Текст книги "White Death"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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The arcing grenade clunked into the boat, landing practically at

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

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

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

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

13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How bad was it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"These are originals, too?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This is called alubias de tolosa" Aguirrez said, downing his food with gusto. "We Basques treat it with an almost mystical reverence."

"Basque. Of course. Navarra is a Basque province. Then there's the jai alai painting. And the black beret."

"I'm impressed, Mr. Austin! You seem to know a great deal about my people."

"Anyone interested in the sea knows that the Basques were the greatest explorers, sailors and shipbuilders in the world."

Aguirrez clapped his hands. "Bravo." He refilled Austin's wine– glass and leaned forward. "Tell me, what is your interest in the sea?" He maintained his ferocious grin, but pinioned Austin with a pene– trating gaze.

Austin admired the way Aguirrez had subtly managed the con– versational shift. Until he knew his host better and learned why the blue yacht was hanging out near the Oceanus fish farm, Austin planned to play his cards close to his vest.

"I'm a salvage specialist," he said. "I've been working on a project in the Faroes. I came to Skaalshavn to do some fishing."

Aguirrez sat back and roared with laughter. "Excuse my bad man– ners," he said with tears in his eyes. "But it was my men who fished you from the sea."

Austin's mouth widened in a sheepish grin. "A cold swim wasn't in my plans."

Aguirrez became serious again. "From what we saw, there was an explosion on your boat."

"The ventilation for the engine compartment was insufficient, and gasoline vapors collected. It happens sometimes with inboards," Austin said.

Aguirrez nodded. "Strange. In my experience, explosions of that type usually happen when a boat has been sitting at the dock. And your wound undoubtedly was caused by flying metal."

"Undoubtedly," Austin said with a poker face, knowing full well that the ship's doctor would have seen that there were no burn marks on his skin and his wound was too neat to be from a jagged hunk of metal. Austin didn't know why Aguirrez was playing verbal cat– and-mouse, but he went along with the game. "I was lucky you were nearby."

Nodding soberly, Aguirrez said, "We watched your earlier en– counter with the patrol boat and saw you head along the coast. When we rounded the point later, you had vanished. Not long after that, you burst from that sea cave like a man shot from a cannon." He clapped his big hands together. "Boom! Your boat was in pieces and you were in the water."

"That about sums it up," Austin said, with a faint smile. After offering Austin a short, thick cigar, which he refused, Aguir– rez lit up a dark stogie that smelled like a toxic waste site. "So my friend," he said, blowing smoke through his nostrils. "Did you get into the caves?"

"Caves?" Austin feigned innocence.

"For God's sakes, man, that's why I'm here, to find the caves. Surely you must have wondered what my boat is doing in this God– forsaken place."

"It had occurred to me."

"Then allow me to explain. I have done very well with my busi– nesses.

An understatement. You're very fortunate. Congratulations.

"Thank you. My wealth gives me the means and the time to do whatever I like. Some men choose to spend their fortune on beauti– ful young women. I choose to be an amateur archaeologist."

"Ambitious hobbies in either case." "I still enjoy the company of beautiful women, especially if they are intelligent. But with me, the past is more than a hobby." He looked as if he were about to spring from his chair. "It is my passion. As you said earlier, the Basques were great men of the sea. They pioneered the cod and whale fisheries off North America decades before Columbus. An ancestor of mine, Diego Aguirrez, profited from this trade."

"He would be proud to see his descendant has carried on his legacy."

"You're more than kind, Mr. Austin. He was a man of great courage and unyielding principle, qualities that got him in trouble with the Spanish Inquisition. He angered one of the more ruthless Inquisitors."

"Then he was executed?" Aguirrez smiled. "He was resourceful, as well. Diego saw his wife and children to safety. I am a direct descendant of his eldest son. Family tradition says he escaped in one of his ships, but his fate is a mystery."

"The sea is full of unsolved puzzles." Aguirrez nodded. "Nevertheless, he left tantalizing clues that show he intended to put himself far beyond the reach of the Inqui– sition. The traditional North American route for the Basques in– cluded a stopover here in the Faroes. So I began to explore that link. You know the origins of the name Skaalshavn?"

"I've been told it means 'Skull Harbor.' "

Aguirrez smiled and rose from the table to extract an ornately carved wooden box from a cabinet. He unlatched the top and pulled out a skull, cradling it in one hand like Hamlet contemplating Yorick. "This is from one of those caves. I've had it looked at by ex– perts. It has distinct Basque characteristics." He tossed the skull to Austin as if it were a ball, probably hoping to shock him.

Austin caught the skull neatly and spun it in his hand like a ge– ographer studying a globe of the world. "Maybe it's your ancestor Diego." He tossed the skull back.

"I wondered the same thing and had it tested for DNA. This gen– tleman and I are not related, I'm sad to say." Aguirrez put the skull back into the box and rejoined Austin at the table. "This is my sec– ond visit here. The first time, I expected that the caves would be ac– cessible from land. I was dismayed to learn that the harbor and cave area had been purchased for use as a fish farm. I located a man who had worked in demolition when the farm was set up. He said that when the owners were blasting out rock to create storage space, they broke through to the caves. I tried to persuade the owners to let me conduct archaeological explorations, but they refused. I pulled every string I could think of, but even with my connections, Oceanus wouldn't budge. So I came back for another look."

"You're very persistent."

"This has become a quest. Which is why I'm interested in your ad– venture. I suspected the natural arch might provide entry into the caves, but the waters around them were too dangerous for our launches. Apparently, you found a way to get in."

"Dumb luck," Austin said briefly.

Aguirrez chuckled. "I think it was more than luck. Please, tell me what you saw. I will bribe you with more wine."

He snapped his fingers. The waiter brought a new bottle, opened it and refilled their glasses.

"No bribe is necessary," Austin said. "Consider it partial repay– ment for your hospitality and the fine meal." He sipped from his glass, enjoying the buildup of suspense. "You're right, there is a way into the caves through the arch. The locals call it the 'Mer– maid's Gate.' The cave network is quite extensive. I only saw part of it."

Austin went into detail about the cave art, saying nothing about his side trip into the fish farm. Aguirrez hung on every word.

"Similar Paleolithic paintings dating back twelve thousand years have been found on the walls of caves in Basque country," he mur– mured at one point. "The other drawings indicate that an advanced civilization must have used the caves."

"That was my impression. Supposedly, the Faroes were uninhab– ited before the Irish monks and the Vikings settled here. Maybe the historians were wrong."

"I wouldn't be surprised. The scholars have no idea where my

people came from. Our language has no antecedents in Europe or Asia. Basques have the highest percentage ofRH-negative blood type in the world, leading some to speculate that we go directly back to Cro-Magnon man." He banged his fist lightly on the table. "I'd give anything to get into those caves."

"You saw the warm reception I got." "You seem to have stirred up a hornet's nest. While you slept, the patrol boats came out from shore and demanded permission to come aboard. We refused, of course."

"The boat I saw had a couple of men with automatic rifles."

Aguirrez waved toward the art hanging on the wall. "When they saw that my men outgunned and outnumbered them, they quickly left."

"They had a helicopter, too. It was armed with rockets."

"Oh yes, that," he said, as if he were talking about a pesky gnat.

"I had my men brandish their handheld surface-to-air missiles, and the helicopter stopped bothering us."

Missiles and automatic weapons. The Navarra was armed like a warship.

Aguirrez read Austin's mind. "Wealthy men can be a target for kidnappers. The Navarra would be fair game for pirates, so I have made sure it is not exactly toothless. Of necessity, I have surrounded myself with loyal and well-armed men."

/Why do you suppose Oceanus is so prickly about people poking into its business?" Austin said. "We're talking about a fish farm, not diamond mines."

"I asked myself the same question," Aguirrez said, with a shrug.

One of the men who had kept watch over Austin came into the dining room. He handed Aguirrez a plastic bag and whispered into his ear.

Aguirrez nodded and said, "Thank you for being so forthcoming about your visit to the caves, Mr. Austin. Is there anything more I can do for you?"

"I wouldn't mind a lift back to the village."

"Done. My man has informed me that we are passing the sea stack and should be anchoring in a few minutes." He handed the plastic bag over. "Your clothes and personal effects have been drying out."

Austin was ushered back to his cabin so he could change. The bag also held his wallet, which contained his NUMA photo ID card prominently displayed in its plastic window. Aguirrez was a cool one. He would have known that Austin's story about being in ma– rine salvage was made out of whole cloth, yet he'd never let on. In– side the bag was a business card with his host's name and a telephone number. Austin tucked the card into his wallet.

Aguirrez was waiting on deck to say good-bye.

"I appreciate your hospitality," Austin said, shaking hands with his host. "I hope I'm not being rude having to eat and run."

"Not at all," Aguirrez said, with an enigmatic smile. "I wouldn't be surprised if our paths crossed again."

"Stranger things have happened," Austin said, with a grin. Moments later, Austin was in the launch heading across the quiet harbor.

14

TWO THOUSAND FEET above Skaalshavn harbor, the Bell 206 Jet Ranger helicopter that had been tracking the yacht along the coast came to a hover and focused its Wescam high– resolution surveillance camera on the launch making its way to shore. The man in the pilot's seat stared at a video monitor, watching as a lone passenger disembarked from the boat.

The helicopter pilot had a pie-shaped face with high cheekbones marked with vertical tattoo lines. His coal-black hair was cut in bangs over his low forehead, characteristics that might lead a casual ob– server to take him for a native of the northern tundra. But the fea– tures normally associated with the Eskimo were distorted. In place of a pleasant smile was a cruel, leering expression. Eyes that should have twinkled with innocent good humor were as hard as black di– amonds. The brownish-red skin was pockmarked, as if the corrup– tion within had seeped through the pores. The hastily applied band– age taped across the man's crushed nose intensified the grotesque image.

'We have the target in view," he said with a nasal snarl, speaking in an ancient language that had its origins under the aurora borealis.

The electronic signal from the camera, which was housed in a pod beneath the cockpit, was converted into microwaves and transmitted instantaneously to the other side of the globe to a darkened room, where pale-gray eyes watched the same picture seen from the heli– copter.

"I can see him quite clearly," the gray-eyed man said. His silky voice was quiet and cultured, but it had the sullen menace of a rattle– snake. "Who is this person who violated our security so easily?"

"His name is Kurt Austin." A pause. "The same Austin who rescued the Danish sailors from their sunken ship?"

"Yes, great Toonook. He is a marine engineer with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

"Are you certain ? A mere engineer wouldn't have been so bold or resourceful as to penetrate our facility. And why would NUMA be interested in our operation?"

"I don't know, but our watcher has verified his identity." "And the yacht that picked him up and drove off your men. Is it a NUMA vessel?"

"As far as we know, it is private, of Spanish registry. We're check– ing on the ownership through our sources in Madrid."

"See that it is done speedily. What is the latest damage report at our facility?"

"One guard dead. We were able to repair the damaged pipes and save the prime specimens."

"The guard deserved to die for being careless. I want the speci– mens moved to Canada immediately. Our experiments are too vital to be jeopardized."

"Yes, great Toonook."

"An idiot can see what has happened. Mr. Austin has somehow drawn a connection between Oceanus and the collision we so con– veniently arranged."

"That's impossible-"

"The evidence is in front of your eyes, Umealiq. Don't argue with it. You must deal with the situation!"

The pilot tightened his grip on the controls, ready to send the hel– icopter swooping down like an eagle. The cruel eyes watching the monitor screen followed the figure making its way from the fish pier to the parked car. Within seconds, he could launch his rockets or spray the target with flesh-shredding machine-gun fire and obliterate the life of a bothersome man. The thin lips widened in a cruel smile.

"Should we kill Austin while we have him in our sights?"

"Do I detect a yearning to avenge the damage to your precious nose?" The voice had a mocking tone to it. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "I should kill him for the trouble he has caused me. Had he allowed the Danish sailors to die, the revulsion of the world would be directed at SOS and the attention of the press diverted away from Oceanus."

"I will do it now-"

"AW Don't be impatient. We must not attract any more attention to his demise than necessary."

"He is staying at an isolated cottage. It would be the perfect place.

We could drop his body off a cliff."

"Thenjw to it. But make it look like an accident. Austin must not be allowed to broadcast his findings to the world. Our plans are at a critical stage."

"I will return to the base and organize our men. I will see that Austin enjoys a lingering death, that he experiences fear and pain as the life drains from his body, that-"

"No. Have someone else do it. I have other plans for you. You must leave for Canada immediately to make sure the specimens get there safely, then you are to go to Washington and eliminate that Senator who opposes our legislation. I have arranged cover for you and your men."

The pilot glanced with fierce longing at the monitor and touched the tender mush that was his nose. "As you wish," he said with re– luctance.

His hands played over the cyclic pitch control, and a moment later the hovering helicopter darted off in the direction of the old harbor.

Unaware how close he had come to a violent end, Austin sat behind the steering wheel of Professor Jorgensen's Volvo, contemplating his next move. He was wary of the remote location of the cottage. He gazed at the warm lights of the town, then grabbed his duffel and left the car. He walked into the village without encountering a soul and went up to the house behind the church.

Pia beamed when she opened the door at his knock and invited him inside. The exertions of the day must have been apparent in his face. When he stepped into the light, her smile disappeared. "Are you all right?" she said, with concern in her voice.

"Nothing a glass ofalamt couldn't help."

Clucking like a mother hen, she ushered him to the kitchen table, poured him a tall glass ofafavit, then watched as he drank. "Well?" she said finally. "Did you catch many fish?"

"No, but I went to visit the mermaids."

Pia let out a whooping laugh, clapped her hands and poured him a couple more fingers of liquor. "I lew it!" she said, with excitement in her voice. "And were the caves as wonderful as my father said?"

She listened like a child as Austin described his entry through the Mermaid's Gate at slack tide and his journey into the cave network. He told her that he would have stayed longer but men with guns chased him away. Cursing impressively in Faroese, she said, "You can't go back to the cottage tonight. Gunnar says he doesn't work for those people, but I think he does."

"I was wondering the same thing. I left the car at the fish pier. Maybe I should leave town."

"God, no! You'll drive off the road into the sea. No, you will stay here tonight and leave early tomorrow."

"Are you sure you want a gentleman staying the night? People will talk," Austin said with a broad smile.

She grinned back, eyes sparkling with childlike mischief. "I hope so."

Shortly before dawn, Austin awakened and got up from the sofa. Pia heard him stir and rose to make him a breakfast. She cooked an industrial-sized potato omelet with smoked fish and pastry on the side. Then she packed him a lunch of cold cuts, cheese and apple and sent him on his way, first eliciting a promise to return.

The town was coming alive as he made his way in the damp morn– ing air to the fish pier. A couple of fishermen on their way to work waved at him from their trucks as he was opening the car door. The keys slipped from his fingers as he waved back-and when he bent to pick them up, his nostrils picked up a chemical smell, and he de– tected a soft splat-splat sound. He got down on his knees and peered under the car, where the odor was even stronger. Fluid dripped where the brake hoses had been cleanly cut. Austin grunted to him– self softly, then he went over to the fish pier and asked around for a aood mechanic. The harbormaster said he would call, and before long a lanky, middle-aged man showed up.

After inspecting the damage, the mechanic stood and handed Austin a section of the hose. "Somebody don't like you."

"No chance it was an accident?"

The taciturn Faroese pointed to where the road out of town skirted a cliff, and he shook his head. "I figure you'd be flying with the birds up there on the first curve. No problem to fix, though."

The mechanic repaired the brakes in short order. When Austin went to pay him, he waved away the money. "That's okay, you're a friend ofPia's."

Austin said, "The people who did this might know I was at Pia's. I wonder if I should talk to the police."

"No such thing here. Don't worry, the whole town will keep close watch on her."

Austin thanked him again, and minutes later he was driving out of town. As he surveyed the sea stack in his rear view mirror, he men– tally ticked off the events of his short stay in Skaalshavn. He was leav– ing town with more questions than answers. Look on the bright side, he told himself with a grin. He had made some terrific new friends.