Текст книги "Blue Gold"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Clive Cussler
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Seeing Austin fall removed all of Zavala's inhibitions against striking a woman.

"That makes two sucker punches," he said softly.

Joe had financed his way through the New York Maritime College by boxing professionally as a middleweight. He won most of his fights, many by knockouts. He had gained weight since college but still managed to keep down to a fighting trim of one hundred seventy-five pounds. He was five foot ten, which gave Brynhild a height advantage of about a foot. She probably outweighed him by fifty pounds, none of it fat.

Brynhild's kick had put her in a good position to unload a roundhouse right aimed at removing Zavala's head from his shoulders. Zavala's old ring instincts were coming back. He saw the punch coming and ducked as the right fist grazed the top of his head, and then he drove a left hard into Brynhild's midsection. The effort almost cost him a broken wrist, but it threw off his opponent's timing. She threw a long, loose left that caught air. Tucking his chin in and bringing his hands up, he tried a three-punch combo that had decked more than one opponent in his college days. He followed up a quick left jab with a short right cross and a left hook.

The right missed, but the left hook caught Brynhild solidly in the jaw. Her eyes went glassy, but only for a second. She stepped back as he moved in and shot a hard overhand right to the heart that took his breath away. While he sucked in air she got past his lowered guard and clouted him in the midsection. Zavala absorbed the blow with his hard stomach muscles and swung a right and a left aimed at her jaw. Both missed. Brynhild had been surprised by Joe's quick and skillful reaction, but now that she had his measure she stood off and used her superior height and reach to pound him with the long artillery.

Zavala guessed her strategy and tried to move in for an uppercut to her chin, but each time she lobbed haymakers at him while staying safely out of reach. His left eye was partially closed, and his nose was bleeding. He threw a long overhand left that caught Brynhild in the throat, but it cost him another stinging punch to the head in return. In spite of her size, she was as fast as any middleweight he had ever seen. The old ring aficionados used to say that a good big man can beat a good small man any day. Zavala hoped the same truism didn't apply to a big woman.

He kept doggedly on, his timing completely off, throwing soggy punches that caught air. He'd only last another minute. Then she'd finish him off with a couple of neck-snapping kicks.

Quite unexpectedly, Brynhild lowered her guard. Before Zavala's weary reflexes could take advantage, the giant woman collapsed in a heap. Joe stood there stupidly and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He saw Gamay standing over Brynhild, holding one of the wooden shields from the ship in both hands.

"There's more than one way to swat a Viking bitch," she said with fury in her eyes.

Austin had managed to get to his feet. Holding his cracked ribs, he looked at the others and said, "I hope we feel better than we look."

"I'll feel a hell of a lot better when we're out of here," Zavala said through puffy lips.

"Wait," Austin said, looking around. "We need a diversion."

Without hesitation he went over to one of the braziers near the boat. He picked it up by the metal legs and dumped the burning coals onto the boat's deck. Then he went on board and tossed the shields into a pile. The flames from the impromptu bonfire flared up the mast and licked the bottom of the hide sail. Within seconds the square sail was a sheet of fire. Black, noxious smoke from the blaze curled up to the roof and began to move horizontally along the ceiling.

With his work done, Austin led the way to the doors. They waited off to the side as the chamber filled with smoke. Within minutes the big doors swung open, and a group of shouting guards piled into the hall. The new supply of fresh air fueled the fire and sent the black clouds billowing throughout the Great Hall. The guards who ran directly to the boat never saw the three shadowy figures slip through the open portal.

Chapter 40

Inside the domed underwater facility Francesca was becoming increasingly frantic. One more piece in place, and her plan would be complete. She didn't dare make her move until she knew the others were safe, especially after Brynhild's hurried exit. She glanced around. The technicians were busy currying favor with the directors who milled around tossing back cups of purified water as if it were Moet champagne. The party wouldn't last forever. Someone was bound to notice her continued attention to the control panel.

The babble of conversation stopped suddenly, and Francesca turned to see three bizarre figures step out of the staff elevator. She gasped at the sight of her friends. They were almost unrecognizable. Gamay was limping, her beautiful dark red hair looked as if it had been caught in an egg beater, and her arms and legs were marked with angry bruises. The white coveralls Austin and Zavala wore were streaked with blood and soot. Zavala's face was puffy, and he had adopted a Popeye squint.

They shoved their way through the crowd and came up to Francesca. Austin managed a grin. "Sorry we took so long. We ran into a few, uh, obstacles."

"Thank God you're here."

Austin put his arm around her shoulders. "We don't plan to stay. We've got a taxi sitting under this thing. Can we offer you a lift?"

Francesca said, "There is one more thing I have to do." She went over to the control panel and punched a series of numbers into the computer keyboard. She watched the digital gauges for a moment. Satisfied all was going as planned, she turned and said, "I'm ready."

Zavala had been keeping the Gogstad people cowed with his weapon in the event someone had an unexpected attack of courage. Austin inspected the board of directors with curiosity. They returned his gaze with glares of pure hatred. At one point the Englishman named Grimley stepped forward. He stuck his nose in Austin's face and said, "We demand that you tell us who you are and what you want here."

Austin laughed unpleasantly, put his hand on the man's bony chest, and shoved him back with the others. "Who is this clown?" he asked Francesca.

"He and his friends are a symbol of all that is wrong with the world."

As an amateur philosopher Austin had long been intrigued by questions of good and evil, but metaphysical discussions would have to wait. He ignored the Englishman and took Francesca's arm, guiding her toward the exit that would take them down to the air lock and the submersible. Gamay followed, then Zavala, who covered their rear.

They had taken only a few steps when the freight elevator doors flew open and about twenty guards spilled out into the lab. They quickly surrounded the fugitives and relieved Zavala of his gun.

Brynhild strode from the elevator, and the guards stepped aside to let her through. Her blond hair was disheveled as a result of the encounter with Gamay's shield, and her pale face was smudged with soot. But her disarray didn't diminish her imposing physique and the malevolence in her pale blue eyes. Quivering with rage, she pointed to the NUMA crew as if she were about to unleash a bolt of lightning.

"Kill them," she ordered.

The Gogstad directors murmured with pleasure at the turn of events, and their eyes glittered in anticipation of the slaughter of the upstarts. But as the guards raised their weapons and pre pared to unleash a lethal volley, Francesca stepped in front of her battered friends. In a voice whose strength and tenor evoked her reign as a white goddess, she shouted, "Stop!"

"Get out of the way, or they'll kill you as well," Brynhild ordered.

Francesca thrust her chin out. "I don't think so."

Brynhild seemed to grow another foot. "Who are you to defy me?" she snarled.

In reply, Francesca walked over and stood before the controls. The panel was lighting up like a pinball machine. Numerical phalanxes marched across the computer screen. There was no mistaking the fact that something was dreadfully out of kilter.

Brynhild swooped down on Francesca like an avenging angel. "What have you done?"

"See for yourself," Francesca said, and stepped aside.

Brynhild stared at the colorful display. "What's happening?"

"The instrumentation is having a nervous breakdown as it tries to deal with the equivalent of a chain reaction."

"What do you mean? Tell me, or I'll-"

"You'll kill me? Go ahead. I'm the only one who can stop the reaction." She smiled. "There's something you never knew about anasazium. Left alone, it's no more dangerous than iron. But its atoms become highly unstable when the material is subjected to certain conditions."

"What kind of conditions?"

"Exactly the combination of temperature, power, and sonic vibration that the core is being subjected to at this minute. Un less I alter the instructions the core will explode."

"You're bluffing."

See for yourself. The heat levels are going off the charts. Still not convinced?" she said. "Think about the mysterious explosion at your Mexican facility. The moment you told me about the blast I knew exactly what had caused it. Only a few pounds of material destroyed your facility. Think of what will happen when hundreds of pounds reach critical mass." Brynhild turned to the technicians who had gathered around and shouted for someone to stop the reaction. The head technician had been watching the insane pattern on the computer screen with fascination. He stepped forward, sweat beading on his forehead, and said, "We don't know how. Anything we do might make it worse."

Brynhild yanked a machine pistol out of the hands of the nearest guard and pointed it at Gamay.

"If you don't stop this I will kill your friends one by one. Her first."

"Now who's bluffing?" Francesca replied. "You plan to kill them anyhow. This way we'll all die together."

Brynhild's white skin grew impossibly paler. She lowered the gun.

"Tell me what you want," she demanded, her voice taut with anger.

"I want these people safely out of here."

Brynhild had been trained as an engineer to assemble the facts before making a decision. If the reaction were not stopped the resulting explosion would destroy the plant. Francesca was the only one who knew how to defuse the situation. Brynhild would let the NUMA people go. As soon as the reaction was stabilized she would order her security forces to round them up. Then she would deal with Francesca. She wanted revenge for the destruction of her ship, but she could be patient. It had taken her years to get to this moment.

She handed the machine pistol back to the guard. 'Agreed," she said. "But you must stay."

Francesca heaved a sigh of relief and turned to Austin. "You said you came by water?"

"Yes. We have scuba gear and a submersible waiting for us directly under the lab."

"You won't be able to go that way," Francesca said. "The heat levels have already built up too far. You'd be boiled before you got to your submarine."

"We'll try to take the elevator up to the pier. There's a boat there."

"That's your best course."

"We can't leave you."

"It's all right. They won't hurt me as long as I'm of use to them." She smiled beguilingly. "I'll look forward to being rescued by NUMA once again." She turned to Brynhild. "I'll see them to the elevator."

"No tricks," she snarled. She ordered two guards to escort the group.

Francesca pressed the button that opened the door on the egg-shaped lift. "You're injured. I'll help you in." When they were all seated she leaned in and whispered, "Does anyone have a gun?"

The guards who relieved Zavala of his machine pistol assumed that because Austin didn't have a gun in his hand he wasn't carrying one. But he still had the revolver he had taken from one of the Kradzik brothers tucked under his shirt.

"I have one," Austin said, "but it would be suicide to try to shoot your way out of here."

"I don't intend to. The gun, please."

Austin reluctantly handed the gun over. In return she reached under her smock and handed him a manila envelope.

"It's all here, Kurt. Guard this with your life," she said.

"What is it?"

"You'll see when you give it to the world." She gave Austin a long and lingering kiss. "I'm sorry, but we'll have to postpone our date," she said with a smile. Then she turned to the others. "Good-bye, my friends. Thank you for everything."

The finality in her voice was unmistakable. Austin suddenly realized that she had no intention of being rescued.

"Get in!" Austin yelled, and made a grab for her arm.

She stepped easily out of reach and glanced at her watch. "You have exactly five minutes. Use them well."

Then she punched the Up button. The door slid shut, and the elevator quickly shot out of sight. The guards diverted their attention to watch the elevator. Francesca eased the gun from under her smock and shot out the elevator controls. Then she did the same with the freight elevator and tossed the gun aside. As Brynhild rushed over with the other guards, a loud klaxon began to sound from loudspeakers set around the dome. "What have you done?" Brynhild shouted.

"That's the five-minute warning," Francesca yelled back. "The reaction has been locked into place. Nothing will stop it now."

"You said you would stop the reaction if I let your friends go."

Francesca laughed. "I lied. You told me never to trust any one," flinging Brynhild's words back at her.

The technicians had realized the danger before anyone, and while attention was diverted they silently slipped off to climb a narrow emergency staircase that spiraled in a separate water proof shaft that led to the surface. The directors saw them trying to flee and tried to follow. The discipline of the guards quickly dissolved under the influence of fear. They used their gun butts to drive the directors back, then opened up on those who wouldn't yield. Bodies piled up in front of the portal that led to the stairway. Guards scrambled over the heap of corpses only to be stuck in the narrow space. None would give way, and others pushed from behind. Within seconds the only way out was clogged with crushed bodies.

Brynhild couldn't believe how quickly her world had deteriorated. She focused all her anger on Francesca, who had made no move to get away. Scooping Austin's handgun from the floor, she aimed it at Francesca.

"You will die for this!" she screamed.

"I died ten years ago when your mad plan sent me into the rain forest."

Brynhild's finger squeezed the trigger and let off three shots. The first two went wild, but the third caught Francesca in the chest. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, landing in a sitting position with her back to the wall. As a black curtain fell over her eyes she smiled beatifically. Then she was dead.

Brynhild threw the gun aside and walked over to the control panel. She stood helplessly in front of the computer screen as if she could make the reaction stop through sheer force of will. She bunched her fists and held them high over her head. Her howl of rage mingled with the hoarse bray of the klaxon.

Then the tortured atoms and molecules trapped within the core material broke free, unleashing a tremendous burst of energy. Blasted by the internal pressures, the core container turned to molten metal. Brynhild was incinerated instantly in the white-hot explosion, and a giant fireball turned the lab into an inferno.

Superheated smoke reared up the elevator shafts, along the tram tunnel, and into the complex, where it filled every passage way, then into the Great Hall. The smoke burst into billowing flames that boiled the air, touched off the banners hanging on the walls. The smoldering gray ashes of the Gogstad ship in the heart of Valhalla vanished in a final firestorm.

Chapter 41

The Boston whaler streaked across the lake with its bow up on plane, Austin pushing the twin Overdue 150 outboard motors for all they were worth. His face was a bronze mask of anger and frustration. He had tried to go back to the lab, but the elevator had gone dead after it delivered them to the boathouse. The freight elevator wasn't working, either. He had started down a staircase only to have Gamay pull him back. "It's no use," she said. "There isn't time."

"Listen to Gamay," Zavala agreed. "We've got less than four minutes."

Austin knew they were right. He would die and jeopardize their lives if he attempted a futile rescue. He led the way out of the boathouse onto the pier. The guard sat outside dozing in the sun. He got up and tried to unsling his gun. Austin, who was in no mood for Marquis of Queensberry rules, rushed the terrified guard. He slammed his shoulder into the man's midsection and knocked him off the pier.

They piled into the boat. The key was in the ignition, and the gas tanks were full. The motors started right away. They cast off, and Austin gunned the throttle and steered the boat on a direct line for the Nevada shore. He heard a shout from Zavala and turned his head. Joe and Gamay were looking back toward the pier, where the lake bubbled like water boiling in a pot.

There was a muffled roar, and a blood-red geyser shot hundreds of feet into the air like a water spout. They covered their faces with their hands against the scalding rainfall and the cloud of steam that followed. When they dared to look they saw that the pier had completely vanished.

A wave at least ten feet tall was rolling in their direction.

"These boats are supposed to be unsinkable," Zavala said tensely.

"That's what they said about Titanic," Gamay reminded him.

Austin brought the boat around so the bow was facing into the wave. They braced themselves, expecting to be swamped, but the surge simply lifted them high in the air and rolled beneath them. Austin remembered that even a tsunami doesn't amount to much until it hits the shore. He hoped the power of the wave would ease before it hit the Nevada side.

Things were happening on land as well. A plume of smoke rose from the forest where Austin had seen the turrets of the building complex from his parasail. As they watched, the smoke changed in character, becoming thicker and darker. Austin reduced their speed and stared at the great black billows streaked with red and yellow flames that were rising high above the trees.

"Gotterdammerung," he murmured.

Gamay overheard him. "Twilight of the Gods?"

"I was thinking more of a goddess. "

They were all silent, the only sound the drone of the motors and the hiss of the bow through water. Then they heard a hooting like a deranged owl and turned to see a red, white, and blue confection steaming in their direction. The Tahoe Queen blew its whistle again. Paul's tall figure could be seen waving from the top deck. Austin waved back, goosed the throttle, and pointed the Whaler toward the oncoming riverboat.

Epilogue

Libyan Desert, six months later

The village elder was as thin as a stork and his leathery face so creased by decades of desert sun that it would have been impossible to find room for one more wrinkle. Years of malnutrition had reduced his inventory of teeth down to two, one up and one down, but the lack of dentures didn't keep him from smiling with pride. As he stood in the center of his domain, a cluster of yellow clay hovels and a few palm trees marking a muddy oasis, he could have been any big city mayor presiding over the ribbon cutting at a public works project.

The village was located far to the west of the Great Pyramids at Giza in one of the most inhospitable regions in the world. Between Egypt and Libya lie thousands of square miles of hot, dry sand broken here and there by the bones of panzers left over from World War II. A few scattered settlements cling precariously to life around oases of unpredictable reliability. Sometimes the oases dry up, and when that happens the crops die and famine stalks the villages. The cycle between subsistence and starvation had been a way of life for centuries, but all that was about to change.

In recognition of good things to come the village was decked out with colorful banners. Strips of fabric were braided into the tail of every camel. A large pavilion tent striped in blue and white, the colors of the United Nations, had been set up in the square, actually no more than a dusty open space in the center of the settlement. Lined up on the edge of the village were several helicopters. Diplomats from the UN and several Middle Eastern and African countries stood in the shade of the tent.

The village elder stood next to a structure unlikely to be found in the middle of the desert. It was a circular fountain made of marble and consisting of a large basin enclosing a smaller one surmounted by a statue of a winged woman. The fountain was made so that the water flowed from the out stretched palms of the figure.

The elder was ready. With great ceremony he removed a tin cup from around his neck, scooped it full of water, and took a sip. His toothless grin became even wider, and in a frail, reedy voice he called out in Arabic, "Elhamdelillah lilmayya. "

He was joined by the other village men who took turns drinking from the cup as if it, and not the fountain, were the magical source of water. The women who had been waiting rushed in to fill their clay water jugs. The children hovering around the fountain took their mothers' action as a signal to cool off. Before long the basin was full of laughing and splashing naked children. The diplomats and government officials left the protection of their tent and gathered around the fountain.

Watching with amusement from the shade of a palm tree was the NUMA Special Assignments Team and the skipper of the Sea Robin.

"Does anyone know what the old man said?" Zavala said.

"My Arabic is pretty limited," Gamay said, "but I believe he is saying big thanks to Allah for water, the wonderful gift of life."

Paul put his good right arm around his wife's shoulders. "Too bad Francesca isn't here to see herself carved in marble. It re minds me of her old white goddess days."

Austin nodded. "From my impression of Francesca, she wouldn't give it a second glance. She'd check out the water tower and the irrigation setup, make sure the pipeline from the desalting plant didn't leak, then she'd be off to get more plants going."

"I think you're right," Paul replied. "Once the other countries see how well the Cabral process works for the Mediterranean pilot plant, they'll all come running with their tin cups out. Bahrain and Saudi have said they're ready to finance something. But the UN has promised to abide by the request Francesca en closed with the plans she gave you and will make the big push in the sub-Saharan African countries."

"I heard the Southwest states and Mexico are taking the initiative to build plants on the California coast," Austin said. "That should relieve the stress on the Colorado River."

Gamay said, "I think Francesca would be pleased to see some of those who have been fighting over water working together to bring it to places hit by the drought. There's a whole new spirit of cooperation. Maybe there is hope for the species yet."

"I'm optimistic," Austin said. "The UN has promised to speed up its usual bureaucratic pace. They did a good job setting up a refining plant for that new anasazium site in Canada. Francesca's plans are amazingly simple. From what we've seen of how fast and cheap this plant went up, any country is going to be able to bring in low-cost fresh water."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Gamay said. "Anasazium came out of Los Alamos where they were working on weapons of mass destruction."

"It came close to being just that in the hands of Gogstad," Austin said.

Gamay shivered although the temperature was in the nineties. "Sometimes that giant woman, her two dreadful henchmen, and her horrible lair seem like a dream."

"Unfortunately they were very real, and that wasn't the Emerald City of Oz we barely escaped from."

"I just hope some malignant cell didn't lodge somewhere where it can grow like a cancer."

"Not much chance of that," Austin said. "Gogstad no longer has its leader, its scientific expertise, and the powerful men who were the engine powering this thing. People around the world have realized what they almost lost and are reclaiming their sovereignty over their water rights."

Jim Contos had been listening to the exchange with interest

"Thanks for inviting me along. At least I know that my two submersibles were deep-sixed for a worthy cause." "Glad you brought that up. Joe?"

Zavala smiled, extracted a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, and unfolded it. "This is only a preliminary sketch," he said, "but it will give you an idea of what we've got in the works."

Contos's eyes widened in astonishment. "Hell, it's beautiful."

Zavala grimaced. "I wouldn't go that far. It looks like a de formed guppy, but it will go deeper and faster and carry more instrumentation and mechanical functions than any submersible in the sea. It's going to require extensive testing."

"When do we start?" Contos replied.

"The preliminary work has already begun. I've got a date with the Smithsonian. They're planning a memorial to the last pilots of the flying wing, and they've asked me to do a few fly-bys to publicize the campaign. But after that I'll be free to help plan the tests."

"What are we waiting for?" Gamay said.

"That's a good question," Austin said. "Francesca's process is going to turn this sand pit into a garden, but it's no place for a bunch of ocean scientists." He started walking toward a turquoise blue helicopter with "NUMA" printed in black on its side.

"Hey, Kurt, where are you headed?" Zavala said.

Austin turned. "C'mon," he said with a wide grin on his bronzed features. "Let's go someplace where we can get our feet wet."