White Death Page 36

  “Nice of you to drop in,” Paul said.

  “Nice of you to pick us up,” Austin said.

  Even as he grinned with pleasure, Austin was keeping an eye on the zeppelin. To his relief, after the airship leveled out, it steered on a course away from the ship. Barker's men must have broken back into the control car. They would have made short work of the boat and everyone on it with their automatic weapons. But the Kiolya were headless now, without Toonook, their great leader.

  Within minutes, friendly hands were helping Austin and the oth- ers back onto the research vessel. Austin and Zavala were taken below and provided with dry clothes. Gamay did a professional job patching up Austin's latest wound with bandages. The injury might require a few stitches, but it looked worse than it was. On the plus side, Austin consoled himself, he would have matching scars on ei- ther side of his rib cage. He and Zavala were sitting in the galley with the Trouts, enjoying strong coffee and the warmth from the stove, when the cook, a Newfoundlander, asked if they wanted breakfast.

  Austin realized they hadn't eaten since the jerky they had had the previous day. From the look in Zavala's eyes, he was equally hungry.

  “Anything you can rustle up,” Austin said. “Just make sure there's a lot of it.”

  “I can give you fish cakes and eggs,” the cook said.

  “Fish cakes?” Zavala said.

  “Sure. It's a Newfie specialty.”

  Austin and Zavala exchanged glances. “No, thanks,” they said.

  NUMA 4 - White Death

  40

  BEAR CAME THROUGH as promised. Therri had called the bush pilot on the radio, told him she needed to evacuate nearly fifty people and pleaded for his help. Ask- ing no questions, Bear had rallied every bush pilot within a hundred- mile radius. Floatplanes streamed in from every direction to airlift the passengers from the shore of the lake. The sick and elderly went on first, then the young. Therri stood on the beach, feeling a mix- ture of relief and sadness, and waved good-bye to her new friend Rachael.

  Ryan's bloody badge of courage qualified him for a ride on one of the first planes out. With his shoulder wound patched up to stem the bleeding and prevent infection, he and the others were taken to a small but well-equipped provincial hospital. The Aguirrez brothers arranged their own transportation, calling in the EuroCopter to fly them back to the yacht with the news of their loss.

  Before they left, Ben and some of the younger men in the tribe went back across the lake to see what was left of Barker's complex. On their return, they reported that nothing remained. When Therri asked about the fate of the monster fish she had seen, Ben simply smiled and said, “Barbecued.”

  Therri, Ben and Mercer were among the last to leave. This time, the fuzzy dice in Bear's cockpit were reassuring. As the floatplane wheeled over the vast forest, she looked down at the huge blackened area around the devastated site of Barker's incredible building.

  “Looks like we had a little forest fire down there,” Bear yelled over the drone of the engine. “You folks know anything about that?”

  “Someone must have been careless with a match,” Mercer said. Seeing the skeptical expression in Bear's eyes, Mercer grinned and said, “When we get back, I'll tell you the whole story over a beer.”

  It actually took quite a few beers.

  Austin and Zavala, in the meantime, enjoyed their reunion with the Trouts and the leisurely cruise back to port on Throckmorton's re- search vessel. Throckmorton was still in a state of shock at the reve- lation of Barker's mad scheme, and he promised to testify before Senator Graham's Congressional committee once he had filled in Parliament about the dangers of genetically modified fish.

  Back in Washington, Austin met with Sandecker to fill him in on the mission. The admiral listened to the story of Barker's demise with rapt attention, but he saved most of his fascination for Duren- dal. He held the sword gingerly in his hands.

  Unlike many men of the sea, Sandecker was not superstitious, so Austin hiked an eyebrow when the admiral gazed at the shimmer- ing blade and murmured, “This weapon is haunted, Kurt. It seems to have a life of its own.”

  “I had the same feeling,” Austin said. “When I first picked it up, an electric current seemed to flow from the hilt into my arm.”

  Sandecker blinked as if he were coming out of a spell, and slid the sword back into its scabbard. “Superstitious rubbish, of course.”

  “Of course. What do you suggest we do with it?”

  “There's no question in my mind. We return it to its last rightful owner.”

  “Roland is dead, and if the mummy I saw is Diego's, he won't be putting any claims on Durendal any time soon.”

  “Let me think about it. Do you mind if I borrow the sword in the meantime?”

  “Not at all, although I could use it to cut through the mounds of paperwork.”

  Sandecker lit his cigar and tossed the match into his fireplace.

  Flashing his familiar crocodile grin, he said, “I've always found fire to be much more effective in dealing with the effluent of our federal bureaucracy.”

  Sandecker's summons came a couple of days later. The admiral's voice crackled over the phone. “Kurt, if you have a minute, could you please come up to my office. Round up Joe, too. There are some peo- ple here who want to see you.”

  Austin tracked down Zavala in the deep-submergence design lab and gave him Sandecker's message. They arrived outside the admi- ral's office at the same time. The receptionist smiled and waved them through. Sandecker greeted them at the door and ushered them into the nerve center ofNUMA.

  “Kurt. Joe. Good of you to come,” he said effusively, taking them by the arm.

  Austin smiled at Sandecker's disingenuous welcome. One had lit- tie choice when Sandecker called. Those who arrived late or not at all suffered the full weight of the admiral's wrath.

  Standing behind Sandecker were Balthazar Aguirrez and his two sons. Balthazar roared with pleasure when he saw Austin. He pumped Austin's hand and then Zavala's in his lobster grip.

  “I asked Mr. Aguirrez and his sons to stop by so we could thank them for helping us in Canada,” Sandecker said. “I've been telling them about your mission.”

  “We couldn't have done it without your help,” Austin said. “Sorry for the loss of your pilots and helicopter. And for Pablo's injury.”

  Aguirrez waved his hand in dismissal. “Thank you, my friend. The helicopter was only a machine and can easily be replaced. As you can see, my son's wound is healing nicely. The death of the pilots was a shame, but like all the men on my boat, they were highly paid mer- cenaries and well aware of the dangers of their chosen profession.”

  “Nonetheless, a tragic loss.”

  “Agreed. I'm pleased with the success of your mission, but do you have any news of the sword and the horn?”

  “It seems your relics had a long and arduous journey,” Sandecker said. “With the help of the log Kurt discovered in Barker's macabre museum, we've been able to piece the story together. Your ancestor, Diego, sailed across the Atlantic from the Faroe Islands. But he never reached land. He and his crew died, most likely from disease. The ship drifted into the polar ice. The zeppelin discovered the caravel hundreds of years later after a secret flight to the North Pole, and removed the body of your ancestor. Mechanical problems forced the airship down on the ice. The Kiolya found it, and re- moved the bodies of Diego and the zeppelin's captain, Heinrich Braun.”

  “Kurt has told me this story,” Aguirrez said impatiently. “But what of the relics?”

  Sandecker said, “Gentlemen, I'm being rude. Please sit down. I think it's time for some brandy.”

  The admiral waved his guests to the comfortable leather chairs in front of his massive desk and went over to a bar hidden behind a wall panel. He brought back a bottle of B and B and poured each man a snifter of brandy. He stuck his nose in the wide-mouthed glass, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he unlocked his hu- midor and produced a handful of his specially rolled
cigars. He passed the cigars around and patted the breast pocket of his navy blazer.

  “I seem to have lost my cigar clipper. You gentlemen don't hap- pen to have a knife? Never mind.” He reached into the chair well of his desk, pulled out a scabbard and laid it on the desk. “Perhaps this will do.”

  Balthazar's dark eyes widened in disbelief. He rose from his chair and reached out for the scabbard, cradling it with both hands as if it were made of glass. With shaking fingers, he slid the sword from the scabbard and held it high above his head as if he were rallying Charlemagne's legions to battle.

  His lips formed a single whispered word. “Durendal.1) ”The horn will arrive in a few days, along with the remains of your

  ancestor,“ Sandecker said. ”I thought you might be able to put these priceless relics together with their rightful owner."

  Balthazar slid the sword back into the scabbard and passed it on to his sons.

  “The rightful owners are the Basque people. I will use the sword and horn of Roland to ensure that the Basques finally attain their sov- ereignty.” He smiled. “But in a peaceful manner.”

  The glee at the success of his theatrical gesture was evident in Sandecker's clear blue eyes. He raised his glass high. “Let's drink to that,” he said.

  Ryan called Austin later that day and said he was back in Washing- ton. He asked Austin to meet him at the “usual place.” Austin arrived at Roosevelt Island a few minutes early, and was waiting in front of the statue, when he saw Ryan coming his way. Austin noticed that Ryan was still pale and gaunt from his wound. There was something else. The arrogant tilt of the chin and the boyish know-it-all grin that had flawed Ryan's good looks and irritated Austin were gone. Ryan seemed more serious and mature.

  He smiled and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming, Kurt.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I've been used for target practice.”

  “I wish I could say you get used to it,” Austin said, recalling the bullet and knife scars that marked his own body. “Knowing that you drove a spike into Barker's plans must help ease the pain. Congrat- ulations.”

  “Couldn't have done it without the help of Ben and Chuck, and Diego Aguirrez.”

  “Don't be modest.”

  “You're the one who's being modest. I heard about your adventures aboard the zeppelin.”

  “I hope this isn't turning into a mutual admiration society,” Austin said. “I wouldn't want to ruin a wonderful relationship.”

  Ryan laughed. “I asked you here so I could apologize. I know I've been more than a little overbearing and self-righteous.”

  “Happens to the best of us.”

  “There's something else. I tried to use Therri to leverage your help.”

  “I know. I also know that Therri is too independent-minded to be used.”

  “I had to apologize, anyhow, before I leave.”

  “You sound as if you're heading off into the sunset.”

  "Like Shane? No, I'm not quite ready for that. I'm off to Bali in a few days to see if SOS can stop the illegal trade in sea turtles. Then I've got to help with a sea lion rescue in South Africa and see what we can do about poaching in the Galapagos Marine Reserve. In be- tween, I'll be raising funds to replace the Sentinel

  “An ambitious schedule. Good luck.”

  “I'll need it.” Ryan checked his watch. “Sorry to run, but I've got to line up the troops.”

  They walked back to the parking lot, where they shook hands once more.

  “I understand you're seeing Therri later this week.” “We're having dinner, as soon as we crawl out from our office work.”

  “I promise not to interrupt you the way I did back in Copen- hagen.”

  “Don't worry,” Austin said. He glanced at the sky, a mysterious smile on his lips. “Where I'm taking Therri for dinner this time, no one will interrupt us.”

  NUMA 4 - White Death

  41

  MAY I POUR you more champagne, mademoiselle?" the waiter said.

  “Thank you,” Therri said with a smile. “I'd like that.” The waiter refilled the fine crystal champagne glass and gave the bottle of Moot a professional twist. Then, with a click of his heels, he walked back to his station, ready to be summoned with the slightest hike of an eyebrow. He was impeccably dressed, his black hair was slicked back with shiny pomade, and a pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip. He possessed the perfect attitude, a bored detachment combined with undivided attention.

  “He's wonderful,” Therri whispered. “Where did you get him?” “Straight from the Orient Express,” Austin said. Seeing the doubt in Therri's face, he added, "I confess. I borrowed him from NUMA food services. He worked as a maTtre d' at La Tour d'Argent in Paris before Sandecker hired him away to organize the NUMA dining room.

  “He's done an outstanding job organizing our dinner,” she said. They were sitting at a table for two. The tablecloth was white starched linen. The dishes and silverware were Art Deco. Dress was formal. Therri wore a knockout strapless black evening dress, and Austin had replaced the tux he'd ruined in the Washington dogsled race. She nodded in the direction of a string quartet that was play- ing Mozart in the background. “I suppose the musicians are from the National Symphony Orchestra.”

  Austin's mouth widened in a sheepish grin. “They're friends from the NUMA engineering division who get together on weekends. Quite good, aren't they?”

  “Yes. And so was dinner. I don't know who your chef was, but-” She paused, catching the look in Austin's eye. “Don't tell me. The chef was NUMA, too.”

  “No. He's a friend of mine, St. Julien Perlmutter. He insisted on cooking for us tonight. I'll introduce you later.”

  She sipped her champagne, and her mood grew somber. “I'm sorry, but I can't help thinking from time to time of Dr. Barker and the monstrous creatures he created. It seems like a nightmare.”

  “I wish it were a bad dream. Barker and his pals were very real. So were his Frankenfish.”

  “What a strange, terrible man he was. I suppose we'll never know how someone so brilliant could become so evil.”

  “All the more amazing when you consider that his ancestor, from all accounts, was a decent human being. The original Frederick Barker saw that the Eskimos were starving and tried to stop his fel- low whaling captains from killing walrus.”

  “His genes must have been twisted during their passage from gen- eration to generation,” she said.

  “Add a little God syndrome into the genetic stew and you get a mad scientist who fancies himself the personification of an evil spirit.”

  “It's ironic, isn't it?” she said, after a moment's thought. “Barker was a product of genes gone wrong. It was precisely the process he used in his laboratory to create monsters from normally docile fish. I shudder every time I think of those poor deformed creatures.” An anxious look came to her eyes. “This is the end of that insane re- search, isn't it?”

  Austin nodded. “Barker was a true genius. He wrote nothing down. He kept the notes for his genetic tinkering stored in his head. That knowledge died with him.”

  “Still, it wouldn't prevent someone else, equally as brilliant, from duplicating his work.”

  “No, but the loopholes in the law will soon be closed. Biofish will not be allowed into the U.S. The Europeans are equally determined that Frankenfish and chips will never be on their menu. Without a market, there's no incentive.”

  “What about the others in the Kiolya tribe?”

  “Arrested, dead or on the run. Without Barker to whip them into a murderous frenzy, I'd say it's the end of that bunch as a threat. Barker's holdings are up for grabs. The wolves are tearing his giant corporation to pieces. Now let me ask you a question. What's the fu- ture hold for you and SOS?”

  “We're parting ways. I've decided that commando raids aren't my style. I've been offered a staff position as environmental counsel with Senator Graham.”

  “Glad to hear you'll be around.”

  The
waiter carried a black telephone over to the table. “Mr. Zavala would like to talk to you,” he said.

  Joe's voice came on the line. "Sorry to interrupt dinner. I thought you should know that we're going to start to make the approach soon.

  “Thanks for the heads-up. How long do we have?”

  “Enough for one very long dance.”

  Austin smiled and hung up. “That was Joe calling from the con- trol car. We'll be landing soon.”

  Therri stared out the large observation window at the tapestry of lights far below. “It's beautiful. I'll never forget this night. But please tell me how you wrangled the use of the zeppelin for a dinner date?”

  “I had to pull a few strings. The Germans are anxious to reclaim the first airship to have landed on the North Pole. When I heard the zeppelin was being flown from Canada to Washington, I offered the services of an experienced pilot, and in return reserved the din- ing room for a few hours. It seemed the only way we could have din- ner undisturbed.” He looked at his watch. “The pilot says we have time for one dance.”

  “I'd love to.”

  They rose from the table and Austin offered his arm, and they strolled into the dimly lit lounge. Austin turned on a record player, and the mellow tunes of the Glenn Miller band flowed from the speaker. “Thought we should have a little period music.”

  Therri was staring out the observation window at the lights of the great East Coast megalopolis. She turned and said, “Thank you for an exceptional evening.”

  “It's not over yet. After we land, we can have a nightcap at my place. Who knows where the evening will lead ?”