Текст книги "Fire Ice"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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The SEAL team was standing on a platform with a large rectangular opening in the center. The missile hung down through the opening from the ceiling, held in place by gantries that extended from the walls like helping hands. There was silence as the men gazed with awe at the huge cylinder. The light gleamed off the metal skin and the rotor housings.

"Look sharp. No time for sightseeing!" Mason barked.

Baron ran his fingers over the surface of the missile. Then he inspected the intricate network of hoses and elecical connections that snaked down to the missile from a ole in the ceiling. He sucked his breath in. "Man, I've ever seen anything like this."

"The question is, can you deactivate it?"

Baron grinned and rubbed his palms together. "Does the pope live in Rome?"

"No, actually he lives in the Vatican."

"Close enough." Baron dug into his pack, pulled out a stethoscope and plugged it into his ears. He listened at several points on the outside of the missile, smiling and frowning like a heart specialist examining a patient.

"She's all dressed up and ready to go. I can hear humming."

"What about those connections?" Mason asked.

"Fuel and electrical. I could cut them, but that might tell this baby it's operating on its own."

"In other words, it might start the launch."

Baron nodded. "I've got to cut the heart out of this thing." He ran his fingers along the slightly raised edge of a panel on the side of the missile. Then he dug out a set of tools from his rucksack, and after a couple of tries found a lug that fit the nuts holding the panel cover on. Using a battery-operated wrench, he started to unbolt the panel cover.

Like a sportscaster broadcasting play-by-play, Mason kept up a running account of Baron's work for the other teams, instructing them to stay one step behind. His men, in the meantime, had scoured the area and come up with one-inch cable they'd found in a storeroom. They ran the cable under the thrusters, hoping to rig up restraints on the projectile.

Baron was making slow progress. He stripped some bolts that had rusted in the dampness of the big room and had to use a special attachment to get a grip on them. He was leaning against the missile, his head close to the exterior. All at once, he stopped his work and listened.

"Crap!" he said.

"What's wrong?" asked Mason, who'd been peering intently over Baron's shoulder. Baron started to answer, but Mason stilled him with a hand signal. The 21C was calling from the wheelhouse.

"I don't know if this means anything, Lieutenant, but all the screens and panels are going crazy up here."

"Stand by." Turning to Baron, he said. "That was the wheelhouse. The instruments are showing unusual activity." Mason cocked an ear. A loud humming that grew in intensity filled the chamber.

Baron looked around as if he could see the sound. "The damned thing is about to launch."

"Can you do anything?" Mason said evenly.

"There's a chance. If I can get this panel off, maybe I can sabotage its activation circuit. Stand by with those wire cutters."

Baron unscrewed another bolt and was working on the next one when they heard a new noise, like the grinding of great gears. The sound was coming from below. They looked down, which probably saved them from eye damage when the electrical conduits and hoses blew off the sides of the missile a few feet above their heads. They dove onto their stomachs. Below them, the moon pool gates started to move apart.

Then the rotors inside the thruster housings began to whir.

As the moon pool fully opened, there was another explosion and the gantries holding the missile blew off. The jerry-rigged cables snapped like thread and the loose ends sliced the air and would have decapitated anyone in the way.

Then the bomb dropped.

VOICES WERE YELLING in Mason's ear. The other teams were seeing similar developments. Joe Louis was yelling. "Omega Two. Bomb has dropped."

Then Carmichael's voice came on. "Omega Three. So has ours."

Mason and his men crawled to the edge of the opening once occupied by the bomb and stared down. Waves and froth created where the missile splashed into the sea and its thrusters dug in. As they peered into the dark roiling sea, it was as if they were looking into the bowels of hell.

36

PETROV'S LEAD MAN, a giant whom Austin had nicknamed Tiny, stepped forward and drove the wooden butt of his AKM into the side of the guard's head. The guard's legs turned to rubber and he crashed to the deck. Figures were running toward them. Someone flicked on a flashlight that caught Austin in its beam. An AKM burped once. At a firing rate of six hundred rounds per minute, even a short burst was deadly, especially at close range.

The flashlight skittered across the deck, but in its quick flicker, Razov's men had sized up the strength and position of the assault group. White-hot muzzle bursts blossomed in the darkness. They dove for cover. In the stroboscopic effect created by the fusillade,.Petrov's men looked as if they were moving in slow motion.

Austin and Zavala hit the deck belly first and rolled over until they were behind the protection of a bollard. Bullets shredded the air over their heads and ricocheted off the big steel mushroom. Austin hauled out his Bowen and blasted at a moving shadow, unsure if he'd hit anyone. Zavala pecked away with his H and K. The muzzle bursts became more scattered, indicating that Razov's men were spreading out.

“They're trying to outflank us," Zavala shouted.

Tiny, who was on his belly a few feet away, was waving to get their attention.

"Go!" he bellowed. "We hold position."

Austin had his doubts. Tiny and his men could defend the narrow deck for a while, but like the Spartans holding the pass at Thermopylae, they too would eventually be outmaneuvered. Tiny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. The gesture needed no translation. Get moving. They let off a few more rounds, then inched backward on their elbows and knees until they were under a lifeboat davit.

With Razov's men still shooting at their last position, they got to their feet and dashed heads-down toward a salon door. It was unlocked. They stepped inside, weapons cocked. The crystal chandeliers were dark, and the only illumination came from a series of wall sconces. In their yellow glow, Austin could see the outlines of tables, chairs and settees. They crossed the dance floor to the opposite side.

Austin paused. Petrov's men might be in the vicinity, and it could be a lethal mistake to surprise them. He called Petrov on the radio and gave him their position.

"Sounds as if you stepped into a hornets' nest," Petrov said.

"Couldn't be helped. Don't know how long Tiny can hold them off.”

"You might be surprised," Petrov said without concern.

"Come through the door onto the deck. We'll be watching for you."

Austin clicked off, opened the door and stepped out. There was no sign of Petrov or his men. Then dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows where the commandos crouched. Petrov came toward them. "You were wise not to stick your heads outside. My men are a little edgy. I've sent a few around to the other side. We should hear from them in a – "

He was interrupted by the thud of exploding grenades. The gunfire became more sporadic. "Evidently, my men have thinned out the ranks of the opposition," he said. "I suggest you proceed to your objective. Do you need any help?"

"I'll call you if we do," Austin said, moving toward a ladder that went up the side of the bulkhead on the bridge superstructure.

"Good luck!" Petrov called out. Austin and Zavala were halfway up the bridge when the chilling reports started coming in from the Omega teams. He stopped to tell Zavala the bad news coming in through his earpiece.

"The bombs have dropped," he told Zavala. "All of them."

Zavala had taken the lead and was hanging on to a ladder to the next deck. He turned at Austin's words and let out a long string of curses in Spanish. "What now?"

In answer, Austin jerked his arm up to shoulder level and pointed his gun at Zavala, who froze in place. The Bowen barked. The slug passed within inches of Zavala's head and the breeze created by its passing ruffled his hair. A heavy object plunged from above and crashed to the deck with a thud. Zavala blinked the light spots out of his eyes and stared at the Cossack spread-eagled on the deck. A saber lay a few feet from the man's outstretched hand.

"Sorry, Joe," Austin said. "That guy was about to cut you down to size."

Zavala ran his fingers through his hair on the side the bullet had passed. "That's okay. I always wanted to part my hair on this side."

"There's nothing we can do about the bombs," Austin said somberly. "But we can deal with the murdering scum who launched them."

Austin took the lead, and they climbed higher until they were under the wings that extended out from either side of the wheelhouse. They split up, with each man taking a wing. Austin sprinted up the stairs. With his back to the bulkhead, he edged up to the open door and peered around the corner.

The spacious wheelhouse was lit by red night-lights that washed the interior in their crimson glow.

The wheelhouse seemed deserted, except for the solitary figure of a man who stood in front of a large computer monitor, his back to Austin, apparently staring at the screen. Austin whispered into his radio, instructing Zavala to keep watch while he investigated. Then he stepped inside.

Razov's wolfhounds must have smelled him. They rushed out of nowhere in a flurry of clicking claws and wagging tails and pounced on Austin. He pushed them down with his free hand, but the dogs had spoiled all hopes of a silent entry. Razov turned and frowned at the dogs' attention to Austin. He gave a sharp command that brought the dogs whimpering back to his side with their heads low and tails between their legs. His thin lips widened in an evil smile.

"I've been expecting you, Mr. Austin. My men told me that you and your friends were aboard. It's good to see you again. Pity that you had to depart so abruptly on your last visit."

"You might change your mind when we blow your operation out of the water."

"It's a little late for that," Razov said. He pointed toward die monitor. The screen was subdivided into three vertical segments. On each section, a blip was rapidly descending toward a wavy line at the bottom.

"I know you've launched the bombs."

“Then you know there's nothing you can do. When the missiles hit bottom, the thrusters will drive them into the seafloor, where they will explode, releasing the methane hydrate, collapsing the shelf and triggering tsunamis that will destroy three of your major coastal cities."

'"To say nothing of launching your mad scheme to trigger global warming."

Razov looked startled, then he smiled and shook his head. "I should have known you would figure out my ultimate goal. No matter. Yes, Siberia will become the breadbasket of the world, and your country will be so busy licking its wounds and trying to feed itself that you will no longer be able to mind Russia's business. Maybe we might sell you Siberian wheat, if you behave."

"Would lrini have agreed with your insane plot?"

The smile disappeared. "You're not fit to speak her name."

"Maybe not." Austin pointed the Bowen at Razov's heart. "But I can send you to join her."

Razov spat out a command. The curtain that divided the main section of the wheelhouse from the chart room parted, and two men came out, a bearded Cossack and Pulaski, who had hijacked the NR-1. Machine pistols at the ready, they moved around behind Austin. Then the curtain parted again. A tall man dressed in a long black robe emerged. He gazed at Austin with deep-set eyes and licked his lips, as if he were about to feast. He said something in Russian; his voice was deep and sonorous, as if it were issuing from a tomb.

A chill danced along Austin's spine, but he kept his gun leveled at Razov.

Razov seemed amused at Austin's reaction. "I'd like you to meet Boris, my associate and closest advisor." The monk grinned at the mention of his name and spoke in Russian. Razov translated. "Boris says he's sorry he didn't meet you when he boarded the NUMA ship."

"You don't know how sorry I am," Austin said. "He wouldn't be standing here now."

"Bravo! A fine attempt at bluff. Put the gun down, Mr. Austin. As we speak, your companions are being eradicated by my men."

Austin had no intention of relinquishing his gun. If he had to, he'd go down in a hail of machine gun fire and take Razov and Boris with him. He wondered where Zavala was. While he pondered his next move, he heard Yaeger's voice in his earpiece.

"Kurt, can you hear me? There's still a chance. I've been working on the code, the section I couldn't figure out. It's about the bombs. They won't explode until they're activated. Can you hear me?"

Still keeping the Bowen trained on Razov, Austin glanced at the monitor. The blips had come to rest on the ocean bottom. Razov saw where he was looking. "The deed It is done, Mr. Austin."

"Not quite," Austin said. "The bombs are harmless unless they're activated."

Razov's face betrayed his surprise, but he recovered quickly. His features contorted in a mask of rage. "True – Too bad you will have the privilege of witnessing the activation. Too bad you're about to die knowing that your feeble attempts to stop my grand scheme have failed."

Razov gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. In response, Boris stepped over to a keyboard next to the monitor, and his long fingers reached out for the keys. They never made it.

Austin swung his revolver away from Razov, aimed at the monk's hand and squeezed the trigger. The effect at close range was devastating. The hand exploded in a shower of bone and blood. Boris stared down in disbelief at the bloody stump. An ordinary mortal would have crumpled to the deck. Instead, Boris let out a feral cry of rage and glared at Austin with hate burning in his eyes. He reached under his tunic with his left hand and pulled out a dagger. Paying no heed to the blood flowing from his mangled hand, he went for Austin.

The other men cocked their machine pistols Boris shouted a warning. He wanted Austin to himself.

Austin couldn't believe the man was still standing. He raised the Bowen, intending to finish Boris off with a bullet between the mad, staring eyes, but without warning his arms were pinioned by his sides. Pulaski had grabbed him from behind.

Boris was so close Austin could smell the animal odor of the unwashed body and the foul breath. Boris smiled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth, and raised his knife to strike. Forcefully, Austin ground his heel into Pulaski's instep.

Pulaski grunted with pain and his grip loosened, and Austin bent his knees and drove his elbow into the man's side. Pulaski let go completely, then Austin brought the long barrel of his revolver up so it was mere inches from the Russian's chest, and squeezed the trigger. The impact of the heavy bullet hurled Boris back and he slammed into the bulkhead and fell to the deck.

Then Pulaski brought the butt down on the side of Austin's head. Austin saw every star in the galaxy and he crashed to the deck and blacked out for a second, but the in. tense pain kept him at the edge of consciousness. Through blurred eyes, he saw Razov tapping out a command on the blood-splattered keyboard. He felt the recoil of the gun in his hand and blacked out.

Pulaski bent over and lowered his machine pistol to Austin's head to administer the coup de grace, but Zavala's Heckler and Koch stuttered from the side door. Pulaski went down, with the Cossack right behind him.

When Austin regained consciousness, Zavala was kneeling by his side. The wolfhounds had cowered in a corner when the shooting started. Now they came over and licked Austin's hand.

"Sorry I didn't get here sooner. I had to take care of a couple of Razov's goons."

Austin brushed the dogs gently aside. "Where's Razov?” he said, looking around.

"He slipped out the other side while I was trading gunfire with the Cossack guard."

With Zavala's help, Austin got to his feet. He glanced at the bodies of the dead Cossack, Pulaski and Boris, then went over to the computer. The screen was a pile of splintered glass. "The bombs had to be activated from here. Razov was typing out the command to trigger the explosions. I got the control computer with a lucky shot."

Zavala smiled. "I hope he's got a thirty-day warranty."

Austin got on the radio to Petrov. "Ivan, are you there?"

"Yes, we're here. Any problems?"

"A few, but we took care of them. How are you doing?"

"They made the mistake of trying to outflank us. We were waiting for them. It was what you Americans call a turkey shoot. I lost a few men, but it's now only a question of mopping up."

"Good work. Boris is dead. We stopped the bombs from being activated. Razov is on the run. Keep an eye out for him.”

"Yes – wait. There's a helicopter taking off."

Austin could hear the clatter of rotors above the sporadic gunfire. He stepped out onto the bridge wing in time to see a black helicopter soar over the ship. He raised his pistol, but the masts interfered with his aim. Within seconds, the helicopter had merged with the darkness.

Something nuzzled the back of Austin's knees. The wolfhounds wanted attention and food, not necessarily in that order. He holstered his gun and scratched their heads. With the two white hounds trailing behind them, he and Zavala made their way down to the main deck to rendezvous with Petrov and his men. Maybe he could find a plate of sausages for his new pals.

37

ENGLAND

THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER, Lord Dodson sat up suddenly in his leather chair, blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked around at the familiar dark paneling of his study. He had dozed off reading a new biography of Lord Nelson. He muttered to himself. Sign of old age. Nelson's life was anything but boring.

A noise had jarred him from his slumber; he was sure of it. All was quiet now. Jenna, his housekeeper, had left a short while before. The house had no ghosts that he knew of, although it sometimes creaked and mumbled. He reached over and plucked his cold pipe from the ashtray and considered lighting it. Curiosity got the best of him. He replaced the pipe and put his book aside, rose from his chair, unlatched the front door and stepped out into the soft darkness.

Great luminous clouds were moving across the moon and stars peeked out here and there. There was no wind. With his hand, he stirred the wind chimes outside the door. No, he thought, the tinkling sound they made wasn't what had awakened him. He went back into the house. As he shut the door, he froze at the ragged cracking noise from the kitchen.

Had Jenna returned without his knowledge? Impossible. She was going to tend to a sick sister, and her family took precedence over work.

Dodson quietly went back into the study and removed the hunting rifle from above the fireplace. With trembling hands, he rummaged through a desk drawer until he found a box of shells. He loaded the rifle and made his way to the kitchen.

The light had been left on. He stepped inside, and his eyes went immediately to the broken window pane in the back door. The floor was littered with shards of glass. The sharp sound could have been someone walking on a broken piece of window. Burglars. Damned cheeky breaking into a house with somebody home. Dodson walked over to the door for a closer look. As he was bending over to examine the damage, he caught the reflection of movement in an unbroken pane.

He whirled around. A man had stepped out of the pantry, pistol in hand.

"Good evening, Lord Dodson," the man said. "Please give me your rifle."

Dodson was cursing himself for not checking the pantry first. He lowered the rifle and handed it over. "Who in the blazes are you and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Razov. I am the rightful owner of a valuable object that you have in your possession."

"Then you've made a big mistake. Everything in this house is mine."

The man's lips widened in a sardonic smile. "Everything?”

Dodson hesitated. "Yes."

The man took a step closer. "Come, Lord Dodson. It's not dignified for a proper English gentleman to be caught in a lie.”

"You'd better leave. I've called the police."

"Tut-tut. Another lie. I cut your telephone line after I had a little chat with your housekeeper."

"Jenna? Where is she?"

"In a safe place. For now. But if you don't start telling the truth, I will have to kill her."

Dodson had no doubt the man meant what he said. "All right. What is it that you want?"

"I think you know. The crown of Ivan the Terrible."

"What makes you think I have this-what is it? Some sort of Russian crown, you say?"

"Don't try my patience with your futile bluff. When I failed to find the crown with the other tsarist treasure on the Odessa Star, I did what any experienced hunter does. I backtracked. The crown was with the tsar's family until they arrived in Odessa. But the tsarina had a premonition that she and her family would never complete their journey. She wanted to make sure that even if the family died, the crown would find its way to a surviving Romanov who would use it to reclaim the Russian throne. She entrusted the crown to an English agent."

"That would have been long before my time."

"Of course, but we both know that the agent was in the employ of your grandfather."

Dodson started to protest, but he could see it was indeed futile. This man knew everything. "The crown is nothing to me. If I give it to you, I must have your word that you will let my housekeeper go. She has no knowledge of any of this."

“I have no use for the old woman. Take me to the crown."

"Very well," Dodson said. "Follow me."

Dodson led the way to a hallway and opened the doors of a walk-in closet. He cleared out the winter jackets and other clothing hanging in the closet, then he pushed boots and shoes aside and stepped in. He lifted a section of floor and pressed a button set under the wood. The back wall of the closet slid noiselessly aside. Dodson turned on a light, and with Razov close behind, he descended a winding staircase made of stone blocks. They were in a stone-walled chamber about fifteen feet square. Rusty iron brackets stuck out of the walls.

"This is the original Roman cellar. They used it to store wine and vegetables."

"Spare me the history lesson, Lord Dodson. The crown." Dodson nodded and went over to a pair of brackets set in the wall. He twisted them both clockwise. "This is the unlocking mechanism." He ran his hands down the stones until his fingers found a depression. Then he pulled and a section of wall, actually an iron door faced with inch-thick stones, creaked open. Dodson stepped back. "There's your crown. Exactly where my grandfather put it nearly a hundred years ago."

The crown sat on a pedestal that was covered with purple velvet.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," Razov ordered.

He bound Dodson's hands and ankles with duct tape and pushed the Englishman down on the floor so that he sat with his back to a wall. Then Razov tucked his pistol in his belt and reached inside for the crown. It was heavier than he thought and he grunted with exertion as he hugged it to his chest.

The sparkle of the diamonds, rubies and emeralds covering the domed crown was matched by the glitter in Razov's greedy eyes.

"Beautiful," he whispered. "I always thought it was a bit gaudy myself," Dodson said.

"Englishmen," Razov said with contempt. "You're like your grandfather, a fool. Neither one of you could appreciate the power you held in your hands."

"On the contrary. My grandfather knew that with the tsar's family dead, the appearance of the crown would inflame passions and bring out any number of claimants, legitimate and otherwise." He looked pointedly at Razov. "Other countries would be drawn in. There would be another world war."

"Instead, we got more than half a century of communism."

"It would have come in time, anyway. The tsarist regime would have withered from corruption."

Razov laughed and placed the crown on his head. "Like

Napoleon, I crown myself. Behold, the next ruler of Russia."

"I only see a little man making a vulgar display of wealth."

Razov's serpent's eyes went flat. He cut another piece of duct tape and slapped it over Dodson's mouth, then he picked up the crown and climbed up the stairs. At the top, he paused. "You must have read Poe's 'The Cask of Amontillado.' Where the victim is sealed up forever? Perhaps someday your bones will be found. I leave you here in place of the crown. I'm afraid I must dispose of your housekeeper." He stepped through the closet door and into the hallway.

His hands were both full with the crown, so he didn't close the secret panel in the back of the closet. He would deposit the crown in the back of the car, come back and seal Dodson off for eternity, then kill the housekeeper and dispose of her body in the river.

As Razov carried his burden toward the back of the house, he heard a rap at the front door. He froze.

Zavala's voice called out. "Lord Dodson. Are you home?" Then the knock again, louder this time. Razov turned and headed for the kitchen.

Dodson had left the door unlocked when he went out to see if the wind was blowing. Zavala and Austin stepped inside, guns in their hands. Zavala called out again. They made their way down the hall and stopped at the open closet where light streamed from the secret chamber. They exchanged glances, then Austin stepped inside, Bowen at ready, and descended the stairs while Zavala covered his back.

Austin saw Lord Dodson sitting on the floor and peeled the tape from the Englishman's mouth. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Go after Razov – he has the crown." Austin used his Buck knife to cut the tape binding Dodson's hands and feet, and they climbed from the cellar. Dodson smiled when he saw Joe. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Zavala."

"Nice to be back, Lord Dodson. This is my partner; Kurt Austin."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Austin."

"The back door is open," Zavala said. "He must have gone that way."

Dodson looked worried. "My housekeeper. Have you seen her?"

"If you're talking about the large and very angry lady we found tied up in the backseat of a rental car, she's fine," Austin said. "We sent her for the police."

"Thank you," Dodson said. "Razov may try for the river when he finds his car is gone. There's a boat there he may use in an attempt to escape."

Zavala started for the back door.

"Wait," Dodson said. "I know a better way. Come with me."

To the puzzlement of the NUMA men, Dodson led them back through the closet into the underground chamber. He twisted two more wall brackets and opened another section of wall. "This is an old escape tunnel. It comes out at the bottom of a dry well near the river. Use the hand and footholds to climb out. You may be able to get to the boat ahead of that dreadful man. The crown will slow him down."

"Thank you, Lord Dodson," Austin said, ducking his head as he slipped through the door.

"Don't go into the river after him," Dodson called out.

"The shallows are dangerous to walk on. The mud is like quicksand. It can swallow a horse."

Austin and Zavala barely heard the warning as they bent into a running crouch and made their way through the tunnel. They had no flashlight and had to feel their way down the narrow, sloping passageway. The smell of stagnant water and rotting vegetation grew stronger. The tunnel ended abruptly, and if not for the shaft of moonlight they would have slammed into the curved wall.

Austin groped around the stones and found the foot and handholds, then they climbed over the low walls around the well and saw the small boathouse silhouetted against the river's sheen. They made their way to the river and took up their stations on either side of the pier.

Before long, they heard the pounding of feet and heavy breathing. Razov was running their way. It seemed as if he would walk directly into their trap, but as he neared the pier, a patch of sky opened in the clouds and the riverside and Austin's pale hair were bathed in a silvery light. It was only an instant, but Razov veered off to avoid the ambush and ran along the banks of the river.

"Stop, Razov!" Austin shouted. "It's no use."

The crackle of broken branches came from ahead as Razov crashed through the bushes bordering the river. They heard a splash. Austin and Zavala followed the sound until they stood on the grassy bank that rose a few feet above the river. Razov was trying to ford the river, but had only made it a few yards from shore before his feet became encased in the soft bottom mud. He had tried to scramble back to land without success. Now he stood in the water waist deep, facing the bank, the crown still clutched in his arms.

"I can't move," he said.

Austin remembered Dodson's warning of quicksand. He found a limb broken off a tree and extended it toward Razov. "Grab this."

Razov was sinking almost to his armpits, yet he made no effort to reach for the branch.

"Drop the damned crown!" Austin yelled.

"No, I've waited too long. I won't let it go."

"It's not worth your life," Austin said.

The water had reached Razov's chin, and his reply was unintelligible. He lifted the crown high and placed it on his head. The weight only served to push him under the surface more quickly. His face disappeared until only the crown was visible, seemingly floating on the water, its surface glittering with a silver fire. Then it, too, disappeared.

"Dios mio," Zavala said, reverting to his native Spanish. "What a way to go."

They heard a huffing and puffing. Dodson had retrieved his rifle and ran toward them with a flashlight.

"Where is that scoundrel?" Dodson asked.

"There." Austin threw the useless branch into the river where Razov had disappeared. "The crown, too."

"Dear God," Dodson said. He pointed his light at the brown, muddy water. Only a few bubbles marked Razov's position and soon they, too, were swept away by the slow-moving current.