hung with tools and spare parts. He peeked into a storeroom filled with plastic containers that were marked with skull and crossbones. The labels identified the contents of the containers as pesticide.

  Austin snatched an electric torch from a wall bracket, turned the lights off and went to the door. All was quiet. He clicked the light on and off three times, and then watched as a shadow darted from the woods and made its way silently across the field to the hangar. He scanned the meadow and woods to make sure Skye hadn't been seen, and then pulled her into the hangar and shut the door.

  "What took you so long?" she said with irritation in her voice. "I was worried when I saw the lights go on and off."

  Austin didn't mind Skye's accusatory tone and took it as a sign that she had regained her natural spunkiness. He kissed her on the cheek. "My apologies," he said. "There was a line at the reservations counter."

  She blinked at the darkness. "What is this place?"

  Austin switched the torch on and let the beam play the length of the plane's fuselage, from the wooden propeller to the coat of arms on the tail.

  "You're looking at the Fauchard family air force. They must use this to crop-dust the vineyards."

  "It's beautiful," she said.

  "It's more than beautiful. It's our ticket out of here."

  "Can you fly that thing?" "I think so."

  "You think so?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Have you ever flown anything like this?"

  "Dozens of times." He noted the skepticism in her eyes and said, "Okay. Once, at a county fair."

  "A county fair," she echoed in a leaden tone. "A big county fair. Look, the planes I've flown had somewhat more sophisticated control systems, but the principles are the same." "I hope you fly better than you drive."

  "It wasn't my idea to go for a midnight swim. You'll recall that I was distracted by Fauchard's goons."

  She pinched his cheek. "How could I forget, cheri? Well, what are we waiting for? What do I have to do?"

  Austin pointed to a bank of wall switches labeled in French. "First, I'd like you to tell me what these are for."

  Austin listened as Skye translated the labels, then he took her around to the front of the plane. He placed her hands on the propeller and told her to jump back as soon as she had spun the blades. Then he climbed into the pilot's cockpit, quickly checked out the controls, and gave Skye the thumbs-up. Skye grabbed the propeller in both hands, gave the blades a spin and leaped back as instructed. The engine coughed a couple of times but failed to catch.

  Austin adjusted the throttle slightly and told her to try again. Grim determination was reflected in Skye's face as she summoned every ounce of strength at her command. She put all her weight into the effort. This time the engine caught and burst into a roar that was amplified by the walls.

  Skye dashed through the purple exhaust smoke and hit the switches to open the door and turn on the landing field lights. Then she clambered into the cockpit. She was still buckling her seat belt as the plane rolled out of the hangar.

  Austin wasted no time taxiing before taking off. He gunned the engine and the plane began to pick up speed, advancing across the field between the double lines of lights. He tried to keep a gentle touch on the controls, but under his inexperienced hand the plane fishtailed and the waddling motion slowed the plane's acceleration. He knew that if the plane didn't reach takeoff speed soon, it would crash into the trees at the end of the airstrip. Austin willed himself to relax, letting the controls tell his hands and feet what to do. The plane straightened out and picked up speed. Austin gave the elevator a slight pull. The wheels left the ground and the plane began its climb, but it was still too low to clear the trees.

 
Austin willed a few more feet of lift from the wings. The doughty biplane must have heard his prayers because it seemed to rise slightly and grazed the treetops with its landing gear. The wings wagged from the impact, but the plane regained its even keel.

  Austin kept the plane in a steady climb and glanced off to the left and right to get his bearings. The countryside was mostly in darkness except for Chateau Fauchard, whose sinister turrets were lit up by floodlights. He tried to draw a map in his mind using his recollections of the drive in from the main road. He could see the circular driveway with its odd fountain, and the lantern-lit drive leading down the hill into the long tree tunnel.

  He banked the plane around to pick up the road through the vineyards, heading east at an altitude of about a thousand feet. He was bucking a slight breeze that kept the plane's speed down to a subsonic eighty miles per hour. Satisfied that he was on a course that would take them back to civilization, he picked up the microphone connected to Skye's cockpit.

  "Sorry for the rough takeoff," he shouted over the engine roar. "Hope it didn't shake you up too much."

  "I'll be fine once I put my teeth back in my head."

  "Glad to hear that. You'll need your dentures when we have dinner."

  "Truly a man with a one-track mind. Do you have any idea where we're going?"

  "We're headed in roughly the same direction we came in. Keep a sharp eye out for lights. I'll try to land on a road near a town and hope there isn't too much traffic this time of night. Sit back and enjoy the ride."

  Austin turned his attention to the task of getting them down safely. Despite his cavalier attitude, he had no illusions about the difficulties that lay ahead. He was flying essentially blind, over unknown territory, in an antique aircraft he had no business operating, despite his extensive county fair experience. At the same time, he was enjoying the simple reliability built into the old aircraft. This was true seat-of-, the-pants piloting. No cockpit bubble separated him from the cool wind. He was practically sitting on top of the engine and the noise was earsplitting. He had renewed respect for the men who'd flown these relics in combat.

  He would have liked to wring a few more knots from the plane, which seemed to grind its way through the night sky. He was heartened when, after several minutes of flying, he began to see pinpoints of light in the distance. The plane was approaching the perimeter of Fauchard's vast holdings. His complacency was shattered by Skye's voice, shouting in his earphones.

  At the same time he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to the left. The helicopter that had hunted for them in the maze had materialized about thirty feet away as if by magic. The cockpit lights were on, and he could see one of the Chateau Fauchard guards sitting in the passenger's seat. He had an automatic weapon on his lap, but he made no attempt to shoot the plane down, although it would have been an easy target.

  A moment later, the now-familiar voice of Emil Fauchard crackled over the plane's radio.

  "Good evening, Mr. Austin. How nice to see you again." "What a pleasant surprise, Emil. I don't see you in the helicopter." "That's because I'm in the chateau's security control center. I can see you quite clearly on the helicopter's camera."

  Austin glanced at the camera pod slung under the helicopter's belly and gave it a friendly wave.

  "I thought you would still be in the dungeon with the rest of the rats."

  Emil ignored the insult. "How do you like my Fokker Aviatik, Austin?"

  "I'd have preferred an F-16 loaded with air-to-air missiles, but this will do for now. Nice of you to let me use it."

  "Not at all. We Fauchards are most generous when it comes to our guests. Now, I must ask you to turn around or you will be shot down."

  The man in the helicopter stirred and aimed what looked like an AK-47 through the cockpit opening.

  "You've obviously been tracking us. Why didn't you shoot us down when you had the chance?"

  "I would prefer to keep my plane intact." "Boys and their toys." "What?"

  Austin let the biplane drift a few yards. The helicopter veered off to avoid a collision.

  "Sorry," Austin said. "I'm not used to this plane." "Your childish maneuvers will get you nowhere. I'm intimately acquainted with the capabilities of the Aviatik. I would hate to lose it, but I'm willing to suffer the loss of the plane if necessary. Watch." Emil must have given his pilot an order because the helicopter

  rose above the Aviatik and dropped until its runners were a few feet above Austin's head. The biplane pitched and yawed dangerously under the powerful downdraft. Austin pushed the plane's nose down and the helicopter followed, staying with the aircraft to show that escape was impossible. After a few seconds, the helicopter pulled away and began to pace the plane again.

  Emil's voice came over Austin's earphones. "As you see, I can force you down anytime. Turn around or you and your lady friend will die." "I might not be of any use to you, but if she goes, the secret of the helmet goes with her."

  "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

  "Maybe you should ask your mother first," Austin said. Emil cursed in French, and seconds later the helicopter appeared over the biplane. The runners came down hard on the Aviatik's wings above Austin's head and pushed the biplane down. The chopper lifted off and hammered the Aviatik again. Austin fought to keep control. It was an unequal contest. The fabrif-and-wood plane was no match for the faster and more maneuverable helicopter. Emil could pummel the plane until it crashed or fell apart.

  Austin grabbed the mike. "You win, Emil. What do you want me to do?"

  "Head back to the landing strip. Don't try any tricks. I'll be waiting for you."

  I bet you'll be waiting, Austin thought.

  Austin banked the plane and brought it around. Skye had been listening to the conversation on her earphones. "Kurt, we can't go back," she said over the intercom. "He'll kill you."

  "If we don't go back, he'll kill both of us."

  "I don't want you doing this for me."

  "I'm not. I'm doing it for me."

  "Damnit, Austin. You're as stubborn as a Frenchman."

  "I'll take that as a compliment. But I draw the line at eating snails and frog's legs."

  "All right, I give up," she said with exasperation. "But I'm not going down without a fight."

  "Neither am I. Make sure your seat belt is tight." He clicked the intercom off and concentrated on the ominous towers that marked the ancestral home of the man who wanted to kill him. As the biplane neared the chateau, Austin could see the twin lines of light that marked the airfield. He put the Aviatik in a banking turn as if he were heading toward the lights, but as he neared the chateau, he turned in the opposite direction and flew directly toward the nearest turret.

  The helicopter kept pace. Emils voice came over the radio. He was shouting in French. Austin shrugged, turned down the radio and turned his full attention to the task ahead.

  The helicopter peeled away just when it seemed the plane would smash into the tower. With a few yards to spare, Austin veered off, missing the turret by yards, and flew over the chateau itself, in a diagonal line toward the opposite tower. He put the plane in a tight circle around the tower and came back over the complex in a figure eight. Then he flew around the next tower and executed the same pattern. He could only imagine what Emil's reaction would be, but he didn't care. He was wagering that Fauchard wouldn't try to force him down as long as he stayed over the chateau.

  Austin knew he couldn't run figure eights forever. Nor did he intend to. With each banking turn, his eyes had swept the grounds beyond the moat. He switched the radio back on. Then he rounded the tower and started another figure eight, but halfway through it he veered off, passed over the circular driveway with its bizarre fountain and headed toward the lights that marked the long drive.

  The helicopter had been circling high above. Once Austin was clear of the walls, the helicopter swooped down until it was directly

  over the Aviatik. Austin put the plane into a deep glide until
the wheels were only a few yards over the pavement. Fauchard's pilot could have forced him down at any time, but he probably thought that Austin was going to land in the driveway so held off. The moment of indecision cost him dearly.

  Instead of landing, Austin flew into the tunnel of trees.

  The chopper climbed, its runners clipping the treetops. The pilot executed a g-force turn and circled.

  Austin heard Fauchard's voice on the radio. He was shouting, "Get him! Get him!"

  Following Fauchard's orders, the helicopter pilot followed the Aviatik into the arbor like a hound chasing a fox down a hole.

  With its superior speed, the helicopter quickly caught up with the plane. Austin heard the thrashing of rotors over the sound of the Aviatik engine. His lips widened in a tight smile. He'd been worried that the helicopter would simply fly over the woods and wait for him to emerge from the other end of the tunnel.. The insult about Fauchard's mother must have angered Emil beyond reason, as Austin hoped it would. No one liked being called a mama's boy, especially when it was true.

  Austin was keeping the plane's wheels six feet above the road. He had a few yards of clearance above and on either side, but it was a tight fit and a slight deviation would leave the plane wingless or Austin headless.

  The helicopter was right on his tail, but Austin tried to put his pursuer out of his mind. He kept his attention fixed on the distant dark spot that marked the other end of the tunnel. About halfway through the tunnel, Austin calmly reached out and pulled the lever that activated the spray pods.

  Pesticide sprayed from the wing tanks in toxic twin streams, expanding into a noxious white cloud. The poisonous liquid coated the helicopter's windshield and blinded the pilot, then flowed through

  the open vent windows, transforming the chopper's cockpit into a flying gas chamber.

  The pilot screamed in pain and took his hands off the controls to wipe the stinging liquid from his eyes. The helicopter slipped sideways, the rotors clipping the trees. The blades disintegrated, and the fuselage whipped around, careened into the woods and broke apart. Spraying fuel ignited and the chopper exploded in a huge orange -and-white fireball.