Dirk Pitt 22 - Poseidon's Arrow

by Clive Cussler

  He shifted his gaze to the east and was surprised to spot a ship two or three miles distant, rising from a tiny inlet. A handful of buildings stood alongside the ship, while a small dredge was moored nearby. Dirk thought of the patrol boat that had rammed their submersible, but he scanned the inlet and saw no sign of it.

  Spotting no other signs of civilization, he hurried back to the beach.

  “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” he asked Summer, who sat probing the sand mound with a flat piece of driftwood.

  “I’m a sunny optimist. Give me the good.”

  “The Alexandria hasn’t abandoned us. Unfortunately, they still think we’re aboard the submersible. As far as I can figure, they’re moored over the site where we went down. Plan B says that I hike five or six miles down the beach and try to attract their attention from shore.”

  “I missed Plan A.”

  “Less than three miles east of here is an inlet complete with a small dock facility and a freighter.”

  “And a patrol boat with a bent nose?”

  “No patrol boat. I can hike there in under an hour and call the Alexandria. We’ll have you napping in the ship’s decompression chamber in no time.”

  “Plan A it is.”

  Dirk placed a hand on her shoulder. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”

  “Yes, as long as he doesn’t get any ideas about sharing burrows.” She pointed to the old tortoise. The big reptile had traveled less than twenty yards since they awoke, lying on the beach, tossing sand with his flippers.

  “He’ll never make it back here in time.”

  Dirk turned and moved off down the beach. The morning sun was already baking the sandy terrain, so he followed the shoreline, where the ocean breeze kept it cooler. The growing heat and a dry throat made him crave a drink of water. He knew he was dehydrated, which only added to his lethargy. But Dirk put the thought out of his mind and focused on walking as quickly as his weak legs and shoeless feet permitted.

  The narrow beach ended abruptly at a steep crag of limestone that jutted into the sea. He had to turn inland until the rock face shrank and he could climb up a short incline. The top of the rock was flat, and it melded into a series of low hills that continued to the inlet two miles beyond. The white superstructure of the docked freighter peeked like a mirage above a distant sandy ridge.

  Summer’s condition gripped Dirk’s mind, compelling him to hike fast. It had been less than twelve hours since they had escaped the submersible, so her chances for a full recovery were still good—if she could make it to the chamber soon. His concern kept him moving until he reached a small rise forty minutes later. Just below was the small lagoon, encircled by low hills that neatly concealed the ship and dock facility.

  As he descended the western hill, he could see it was a bare-bones complex. There were just two permanent structures. A small dorm-like building rose near the inland side, while a warehouse stood at the opposite end of the dock. Between them was a high metal awning that he’d mistaken for a third building. The awning stretched the length of the dock, providing shade to several large mounds of granular sediment. Dirk first thought it was salt from some nearby flats, then noticed it was gray in color.

  The freighter, a midsized bulk carrier, sat opposite, occupying every inch of the dock facing. Dirk couldn’t make out the name but noticed its yellow funnel sported the image of a white flower. A handful of men were moving one of the mineral piles onto the ship with front loaders and a conveyor belt.

  The heavy equipment, combined with a nearby generator, filled the air with clamor. No one noticed Dirk as he climbed down the hill and approached the open warehouse. Inside, he could see a mechanic overhauling a small motor. Dirk started to walk into the building, then froze in his tracks.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he had caught sight of another vessel in the lagoon. With the freighter occupying the length of the dock, the second craft had been forced to tie up on the freighter’s outboard side. It had been obscured from view as he descended the hill, but the lagoon’s swirling waters had shifted its mooring so its bow was now visible—including the freshly scraped gouge on its prow streaked with yellow paint. The patrol boat.

  Inside the warehouse, the mechanic looked up and saw Dirk. He gave him an odd look and let out a shout. From the back of the warehouse, a young man in green fatigues rushed out, carrying an AK-47, which he aimed at Dirk’s chest. A flood of words spewed from his mouth in a dialect that Dirk didn’t understand, but the intent was clear.

  Dirk stared at the gunman in disbelief, then opened his palms and slowly raised his arms into the air.

  48

  RATHER THAN CONTEMPLATE HER PARALYZED LEG, Summer focused her thoughts elsewhere. She stared at the radiated tortoise plodding across the beach, then gazed wistfully at the empty sea. Finally, she considered the object buried in the mound she had slept against.

  The material that Dirk had exposed was thick and rubberized. By daylight, she could see that the mound was in a distinct oblong shape, formed by the object buried within. Summer studied the material, rubbing her hand across the faded letters that had been stenciled in black.

  Barbarigo. It sounded Italian, which piqued her curiosity. Using her driftwood shovel, she scraped away the sand above the word, revealing a compressed roll of the rubber material. She could tell it had once been inflated. Digging some more, she saw that it was a rubber raft. It was old, but well preserved by the layers of beach sand built over it.

  She dug down on the opposite side of the layered rubber and soon struck a hard, flat object. Scooping away the sand, she saw it was a hardwood bench, presumably one of several in the large raft, offering another hint of its age. She continued digging and exposed another section of rubber, the raft’s flooring. A small ribbon of blue material poked through the sand, catching her eye. Using her hands, she carefully brushed away the sand, exposing more of the material. It was round in shape, and she saw it was a sailor’s cap. Tugging gently, she freed it from the sand, but then suddenly gasped, dropping it from her fingers.

  Underneath the hat, she had exposed the grinning skull of its owner.

  THE WAREHOUSE CONTAINED a small machine shop, along with several workbenches stacked with carpenters’ stores. Banks of lube oil and diesel fuel lined one wall, near a large humming generator. A small forklift and two all-terrain vehicles were parked near an open tool bin by the door. The bay was dimly lit, but warmed by the sounds of an African percussion band blaring from a CD player.

  Dirk absorbed all this as he was marched into the warehouse and ordered to stand against a corrugated tin wall. The mechanic and the gunman conversed for a moment in what Dirk guessed was Malagasy, then the mechanic ran to report the presence of the intruder.

  The gunman stood next to the workbench with the disassembled motor, rocking on his heels as he held his weapon on Dirk. He was young, no more than seventeen. His hair was worn long, and he stood with a sulking hunch. It was easy to see he had no formal military training. Grease stains covered his military-style fatigues and his fingers. Dirk guessed he was primarily employed as a mechanic’s assistant, with secondary duty as a guard.

  In a relaxed manner, Dirk brought an open hand to his mouth and tilted it up as if drinking. “Water?” he asked in a raspy voice. “L’eau?”

  The gunman eyed Dirk closely. The NUMA marine engineer carried no visible weapons, his hair was full of sand, and his jumpsuit was caked with dust. He wore no shoes, only dirty, frayed socks. Emerging from the desert in such a condition, he seemed anything but a threat.

  The gunman relaxed slightly and slowly turned to the workbench, where a khaki daypack sat on a stool. He pulled a canteen from the pack’s side pocket and tossed it to Dirk.

  Dirk unscrewed the cap and gulped down several swallows of the water. It was warm and somewhat foul, but he would have gladly consumed a gallon of the stuff. He smiled at the gunman, then savored a few more gulps.

  “Thank you,” he said, and replaced th
e cap.

  He took a cautious step forward and reached out with a long arm to return the canteen. The gunman hesitated before stepping forward and extending his free hand. Dirk waited for the young man’s fingers to come within a hair of his own, then let the canteen slip.

  The boy lunged forward, but the canteen bobbled from his outstretched hand and fell to the floor. He suddenly caught himself and rose up, only to be struck by a left hook that tagged him on the cheek. He staggered against the workbench but quickly pulled his weapon up.

  Dirk didn’t give him the opportunity to shoot. He dove into the guard, pinning the assault rifle between their two bodies. The gunman tried to spin and knock Dirk clear, but he didn’t have the strength.

  Dirk ignored the weapon aimed inches from his face and clutched the young man’s fatigues, drawing him tight to keep the gun aimed clear, while with his other hand he groped the top of the workbench. Feeling a hard metallic object, he pulled it up and swung it against the gunman’s skull. It took three blows before he fell limp and slumped to the floor.

  Dirk looked in his hand and saw he was holding a piston and connecting rod from the disassembled engine. “Definitely a knocking problem,” he muttered, and tossed it onto the workbench.

  He sprinted to one of the all-terrain vehicles parked by the door. Each had a small mesh trailer attached for hauling parts and equipment, but more importantly, each had a key in the ignition. He straddled one of the vehicles and turned the key. The motor spun to life just as three men appeared at the doorway.

  Dirk reached over and ripped the ignition cable from the adjacent ATV while twisting his own throttle. The little vehicle lurched forward, heading toward the open door. Ahead of him, Dirk saw that the original mechanic had returned, accompanied by a dockhand and a man in fatigues, brandishing a pistol. Dirk goosed the throttle and headed straight for them.

  The mechanic jumped to Dirk’s right, while the other two ducked left, around the corner of the building. With the trailer bouncing wildly behind him, Dirk tore out of the warehouse and into the sunlight. He whipped the handlebars left, careening around the corner and after the two men. The dockhand jumped clear at the last second, but the man in fatigues hesitated. The ATV’s flared fender creased him in the leg, knocking him to the ground. Dirk had to swerve right to avoid a wall of fuel drums, which sent the empty trailer bounding onto the prone man. The man cried out as the trailer’s tires rolled over him, leaving him caked in dust.

  Dirk had hoped to turn back and drive past the warehouse toward the beach, but was thwarted when the dockhand emerged from the building with the assault rifle.

  Cursing himself for not taking the weapon, he wheeled the ATV sharply left and sped down the front of the dock. He waited for a fusillade of lead, but it never arrived. He quickly saw why.

  Directly ahead, a half dozen laborers manned the conveyor system. The dockhand didn’t want to fire into his compatriots just beyond. Dirk held his course to increase the distance from the armed dockhand, but ultimately he had nowhere to go. Ahead, the conveyor blocked the width of the dock, while to his left sat towering mounds of gray ore.

  He edged close to the dock as the workers at the conveyor began pointing and yelling. Barreling toward the heavy conveyor, he seemed bent on suicide. He wondered that himself, but he had no other choice. Building speed down the quay, he held steady until just a few yards from the conveyor. As the workers ducked behind the ramp for cover, Dirk jammed the ATV to his left.

  The all-terrain vehicle’s knobby off-road tires slid on the sandy dock as he threw it into the turn while holding the throttle to its stops. All four wheels began to bite, and the ATV shot forward toward the mound of ore being loaded onto the ship. Dirk was nearly jolted off his seat when the front wheels met the base of the pile, but the ATV proved its mettle by blasting straight up the mound. It shot past an idling front-end loader and climbed past the feeder end of the conveyor. It was twenty feet up the side of the steep pile when its momentum began to waver, and Dirk eased the front wheels to his right. He came dangerously close to flipping the vehicle, but the trailer acted as an anchor and helped him to pivot the ATV around.

  One of the laborers ran, yelling, as Dirk sped back down the hill, angling past the far side of the conveyor. A small avalanche of ore crashed to the dock after him and sent the remaining workers scrambling for cover. As it slammed onto the dock at high speed, the ATV bounced high into the air before landing on all four wheels. The trailer was less artistic, breaking free of the ATV’s hitch and smacking into the freighter, then dropping into the water.

  Dirk had to throw the ATV into a hard left to avoid the same fate. Braking and skidding, he barely clung to the wheel as the ATV danced and slid. One of the rear wheels struck a bollard, which jolted the vehicle back on track, and Dirk accelerated hard down the dock.

  Ahead, he could see the freedom of the open desert, in a gap between the dock and the dormitory. But as he sped ahead, another ATV appeared from around the building’s corner. Dirk slowed and waved as he passed the other rider, who he realized was the smirking gunman in green fatigues from the patrol boat. The gunman gave Dirk an empty stare, and then the light of recognition flipped on. By then Dirk had opened his throttle and was tearing past the building.

  Across the dock, scores of men were running toward them, shouting and pointing. The gunman whipped his ATV around and gave chase.

  A sharp, rocky cliff backed the lagoon, forcing Dirk to ascend a lesser hill that ran parallel to the dock. Shots rang out from below, peppering the hillside around him. He zigzagged up the hill, generating a billow of dust that obscured his path. Ducking low, he urged the ATV on until cresting the rise and disappearing from view below.

  As he turned and angled toward the beach, he ventured a glance over his shoulder. Green Fatigues was hot on his trail, less than fifty yards away.

  Dirk squeezed harder on the throttle as the ATV wallowed through a dry wash. Passing the other ATV earlier, he had seen a holster on the driver’s belt. Once again, he found himself weaponless against an armed man. But at least he had the ATV, and he knew where he was going.

  Green Fatigues indeed had a holster with a loaded pistol, which he removed with one hand when the vehicles hit a stretch of sandy flats. Steering and accelerating with his right hand, he used his left to fire a handful of potshots, all of which missed by a wide margin.

  Over his shoulder, Dirk caught sight of the gun and threw his ATV into a shallow serpentine course. Already kicking up a large cloud of dust, it now sprayed wide walls of brown that offered sporadic cover.

  But that maneuver also allowed the pursuer to draw closer until he was choking on Dirk’s dust just twenty yards away. Dirk veered left along a flat rise above the beach, briefly losing his companion in the haze. When Green Fatigues broke free of the dust, he had a clear view of Dirk and fired two shots. One of them hit home.

  Dirk heard a loud pop as one of the rear tires burst. The ruptured tire thumped loudly, and Dirk muscled the handlebars to maintain control.

  He was as good as finished. Green Fatigues could speed ahead or alongside and finish him off with an easy shot. Weighing his options, Dirk prepared to swing the ATV around and force a collision. But ahead, in the sand, he saw footprints that angled sharply inland. They were his own footprints from earlier in the day and they signaled a possible riposte—one that just might give him a fighting chance.

  49

  THE SANDY SURFACE GAVE WAY TO DUST-COVERED rock, which rose in an undulating fashion. The gradual inclination concealed the approaching precipice, the one Dirk had climbed that morning. And the one Dirk hoped to use to his advantage.

  Over the rocky surface, the ATV’s trailing dust grew lighter, forcing Dirk into a dangerous maneuver. Rather than dodge his pursuer, he angled ahead of him, desperate to obscure his vision.

  As Dirk crossed his earlier footprints, he eased off the throttle. The lip of the precipice appeared a second later. He hesitated, drawing the gunman in close,
before downshifting and jamming on the brakes. The ATV wavered as its knobby tires skidded across the rock. Dirk swung his leg over the seat, let go of the handlebars, and leaped.

  Barely ten feet from the ledge, Dirk’s ATV regained momentum and soared over the side. Green Fatigues’s hard-charging ATV arrived a few seconds later. Too late, he saw the abrupt drop-off. He mashed on the brakes and flung the handlebars over with white knuckles, but to no avail. The ATV skidded off the edge and plunged over the cliff, Green Fatigues flying up and over it, screaming as he fell.

  Dirk had missed the sight. After jumping from his own ATV, he had pulled himself into a tuck before hitting the ground hard and rolling several times. Sliding feetfirst toward the cliff, he clawed at the ground as his legs went over the ledge. He stopped just short, legs dangling midair. With his head pounding, he pulled his lower body back over the ledge and lay on his back, recovering.

  He felt scrapes and bruises, but he’d managed not to break any bones. After a minute, he rose to his feet and peered over the side.

  Forty feet below, his ATV stood on end, its nose augured into the ground and its body telescoped. A few yards away, the other ATV lay upside down, its wheels still spinning. Dirk didn’t see Green Fatigues at first, then spotted a motionless leg protruding from beneath the vehicle.

  Dirk walked along the cliff, moving gingerly until his limbs loosened. Glancing back toward the dock facility, he saw some movement, a small foot patrol heading his way. Just beyond, at the mouth of the lagoon, he saw the patrol boat heading to sea. They were taking the theft of the ATV rather seriously, Dirk thought.