Serpent nf-1

by Clive Cussler

  Barely able to speak with his throat crushed, Halcon hissed, "Do as he says."

  "Put that gun back in your holster," Austin commanded. He knew Guzman would never give up his gun entirely, that he'd try for a head shot or plug Zavala first.

  Guzman smiled, a hint of admiration in the curve of his thin lips, and slid the gun back into its case. Then Austin ordered Halcon to drop his weapon.

  With Zavala staying close, Austin backed out of the chamber and dragged his human shield down the stairs into the main chamber. Guzman followed at a deliberate pace as they stepped over and around the rubble and stopped under the light streaming in from the ceiling hole.

  Halcon had recovered from his surprise. "Looks like a Mexican standoff," he said, his voice choked but defiant.

  A brief shower of water splashed down on them from above. Everyone looked up except Austin.

  "That's not rain, in case you're wondering. Those booms you heard a few minutes ago were explosives. I used a remote detonator to blow up the dam that blocks water into the lake. Millions of gallons are pouring in."

  "I don't believe you," Halcon snarled.

  "Perhaps you should, Don Halcon," said Guzman. "It seems Mr. Austin was not lying about the detonator."

  "You could never have foreseen events," Halcon said.

  "That's right. My original plan was to blow the dam after we left to make it tougher for you to find the temple. This way at least we'll all die together."

  They were suddenly drenched by another deluge from above, only stronger this time.

  "My guess is that's only the first ripple from the explosion. The reservoir would have burst by now. More will follow. It won't take much to breach that hole you blew in the temple. I have no idea how long before this chamber fills, but I wouldn't stay around too long if I were you."

  Guzman looked toward the ladder and seemed to lose some of his steely composure. "We must leave."

  "Not without that treasure."

  "Doesn't make any difference to me," Austin said. "Like. you said, we're dead men."

  Water poured down again, but instead of a brief burst, it continued to flow in a torrent.

  "Don Halcon . . ." There was alarm in Guzman's voice.

  "He's bluffing, you fool," Halcon replied with disgust.

  "The treasure is of use to no one if he's right," Guzman said.

  Halcon's eyes filled with hate. "You've always been nothing but a homicidal cretin from the day my father hired you," he said with contempt. "You can't see the glory!"

  A hard smile crossed Guzman's lips.

  Water was pouring in like a river now, directly on top of them so that it was hard to see each other, sloshing onto their feet, yet nobody moved.

  "Quite a dilemma, isn't it, Guzman," Austin taunted, raising his voice to be heard. "Loyalty to your crazed boss and the Brotherhood, or death by drowning. I sincerely hope you resolve your family spat, but you'll have to settle it without me. That's the cue, Joe!"

  Zavala ran toward the well at the far end of the chamber and dove in. Austin dropped the spear point, grabbed Halcon's butt, and with a powerful bum's rush threw him at Guzman, who'd been momentarily distracted by Zavala's sprint. They went down in a tangle, but even as he fell Guzman was pulling out the pistol. Austin dashed for the well. Guzman was up and got off a shot, but Austin was a poor target in the dim light, and the bullet missed. Austin dove into the well.

  Guzman cursed and went after Austin. Buffeted by the flood swirling around his ankles and knees, he had taken only a few steps when he realized it would be suicide to stay in the chamber. This conclusion was reinforced when he turned and saw that Halcon had deserted him and was heading for the ladder. Halcon's dreams of glory had finally given way to his instincts for self-preservation. He slogged his way against the rising tide until he was under the ceiling hole where the water roared down in a miniature Niagara. Blinded by the force of the cascade, he groped for the ladder, but his hand slipped. He clenched his teeth with determination and tried again. This time he got a grip on a rung.

  As he began to climb a hand grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him down. Guzman wrapped his arms around Halcon's knees and used the full weight of his body to pull him back into the chamber. Halcon held on with one hand and with the other pulled his pistol, which he had retrieved, from its holster and swung it with all the strength he could muster in his awkward position. The gun barrel struck flesh and bone, but Guzman desperately held on. Halcon raised the pistol again and brought it down twice more on Guzman's head with the desired effect.

  Guzman's grip loosened. He lost his footing and was swept back into the chamber where his body came to rest against a pile of boat wreckage. Even then he wasn't through. He was on his knees, struggling to get to his feet, when a ship's beam as long as a man slammed into his face. Borne by the current, the timber had the effect of a battering ram. A fiery pain screamed in his brain. Dazed and blinded in one eye, arms flailing uselessly, he gasped for air, only to suck in lungfuls of foul water. His frantic movements eventually slowed and became more feeble, and the current drove him deep into the dark chamber.

  Halcon was having his own problems. He had climbed only a few yards up the ladder when a wave surged over the lip of the gap in the ceiling and pummeled him like a giant wet fist until he was no longer able to hold on. More water poured in and knocked him off the ladder. Recognizing that escape by this route was impossible, he fought his way to the stairs leading to the burial chamber. With the water lapping at his heels, he crawled on hands and knees up the stairway

  Zavala had been treading water when Austin dove into the pool. As Guzman's bullet whistled overhead, they surface dove and swam down into the shaft, buddy-breathing off one tank. Minutes later they emerged from the jaws of Kukulcan. They checked their compass and swam for open water, using every muscle in their legs to get beyond the current produced by the flooding temple. They surfaced near the cove that hid the plane. Within minutes they had cleared the branches away and started the engine and were skimming across the water for a takeoff. As soon as the plane gained altitude, Zavala banked it around the lake in a big circle.

  The island that had built up around the temple was gone. In its place was a black hole. Lake water swirled down the hole like a bathtub drain and tugged at the mooring line of a seaplane that must have been Halcon's.

  They had seen enough. They swooped in low over the lake for one last look at the vortex. Zavala couldn't resist temptation. He leaned out the window and shouted, "Goodbye, Columbus."

  Then they headed back to the Nereus.

  49 THE STUBBY-MASTED SAILB0AT WITH the single oversized gaff-rigged sail cruised over the deep blue waters of Chesapeake Bay, pushed along from directly behind by a steady fifteen-knot breeze from the southwest. Austin lounged in the large open cockpit with one arm on the raised rail, the other on an oversized tiller. His eyes scanned the boat traffic, looking for prey.

  His hunt was interrupted, not unpleasantly, by Nina, who emerged from the cuddy with two clinking glasses in her hands. "Purser's rum and juice," she said.

  She was dressed in a NUMA Tshirt and highcut white shorts that emphasized her long legs and buttery complexion. Austin was not oblivious to her charms, but he was intent on his task. He murmured his thanks and kept his eyes glued on the sea.

  "Aha, my pretty," he said like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. He picked up a pair of binoculars and focused on a graceful sloop with a white fiberglass hull, about twenty-five feet long. Like Austin, it was loafing along, main-sail and jib set wingtowing with the wind behind.

  Austin sipped his drink, set it in a glass holder, then moved the tiller so that the catboat came up parallel to the sloop. He waved at the two young men in the other boat's cockpit, jerked his thumb like a hitchhiker, then veered off into a broad reach with the wind on his side.

  The sloop's crew took up the goodnatured challenge for a race.

  Austin pointed the bow closer to the wind, and the sloop followed
suit. They were parallel now, maybe separated by a hundred feet, maneuvering for a start.

  Austin tightened sail, putting the rail into the water.

  The men in the sloop did the same with their main and jib, and soon the two boats were cutting frothy wakes across the bay. The sloop was sleek and fast, and the crew were good sailors, but before long Austin began to pass the other boat. He lay back against the rail, the picture of relaxation, sipping his juice until he left the sloop far behind.

  "What did you just do?" Nina said with a smile.

  "I taught a couple more sailors that just because this thing looks like a bathtub doesn't mean it sails like one."

  "I think it's a great boat. Big deck. It's amazing the space you have below for a boat only eighteen feet long."

  "I've overnighted quite often, and as you can see by the cooking and sleeping facilities, I like comfort and room to stretch. The catboat was originally built as a workboat. One person can handle the single sail, and it's big enough to catch a light wind at the end of the day. She's weatherly, too, in conditions that would sink another boat. Best of all, she's fast and doesn't look it. So I can sneak up on unsuspecting chaps like that sloop crew, and show them my dust. Here we are."

  They had sailed off the point of a small island. Austin threw out the anchor and they dug into the picnic basket, enjoying lunch while the boat rocked slightly in the gentle swell. After lunch Nina sat close to Austin and leaned against his shoulder.

  "Thank you for inviting me for a sail."

  "I thought we both could use a pleasant diversion after the last few weeks."

  She stared thoughtfully into the distance. "I can't stop thinking about those terrible men, though. What a way to meet the end."

  "Don't feel sorry for them. Guzman had murdered hundreds of people in his lifetime, not to mention sinking the Andrea Doria. In a way, drowning was a fitting death for him. If Halcon's scheme had succeeded, thousands more might have died. Guzman was lucky Halcon would have had time to contemplate the error of his ways. The air in the burial chamber kept the water out for a while, but it was only a matter of hours before it gave out. Best of all, the Brotherhood died with him. I only wish he'd lived long enough to see what happened to his precious treasure."

  "My hat is off to Admiral Sandecker," Nina said, eager to change the subject. "Suggesting that the treasure be put into an international fund to help rid the world of poverty and disease was an act of genius."

  "The alternative would have been years of legal wrangling with no winners. Who were the owners? The descendants of the Phoenicians? The Romans? The Mexicans? The Guatemalans?"

  "Or Christopher Columbus." Nina shook her head. "Ironic, isn't it? Like Halcon, his obsession with gold killed him."

  "He wasn't in very good health even before he set sail, according to the autopsy. He might have died soon even if he never took his fifth voyage. At least this way he's become more famous than ever, whether he deserved it or not. Besides, I owe Chris one. If not for his obsessions we might not have met."

  Taking Austin's hand in hers, Nina said, "If he only knew what would come from that voyage. Retrieving his body and the treasure will be the greatest archaeological project in history, with nations and governments all over the world cooperating. I can't wait to start work. He's done more in death to bring people together than he ever did in life. Too bad his legacy as the discoverer of America will be flawed."

  "It doesn't seem to matter. I've seen the plans for the lavish tomb they want to build him in Madrid. They're bidding for his body in Washington and San Salvador, too."

  "No one's suggested putting up a monument for those nameless Phoenicians and Africans who were the first to set foot in the New World," Nina said.

  "Maybe they weren't the first."

  She arched an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon. Do you have evidence to support that possibility Professor Austin?"

  "Maybe. I took another look at the boat carvings. Do you remember the picture of the man hanging from a diamond-shaped object?"

  "Yes. I thought it might be a god of some kind."

  "I came at it from a different way. I wondered how the Maya managed to get a bird'seye view when they were laying out the pointers to the jaws of Kukulcan. I think they used huge kites."

  "Flying Maya! That's a novel theory. Where would they have learned to do that?"

  They were interrupted by the buzzing of Austin's cell phone. He dug it out of his waterproof pack and put it to his ear. His frown changed to a smile when he heard the voice on the line. He talked for a few minutes before hanging up.

  "That was Angelo Donatelli calling from the hospital," he said. "He'll be out in a few days."

  "It's a miracle he wasn't killed."

  "More than a miracle. His cousin Antonio threw Halcon's aim off when he went for him."

  "I'm glad. Mr. Donatelli sounds like a nice man from what you've told me."

  "You'll get a chance to see for yourself. He's throwing a big family clambake at his Nantucket house. You're invited. Paul and Gamay will be there too."

  "I'd love to come along."

  "Good then, it's a date. Now would you like to hear the rest of my kite theory?"

  Nina nodded.

  "I think the Maya learned from the best kite fliers in the world. The Japanese."

  She laughed. "I don't think I'll go there."

  "Where would you like to go, then?"

  Nina picked up the cell phone. "Someplace where you won't need this." She dropped the phone over the aide.

  Then, removing her sunglasses, she smiled and her lush lips parted invitingly. Austin accepted the invitation, which was as warm and sweet as promised.

  "How would you like to go below and, what did you call it? Stretch?" Nina whispered.

  Without a word, Austin took her hand, led her to the spacious cabin, and shut the louvered doors on the world.. At least for a little while.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 58dc513c-da57-4692-9031-e54336c8561c

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 12.5.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.50, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software

  Document authors :

  Clive Cussler

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