Текст книги "White Death"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

37

THE NIETZSCHE WAS a miracle of aeronautical design. Twice as long as a Booing 747 Jumbo Jet, it had been built in an age before computers and space-age materials. The Nietzsche had been modeled after the Graf Zeppelin, the 776-foot-long silver cigar built in 1928 by airship pioneer Hugo Eckener, but innovations that would later be part of the Hindenburg had also been incorporated into the design. In the Graf, passenger quarters were behind the control room. But the Nietzsche had been designed with living space within the fuselage itself.

Once inside the fuselage, Austin and Zavala found themselves in a small room, after their perilous climb from the nacelle. Hanging on the wall were machinists' tools and spare parts and long black leather coats like those favored by aviators of a bygone era. The room was unheated, and the coats would come in handy for those who worked there. Austin tried a coat on and found that it fit.

"You look like the Red Baron," Zavala said.

Austin slipped a leather cap down on his head. "I prefer to think of myself as a master of disguise." Seeing the skepticism in his part– ner's face, Austin said: "Maybe you've noticed that we're somewhat different in appearance from the Eskimo gentlemen we've seen on this little adventure. If these ridiculous outfits give us a second's edge, they might be worth it."

"The sacrifices I make for NUMA," Zavala said, searching for a coat that fit him.

The room's single door opened onto a long corridor. The walls of the plushly carpeted passageway were decorated with fanciful scenes of men in top hats flying a variety of odd-shaped hot-air balloons and flying machines. Antique crystal lamps hung from the ceiling. At the end of the corridor was a passenger area of comfortably appointed staterooms, each with two berths and its own unique pattern of flow– ery wallpaper.

A short walk led to an elegant dining salon. There were about a dozen small rectangular tables, each covered with a white tablecloth, neatly creased napkins set in place. Two upholstered chairs with ma– hogany arms and legs were pulled slightly back from each table, as if guests were to arrive momentarily.

Tall curtained windows would have given the diners a God's-eye view of the world below. Next to the dining room was a lounge, complete with bar and bandstand, and a dance floor of highly pol– ished wood. Like the dining salon, the lounge was decorated in Art Deco motif. Geometric patterns prevailed. The wall behind the bar was an art gallery ofzeppelin photos.

The lounge was hushed except for the muted rumble of engines.

Zavala looked around in wonder. "This is like being on an old ocean liner."

"Just pray that it isn't the Titanic," Austin said.

Austin led the way toward a room furnished with leather sofas and chairs. His knowledge of German was limited, but he guessed that the sign on the wall designated the area as the smoking room. They left the room and followed another corridor that led to an expansive space that seemed to be a work area. They could see a large functional table illuminated by halogen lamps, computers and several chairs that were designed more for function than comfort. Part of the room was in shadow. Austin found a wall light switch and flicked it on. The entire room was flooded with light, and both men tensed when they discovered that they were not alone. Two figures stood against the far wall, and Zavala swore in Spanish. Out of the corner of his eye, Austin saw the shotgun coming to bear.

"Wait!" he said.

Zavala lowered the gun and smiled as he studied the figures. He was looking at the mummified bodies of two men, propped up on metal stands. They stood in a natural position, arms hanging down by their sides. Their skin was as dark as leather and stretched tightly against their skulls. The eye sockets were empty, but the faces were remarkably well preserved. Austin and Zavala moved in for a closer look.

Zavala said, "I don't think these guys are the Blues Brothers."

"I don't think they're brothers at all. Judging from their clothing, I'd say they come from different eras."

One man was dressed in a heavy shirt and leggings of coarse ma– terial. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders. The taller man had short blond hair and wore a pro-World War II leather coat, not unlike the ones Austin and Zavala were wearing. Hanging above the mummies was a large, ragged-edged piece of aluminum. The word Nietzsche was printed on it.

Next to the mummies was a glass display case like those found in museums. Inside the case were a Leica 35mm still camera and sev– eral lenses, a Zeiss movie camera, charts of the northern hemisphere and a leather-bound book. Austin opened the case and leafed through the pages of the book. It was filled with entries in German, stopping in 1935. He stuffed the book into his pocket. He was examining a dis– play of Eskimo harpoons and knives, when Zavala called him over.

"Kurt. You've got to see this."

Zavala had wandered over to the long ebony chest that rested on a waist-high platform. On top of the chest was a horn that looked as if it had been made from an elephant's tusk. The instrument was studded with gems and banded in gold. Austin carefully removed the horn and handed it to Zavala, who marveled at the detail of the bat– tle scenes carved into the ivory.

Austin opened the chest and pushed back the lid. Lying on pur– ple velvet inside the chest was a sword in its scabbard. He lifted the leather scabbard from the chest and inspected the gold-clad hilt and hand guard. Set into the heavy triangular pommel was a huge ruby. The elaborate hand guard was etched with flowers. He mused at the incongruity of the beautiful decoration on a weapon with such deadly potential.

He hefted the two-edged sword, feeling the perfect balance, then gingerly drew the weapon from the scabbard. An electric thrill seemed to run through his arm. Could this be Durendal, the fabled weapon that Roland swung against the Saracens? The blade was chipped here and there. A picture flitted through his mind of Roland banging the sword against a stone so that it wouldn't fall into the hands of the enemy.

Zavala whistled. "That thing must be worth a fortune." Austin thought about all the time and money Balthazar Aguirrez had expended in his search for the object in his hand. "It's worth a lot more than that," he said.

He removed his coat and buckled the scabbard around his waist. He took a few steps as an experiment and found that the scabbard slapped against his leg. The thick leather belt hindered access to his revolver holster as well. He tried another position, slipping the scab– bard belt over his shoulder so that the sword hung down by his left side. Then he got back into his coat.

"Planning to do some fencing?" Zavala said. "Maybe. You must admit it beats your army knife." "My knife has a corkscrew," Zavala reminded him. "What about the overgrown bugle?"

"We'd better put it back. I don't want to advertise the fact that I've absconded with the toothpick under my coat."

They carefully replaced the horn the way it was found and moved to the other side of the room, where a map of the world was spread out on the worktable. Austin bent over the map and saw that coastal areas on all the continents were blocked out in red pen. Noted next to each red section was a date and a listing of various species offish. A large star marked the lake site where they had boarded the airship. He drew his finger from the star along a pencil line due east into the North Atlantic. The notation above the line was that day's date.

He straightened and said, "We've got to stop this ship before it gets to the Atlantic. This isn't a test run."

"Fine with me. I might point out that this thing is almost a thou– sand feet long and full of heavily armed thugs who might have other ideas."

"We don't have to take over the whole ship, just the control cabin.'

"Why didn't you say so? It's as good as done."

"Think you can fly this old gasbag?"

"Can't be that hard," Zavala said. "You hit the throttle and point the nose where you want to go."

Despite the casual reply, Austin never doubted Zavala's words. His partner had hundreds of hours under his belt flying practically every aircraft built. Austin tried to picture where they were in the zeppelin. He guessed that they were about midway along the length of the great airship. If they kept moving forward and down, they would come to the control cabin.

They left the room and its strange museum display and followed a maze of passageways totally unlike those they had encountered when they first came aboard. Their surroundings were newer and more functional. They came to a set of stairs leading down. Austin thought they had come to the control cabin, but he changed his mind when his nose picked up a whiff of brine and fish. He was reminded uncomfortably of his first breath inside the Oceanus fish nursery in the Faroe Islands.

He hesitated at the top of the stairs, drew his Bowen, and slowly descended into the blackness below. His ears picked up the sound of motors and bubbling aerators, further convincing him that his fish– nursery theory was correct. He was about halfway down the stairs, when the lights went on and he saw that he had more than biofish to contend with.

Dr. Barker stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him, a cheerful smile on his thin face. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

"Hello, Mr. Austin," Barker said. "We've been expecting you.

Won't you join us?"

Any inclination to refuse Barker's offer was tempered by the sight of the stone-faced guards who surrounded the man, and the assault rifle muzzles pointed up the stairwell. The touch of a finger on even a single trigger would be enough to reduce Austin and Zavala to their basic molecules. Even more persuasive was the expression on the face of Barker's scarfaced henchman, who had tried on several occa– sions to kill Austin. His liver-colored lips were stretched in a wide grin that told Austin he was still the top target in the man's sights.

"I would be a fool to refuse such a warm invitation," Austin said, as he descended the rest of the way.

"Now drop your guns and kick them over/' Barker said. Austin and Zavala did as they were told. The guards picked the weapons up. One man came over and frisked Zavala. Scarface stepped up to Austin and ran his hands roughly down the front of the leather coat.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die," he growled.

Durendal seemed to glow red hot against Austin's ribs. "I know a dentist who could do wonders for your teeth," he said.

Scarface stopped his search and grabbed Austin's lapel in a chok– ing hold, only to back off at an order from Barker.

"That's no way to treat our guests," Barker said. Turning to Joe, he said, "You're Mr. Zavala, I presume?"

Zavala's mouth turned up slightly at the ends, and the softness of his dark brown eyes couldn't disguise the contempt in his voice. "And you're Dr. Barker, the mad scientist, I presume. Kurt has told me a lot about you."

"All good, I'm sure," Barker said. He seemed amused as he glanced back to Austin. "Are you gentlemen on your way to a cos– tume ball?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. If you don't mind, we'll be on our way/ Austin said.

"Don't run off so soon. You just got here."

"If you insist. We'd like to lower our hands, if you don't mind." "Go right ahead, but don't give my men an excuse to kill you on the spot."

"Thanks for the warning." Austin glanced around. "How did you know we were aboard, hidden surveillance cameras?"

"Nothing so sophisticated in this old relic. Purely as a safety meas– ure, we installed sensors around the ship. A light in the control cabin indicated a change in air temperature in the starboard engine– maintenance room. When we went to investigate, we found the hatch open. We thought it was an accident until we noticed that the coats were missing."

"How careless of us." "It's the kind of carelessness that can get you killed. That was a dangerous way to come aboard. If you wanted a tour, we would have been glad to accommodate you."

"Maybe next time."

"There won't be a next time." Barker stepped forward and re– moved his sunglasses, revealing the pale eyes Austin had first seen at the Smithsonian reception. The irises were almost as white as the rest of his eyes and reminded Austin of a venomous snake he had once seen. "You and NUMA have caused me a great deal of trouble," Barker said.

"Your troubles are just beginning," Austin said.

"Brave words for someone in your position. But not unexpected. Umealiq was disappointed when you foiled his plans for you in Washington."

"Umealiq?" said Zavala, who was hearing the name for the first time.

"That's Scarface's real name," Austin said. "It supposedly means 'stone lance.' "

Zavala's lips curled in a slight smile.

"You find something humorous in the situation?" Barker said. "That's funny," Zavala said. "I thought it was Kiolyan for 'seal ma– nure/ "

Scarface's hand went to the ivory knife at his belt, and he took a step forward. Barker stopped him with an outstretched arm. He gazed thoughtfully at the NUMA men.

"What do you know about the Kiolya?"

"I know that the Inuit consider you to be the scum of the Arctic," Austin said.

Barker's bloodless face flushed scarlet. "The Inuit are in no posi– tion to judge. They have let the world think that the people of the north are nothing but a bunch of blubber-chewing caricatures who run around in furs and live in ice houses."

Austin was pleased to see that he could get under Barker's cold skin. "I've heard the Kiolyan women smell like rancid whale blub– ber," he said.

Zavala sensed the opening and joined in. "Actually, they smell worse," he said. "That's why these goons prefer their own male com– pany."

"Insult us all you want," Barker said. "Your feeble repartee is the ranting of the doomed. My men are a brotherhood, like the warrior monks of the past."

Austin's mind was racing madly. Barker was right. He and Joe could summon up every insult possible, but they were still two un– armed men against several well-armed guards. He would have to try to change the equation. It took some willpower to do so, but he yawned and said, "What about that tour you promised?"

"How rude of me to forget."

Barker led the way onto a raised catwalk running down the mid– dle of the chamber. The sound of bubbling water came from both sides, but the source of the noise was hidden by darkness. Barker re– placed the sunglasses on his head and gave an order to one of his men. A second later, the chamber was flooded in a blue light that came from fish tanks on both sides and a couple of feet below the catwalk. The tanks were flush to the floor and were covered with sliding transparent plastic lids that allowed a view of the huge fish swim– ming inside.

"You look puzzled, Mr. Austin."

"Another miscalculation on my part. I thought your fish were being held at your coastal operation where they would have access to salt water."

"These are no ordinary fish," Barker said with pride in his voice. "They are designed to survive in salt or fresh water. The seed fish are improvements on the models I developed with Dr. Throckmorton. They are slightly larger and more aggressive than ordinary fish. Per– fect breeding machines. The airship will fly within feet of the ocean's surface, and they will slide down special chutes built into the belly of the zeppelin." He spread his arms the way he had done at his pep rally. "Behold my creations. Soon, these beautiful creatures will be swimming in the sea."

"Where your monsters will create incredible havoc," Austin said.

"Monsters? I think not. I've simply used my genetic-engineering skills to produce a better commercial product. There's nothing ille– gal about it."

"Murder is illegal." "Spare us your pitiful indignation. There were many casualties before you came onto the scene. There will be many more obstacles to be removed." He crossed to the tanks on the other side of the fish hold. "These are my special pets. I wanted to see how large and hun– gry I could make an ordinary fish. They are too aggressive for breed– ing purposes. They are separated by sluice gates now so they don't at– tack each other."

At a word from Barker, a guard went over to a cooler and ex– tracted a frozen cod around two feet long. He slid back the plastic lid covering one of the tanks and tossed the carcass into the water. Within seconds, the cod disappeared in a bloody froth.

"I've made dinner reservations for you," Barker said.

"No thanks, we've already eaten," Austin said.

Barker studied the faces of the two men, but saw no sign of fear, only defiance. He frowned and said, "I'll give you and your partner time to think about your fate, to imagine what it feels like to be torn apart by razor-sharp teeth and scattered over the ocean. Our men will come for you shortly after we stop at our facility on the coast to re– fuel. Adieu, gentlemen."

Barker's men grabbed Austin and Zavala and hustled them down a corridor leading to a storage room. They were shoved inside, and the door was locked behind them.

Austin tried the lock, then found a seat on a pile of cardboard boxes.

"You don't seem very worried about being fed to the fishes," Zavala said.

"I have no intention of providing entertainment for that white– eyed freak and his cretinous henchmen. By the way, I liked your comment about Kiolyan women."

"It went against my grain. As you know, I love women of any kind. They have a lot to put up with, with their menfolk running around killing and sacrificing people. So, Mr. Houdini, how do we escape this little mess?"

"I guess we bust our way out of here."

"Uh-huh. And assuming we can get beyond that door, what chance do the two of us have against a battalion of armed men?"

"There are three of us, actually."

Zavala looked around. "An invisible friend, no doubt." Austin peeled out of his coat and drew the sword from its scab– bard. Even in the faint light inside the storage room, the blade seemed to glow. "This is my friend-Durendal7'

38

THE CATAMARAN CAME in like a marine landing craft, and the twin hulls slid partway onto the shore with a shriek of fiber' glass against gravel. The boat had no sooner come to a grinding halt than the people on board started to pile off. Ben Nighthawk was the first to hit the ground, followed by the Basques and the SOS crew. They helped the villagers climb down, and the group headed inland. Only Ben and Diego stayed behind.

Jesse Nighthawk turned and saw his son lingering on the beach. He shooed the other villagers into the woods and walked back to where Ben was standing.

"Why aren't you coming?" the old man said.

"Go on without me," Ben replied. "I've been talking to Diego. We have work to do."

"What do you mean? What sort of work?"

Ben looked across the lake. "Revenge." "You can't go back!" Jesse said. "It's too dangerous." Diego, who had been listening to the exchange, said, "The heli– copter pilots who were shot down were our friends. Their death can– not go unanswered."

"Those people killed my cousin," Ben said. "They beat and tor– tured my friends and family. They've raped our beautiful forest."

Jesse couldn't see his son's face in the shadows, but there was no mistaking the determination in Ben's voice. "Very well," he said sadly.

"I will see the others to safety."

Marcus Ryan emerged from the woods, trailed by Chuck Mercer and Therri Weld. "What's going on?" he said, sensing the somber at– mosphere.

"Ben and this man are going back," Jesse said. "I tried to stop them. They want to get themselves killed."

Ben put his hand on his father's shoulder. "That's the last thing I want to do, Pop. I can't speak for Diego, but at the very least, I want to wipe that big fake igloo off the face of the earth."

"That's a tall order for two men," Ryan said. "You'll need help." "Thanks, Mark, I know you mean well, but the others need you more than we do."

"You're not the only one who has a score to settle," Ryan said. His voice gained a steely edge. "Barker killed Joshua, and he sank my ship. Now he's trying to kill the oceans. I owe him big-time. That thing on the other side of the lake is no grass hut. You're not going to blow it down with a huff and a puff."

"We know that. We'll figure it out."

"You don't have time for trial and error. I know how we can send that dome into the stratosphere." Ryan turned to Mercer. "You re– member what we talked about?"

"Yeah, I remember. We said we could give Barker a big hotfoot if we got the chance."

"Well, Ben, how about it?" Ryan said. "Are we in?"

"It's not my decision alone." He turned to Diego.

The Basque said, "There are many of them and only a few of us.

Pablo is out of action. We would have to be very lucky merely to stay alive."

Ben hesitated. "Okay, Mark. You're in."

Ryan's mouth widened in a triumphant grin. "We'll need some ex– plosives. Our C-4 was taken away when we were captured."

"My brother and I have some hand grenades," Diego said, reach– ing over to tap his backpack. "Three apiece. Enough?"

In answer, Ryan glanced at Mercer, who said, "It could work if they're positioned in the right place."

"What can I do?" said Therri, who had been listening to the dis– cussion.

"Ben's people are in pretty tough shape," Ryan said. "They'll need your help, especially the kids."

"I'll do my best," Therri said. She kissed him and gave Mercer and Ben a peck on the cheek as well. "Take care of yourselves."

As Therri made her way back into the forest, Ben and the other men pushed the catamaran off the beach and climbed aboard. The boat's twin hulls and powerful motors gave it a respectable speed. They scudded over the surface of the lake and soon reached the op– posite shore. Pablo and Diego rode shotgun in the bow as the boat coasted up to the pier. They quickly tied up and headed inland.

Mercer made a stop at the boat shed and emerged with two reels of three-eighths docking line, some cord and a roll of duct tape. Walking single file, they detoured around the plaza. With Ryan in the lead, the group made its way undetected to the side of the dome.

Ryan found what he was looking for: a tall, cylindrical fuel tank lo– cated in a clearing surrounded by dense woods. Painted on the side was a warning that the tank contained highly flammable contents. A steel pipe about six inches in diameter ran from the tank to the side of the building. Next to where the pipe entered the airship hangar was a locked door. Like the dome itself, the door was made of a plas– tic material and easily gave way to the strength and determination be– hind Diego's shoulders.

Then he and the others stepped into a short passageway that ran parallel to the pipe for several yards. The conduit disappeared through a wall next to another door, this one unlocked. Ryan took the lead and opened the door a crack, giving him a view of the inte– rior of the airship hangar. Men milled around in the middle of the building, where the airship had been tied down. Others were coiling lines or moving gantries and scaffolding. A few guards were drift– ing out the hangar's main door.

Ryan motioned for the others to stay put while he and Mercer stepped into the hangar. They crawled along the wall behind tall stacks of coiled hose until they came to where the pipe entered the building. Barker had gestured toward the hose when he had ex– plained why he used hydrogen rather than helium to fill the airship's gasbags. A valve controlled by a large hand-turned wheel allowed the flow of gas into the hose. Ryan turned the wheel on the pipe until they could hear the hiss of gas escaping through the nozzle.

The escaping gas rose to the roof, where it wouldn't be detected, they hoped, until it was too late. With their work done, they slipped out the door and followed the passageway into the open. Ben and Diego had been equally busy. Following Mercer's instructions, they had taped the hand grenades onto the tank. Short lengths of cord had been attached to the safety-pin rings and ganged to the line from one of the spools. Ryan and Mercer inspected the work, found it satis– factory, then walked back to the lake, uncoiling the line behind them. They tried to run the line straight back to the lake, keeping it clear of bushes and trees where it could snag.

When they'd emptied one two-hundred-foot-long spool, they spliced the free end onto another spool. They were still a dozen yards short of the lake when that spool gave out, too. Mercer ducked into the boat shed and came out with several lengths and sizes of rope that they spliced together until the rope reached to the water's edge. When all was ready, Diego headed back to the plaza and took a position be– hind a thick tree.

With their work inside the hangar done, Kiolyan men were streaming out into the plaza, some of them heading in the direction of their barracks. The Basque coldly took a bead on a guard and let off a short burst. The man fell to the ground. More guards came running from the direction of the barracks and began to fire indis– criminately into the woods where they saw muzzle flashes, but Diego moved after each kill and the bullets went far wide of their targets. When two more of their number were killed, the men in the plaza ran for the door of the giant igloo.

Diego had counted on exactly this reaction. He had tried to pick off the men who were making a break for the woods. The effect was to herd the guards into the "protection" of the structure. He knew that, given time, they would emerge from other exits in the dome and fan out into the woods and try a flanking maneuver. But as the last man disappeared into the airship hangar, leaving the plaza deserted, Diego was already sprinting back to the beach.

Waiting on shore, where he and the others had been alerted by the sound of gunfire, Ryan saw Diego running toward him and handed the end of the line to Ben.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

"Thanks," Ben said, taking the line. "Nothing would give me more pleasure."

Ryan turned to the other men. "When Ben yanks on that line, dive into the water and keep your head under for as long as you can. Okay, Ben. Let'er rip!"

Ben jerked hard on the line, then dropped it and dove with the others into the lake. They filled their lungs with air, then ducked below the surface. Nothing happened. Ryan poked his head out and swore. He sloshed out of the lake onto the beach, picked up the loose end of the line and gave it a tug. It tugged back as if caught on a branch.

"I'll check. Must be hung up on something," he called out to the others, and followed the line inland.

Ryan was only partly right. The line was snagged on someone, not something. A stray guard had seen Diego bolt for the lake and had gone over to investigate. He was holding the line in his hand when he saw Ryan approach from the beach. Ryan was bent low, his eyes following the line, and he never saw the man level his gun. The first sign that he was not alone was the impact of the bullet hitting him in the shoulder like a fiery hammer blow. He dropped to his knees.

The guard never got off another shot. Diego, who had been fol– lowing Ryan's trail, let off a burst that stitched its way across the guard's chest. The guard was thrown back by the impact, but his fingers clutched the line in a death grip. Ryan watched through filmy eyes as the guard fell, his weight pulling on the line. An alarm sounded in his brain, cutting through the pain and confusion, and he tried to rise, but his legs were made of rubber. Then he felt strong hands lifting him to his feet and guiding him back toward the lake. They were almost at the water's edge, when the lake lit up as if it had been sprayed with phosphorescent paint.

When the guard had toppled over, the tug had been transmitted along the line to the grenade rings. They'd popped out, and the levers had gone flying, igniting the fuse train. Six seconds later, the grenades went off simultaneously. A millisecond after that, the hydrogen in the tank ignited. The fiery gas rushed along the short length of the pipe and exited through the nozzle as if it were expelled from the busi– ness end of a flamethrower. The spurting flames touched off the in– visible cloud of hydrogen hanging under the dome.

The airship hangar became a hell for the Kiolyan guards. Satu– rated with hydrogen, the superheated air exploded inside the dome, instantly incinerating flesh and bone. The dome contained the heat for only a few seconds, glowing white hot, before the thick plastic cells that formed the walls evaporated. But the delay before the final explosion of flames gave Ryan and Diego the time they needed. They gained the water's edge and dove into the lake as the dome exploded and sent out sheets of flame that vaporized the surrounding forest and outbuildings. Blistering waves of heat rippled out in every di– rection.

Hampered by his wound, Ryan had only taken a quick gulp of air before plunging into the lake, and his lungs were only partially filled. He saw the water light up and heard a muffled roar, and he stayed under for as long as he could before popping his head up. When he surfaced, thick smoke from the burning forest stung his eyes, but he paid no attention to the pain. He stared in awe at the mushroom cloud rising high in the sky from the field of orange-glowing embers that marked the place where he had last seen the dome. It made the Hindenburg explosion look like a candle flame.

Like otters coming up for air, Ben, Mercer and Diego stuck their heads out of the water and shared his wonder. Each of them had lost a friend or a relative to the schemes of Barker and his Kiolyan henchmen. But there was no smugness or satisfaction at the de– struction they had caused. They knew that justice had been only partially served. The mad geneticist had been hurt but not stopped. By the flickering light of the burning trees, they swam to the cata– maran, the three of them helping Ryan through the water. Minutes later, the boat was moving across the water, leaving the smoldering funeral pyre in its wake.