by Jon Land
Two of the opposition stopped to fire but a moving target, especially a swimming one, is virtually impossible to hit. Distance is almost impossible to judge and by how much to lead the target is almost impossible to estimate. A hit can be accomplished at a fleeing target only by the best or luckiest shot.
The two shooters proved to be neither. One of their spears streamed over Blaine and the other beneath Natalya. By the time all five in the enemy’s party were giving chase again, Blaine and Natalya had reached the deck of the warship, where fossilized cannons were still in place behind their firing portals. There was clearly nothing that could provide sufficient cover here, leaving them no choice but to take their chances in the belly of the long-dead warship. Natalya found a large enough hole in the deck twenty feet from the cannons, and Blaine followed her through. Since their pursuers would have to come through this portal in single file, the advantage had swung temporarily to them. But they would still have to make their shots count.
Paddling backwards now, speargun in hand, Blaine saw the first black shape drop headfirst through the portal. He and Natalya moved as far into the darkness as they could while waiting for a second figure to appear. To make the most of their meager arsenal, they would have to eliminate two of the enemy here and now. But the wait, with one target easily in range, was agonizing. At last a second figure slid through the portal and joined the first in giving chase. Blaine and Natalya fired their spearguns at the same moment.
Natalya’s spear tore through the first man’s leg while McCracken’s ripped straight through the throat of the second. The first managed to get his spear off but the shot was hopelessly errant and lodged in the rotted wall behind Natalya. She swam for it, thinking she could use it herself. She had gotten her hand on it when Blaine saw her gesture to him. He swam to her and looked where she pointed, to an insignia printed on the shaft of the enemy spear. It was Russian.
Their attackers were Russians!
Blaine motioned for her to forget the spear and continue on. More figures were pushing through the deck opening now to give chase. Blaine and Natalya swam as fast as they dared through the serpentine corridors, the sensation reminding McCracken of his experience in Fass’s Labyrinth just days before.
Their luck held. A slight brightening up ahead signaled Blaine they had located another way out. The plan was obvious now. Climb back out of the warship and take their chances with a mad surface dash. If they could outswim their Russian pursuit and reach Captain Bob far enough ahead of them, they would have a chance.
Too many “ifs,” thought McCracken, none of which took into account that these Russians hadn’t swum all the way from the Biminis. They surely had a ship nearby with plenty more firepower than the single shotgun Captain Bob had brought along.
Natalya went up through the escape hole first, but her progress was arrested by an arm snaking around from behind her. She swung in time to stop the man whose leg still held her spear from cutting her throat but not her air hose. Bubbles lurched through the water and she knew the horror of having her breath taken from her. She fought against panic and turned the severed air hose on the man, blinding him with bubbles, which gave McCracken enough time to emerge from the portal with his own knife. The Russian turned toward him much too late, seeing only a glimmer as Blaine’s blade whipped across his throat. The blood gushed out in a sudden burst, then swirled slowly through the water.
Blaine paddled fast for Natalya, who had drifted away, and jammed his auxiliary regulator in her open mouth. She breathed gratefully and signaled him to start a rise to the surface. Blaine yanked the cord on his vest which inflated it all at once, then did the same to Natalya’s. To avoid an embolism, never rise faster than your air bubbles, went the popular scuba teaching, but now that seemed the least of their problems.
The remaining three Russians were already even with them fifteen yards to their left. Blaine and Natalya fought to rise faster but sharing air from the same tank proved cumbersome and slowed them up considerably. Blaine looked toward the Russians, and saw yet another shape beyond them coming fast. Oh no, not another one. This figure was not wearing a wet suit, and he moved through the water as gracefully as if it was his home. He might have moved even faster if not for the spearguns he held in both hands. He fired both from twenty yards behind the Russians.
The Russians were unaware of the figure’s presence until his spears sliced through two of their midsections. The two who’d been hit pawed around them as if to grab fistfuls of water, then sank toward the bottom. The third turned and aimed his speargun in the same motion. It would be impossible for him to miss from such close range. The spear leaped dead on target, and what Blaine saw next would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t watched it himself. At the last possible instant the figure reached out a hand and redirected the spear away from him without slowing his pace. Then the figure had his knife out and was upon the last Russian before the man could try anything else. McCracken didn’t see the rest from this distance but he didn’t have to. The sight of the final black-suited figure floating toward the bottom was enough to tell him the results.
Blaine turned his eyes back on the figure drawing closer to them and saw the long hair dangling free. The figure grasped a closed fist to his heart in an underwater signal not of the standard, but of the Indian, variety.
It was Johnny Wareagle.
McCracken steered for a dark shape on the surface with Natalya by his side. They surfaced not more than ten yards from the cruiser.
“We’ve got visitors,” Captain Bob shouted at them. He pointed off the stern of the cruiser.
Blaine started swimming for the boat while he looked where Captain Bob pointed, toward a fishing trawler about three hundred yards away. Now that its occupants had seen them surface, the results of the underwater battle would be obvious and they were certain to attack.
Johnny Wareagle surfaced just as Blaine pushed Natalya up to Captain Bob’s helping hand. A small powerboat lay a hundred yards off their bow, obviously the vehicle the Indian had miraculously steered to their rescue.
“Who the hell is that?” Captain Bob wondered as Blaine joined Natalya on the deck.
“Charlie the Tuna,” McCracken told him. “Starkist finally gave him the call.”
Captain Bob’s mind was elsewhere and he moved for the bridge. “I’d better get this heap moving ‘fore the shootin’ starts.”
“They’ve probably got enough firepower on board to sink another fleet of ships,” Blaine shouted at him grimly.
“Won’t do ’em no good nohow if I can run ’em onto the reef.” He gunned the engine and gazed up at the sky reflectively. “Night’s comin’ and we’s headin’ straight into the feedin’ waters of the Dragon Fish.”
If there was regret in the captain’s voice, Blaine couldn’t find it. “That’s the least of our worries,” he told him.
The fishing boat was already steaming forward, chancing the reef, and Johnny Wareagle was barely halfway on board when Captain Bob finally gave his cruiser gas.
“Spirits guide you out here, Indian?” Blaine asked Johnny.
“Not this time, Blainey. I just followed the men in the boat behind us. Their presence in Bimini seemed too great a coincidence.”
“Sure beats Club Med if you ask me.”
The humor failed to impress Wareagle. He was breathing hard. “The scientist Sundowner is dead, Blainey.”
“What? How?” Blaine shook his head. “Never mind. The Farmer Boy must have got to him, probably before he reached the President with the truth about the replacement satellite. Damnit, I should have known… .”
“No, you couldn’t have, because there’s more. Just before the scientist left, he learned that Atragon has been discovered in Colorado.”
“Colorado?” It was Natalya, numbed to the bone.
They both looked at her. Wareagle spoke.
“A town called Pamosa—”
“Springs!” completed Natalya abruptly. “In the plane to Algiers I overheard
Raskowski and Katlov speaking about that town! Troops mobilized to hold it. But what would he want with—” She stopped, the realization striking her at the same time it struck McCracken.
“The Atragon!” he exclaimed. “The source for his death beam!” Then, thinking it out as he continued, “His first satellite blows up, and all of a sudden he needs more. The Farmer Boy somehow learns it’s there in Colorado, so Raskowski takes the town over. Mines all of the crystals he can use.” A puzzled look crossed McCracken’s features. “Only what does he do with it then? He used his deception to get his reflector into orbit but he still would need—”
The first bullets started blazing from the fishing boat, a few smacking into the sides. The three of them dove for cover.
“Their boatman’s damn good,” Captain Bob called from behind the wheel. “Knows these waters almost as good as me. But he won’t know the shallows. Ain’t a man alive who knows ’em like I do.”
Blaine watched the Soviets draw to within a hundred yards. Winds and currents were playing hell with their aim, though the narrowing of the gap would take care of that before long. If they were going to survive, it would depend on Captain Bob’s savvy. The captain was making sharp maneuvers to avoid the reefs; a few times he miscalculated and the shrill grinding sound of reef rubbing against boat frame was frightening to hear.
“Blainey, I sense something,” Wareagle said suddenly.
“Probably just our boat getting a massage.”
“No, a disturbance in the great fields, a large imbalance. Listen close and even you will be able to hear the warnings of the spirits.”
Blaine and the others watched as fifty yards back their pursuers’ boat was jostled steeply to the side, the Soviet gunmen losing their balance. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. The underside of the Russian boat had hit the reef and a good portion of its underside was probably torn to shreds. The pilot tried to veer aside at the last instant and succeeded only in crashing his stern into a huge reef near surface level. The fishing boat turned lazily, desperately, starting to sink into the sea. Blaine and the others watched in silence. The remaining Russians dropped their weapons in favor of life jackets and inflatable rafts. The boat was dying.
“Told ya, didn’t I?” Captain Bob beamed from the bridge. “Told ya, told ya, told ya so, I did!”
“There’s your imbalance, Indian.”
“No, Blainey, what I feel is still …”
Wareagle stopped when a huge swell of water rose over the dying Russian boat. It came with incredible fury. Then the very ocean seemed to open up beneath it, revealing a huge shape rising claws-first from the depths.
The Dragon Fish had finally arrived.
Chapter 29
CAPTAIN BOB BEGAN CHANTING words in a language Blaine couldn’t understand, his grip on the wheel relinquished as he moved forward in a daze. The boat began to spin with the currents as he ripped his shotgun free of its perch. The rest of them watched transfixed, unable to move.
The creature had the look of a giant black crab with twin claws on either side, one of which was swooping down toward the largest concentration of the doomed Russian crew. Their screams almost covered the awful crackling that resulted when the claw splintered what remained of the fishing boat.
Captain Bob rushed to the bow, raised the shotgun, and squeezed off a pair of shots.
“Don’t waste your bullets or your time,” Blaine advised. “You’ll only let him know we’re here.”
“He knows,” Captain Bob said madly. “He knows.” And he fired twice more before pausing to reload.
The creature’s claws continued to sweep the waters for Russians. Blaine estimated the Dragon Fish to be over two hundred feet from claw tips to its strangely shaped tail. Wait a minute, the tail …
His thoughts were interrupted when their ship at last struck the reef, lodging there and pitching all its occupants violently to the deck. Natalya struck the gunwale hard and would have gone over if not for the quick hand of Johnny Wareagle who reached out and grabbed her. Captain Bob was not as lucky. The collision pitched him to the deck on his head. He was plunged into unconsciousness as the creature which devoured his sons loomed close.
Off their stern, the Dragon Fish continued to compress the dying boat and crew within its claws, more interested in pure destruction than dinner. Wareagle concentrated on the regular rhythm with which its claws opened and closed, opened and closed… .
“It’s not alive!” he shouted.
With the screeching of the cruiser on the reef, McCracken didn’t hear Johnny, but he was forming his own conclusions. The monster moved too stiffy and its tail—yes, its tail. It remained unexplainably stiff. There were no bends in the monster’s joints, none of the supple motions one would expect from a seagoing beast. It seemed … mechanical.
“It’s a fucking submarine!” Blaine realized.
Which seemed to make little difference as water gushed through the gaping holes in their boat’s bottom. As the deck lowered beneath them, Wareagle propped up Captain Bob against the cabin which was the cruiser’s highest point. The Dragon Fish was swinging toward them now, snapping together its outstretched claws and making the hollow sound of steel meeting steel. Blaine could see the mourn now, could see that the huge teeth, which had looked razor sharp and deadly from a distance, were merely painted on.
It was a submarine all right, and now it was slowing to a drift before them as they clung to whatever parts of the deck remained above water. The body of the beast was a near-perfect sphere, perforated by holes for piston jets to promote drive on the surface. It had oblong windows for eyes and lines in its hull marking hatch points.
Blaine’s eyes returned to the claws, raised high, when a hatch at the top of the Dragon Fish’s head opened and a pair of machine gun wielding guards appeared. Behind them was a figure McCracken recognized all too well. “Please,” said Vasquez, “come aboard.”
“Welcome to the Dragon Fish,” the fat man said politely after the last of them had climbed down into the submarine’s bridge followed by a pair of guards carrying the unconscious Captain Bob. More armed guards watched them from every angle. “I had thought about devouring you, McCrackenballs, but I was worried what you might do to my baby’s digestion.”
“You were never one to turn down a good meal, fat man.”
Vasquez made himself laugh. “You’re too tough for my taste. At least you used to be.”
The belly of the beast was oval shaped and lit by a soft orange glow. Blaine gazed around and saw the most advanced computerized equipment available for any submarine. Diodes and display gauges stood out everywhere, with Vasquez’s technicians manning their stations in neatly starched, lime-green uniforms, totally uninterested in the action around them. A technician moved slightly to his right and the soft green glow of a CRT screen cast a dull light over Vasquez’s expression.
“Steal this from Electric Boat, fat man?”
“No, McCrackenballs, but they were generous enough to furnish most of the parts.”
“Your own private Trident …”
“And then some, as you have already seen.” Not a strand of Vasquez’s slicked back hair was out of place as he patted his cheeks with his ever-present handkerchief. The sweat was starting to soak through his jacket. “Professor Clive was kind enough to reveal your destination. Imagine, coming all the way to the Biminis in search of those mysterious crystals… . ”
“Since you weren’t about to part with the ones you’d already lifted, I didn’t have much choice. Yup, it all makes sense, even those holes Natalya and I found in the old wrecks down there. After that sea quake made their treasures accessible again, you created—or resurrected—the myth of the Dragon Fish to assure yourself of sole salvage rights.”
Vasquez gazed around him fondly. “Far more than a myth, as I’m sure you can see.”
Blaine feigned looking about in order to meet Johnny Wareagle’s eyes. The Indian, never one to give up easily, was obviously gauging
methods for a possible turning of the tables. McCracken’s unspoken instructions held him back.
“So the island with no name becomes your exclusive territory, thanks to this contraption here. I guess it doubles as a damn good salvage vehicle.”
The fat man nodded, impressed with the analysis. “Parts of its lower frame are detachable: smaller robot and manned submersibles with incredible range and equipment. We’ve been able to plunder just about every treasure chest.”
“But you’ve stayed around.”
“Because there’s still a fortune we haven’t gotten to yet, McCrackenballs. Strange things were happening in these parts well before the Dragon Fish was even conceived. Someday I’ll find a way to bring up the rest of those crystals.”
“You mean they’re still down there?”
“Besides some modest reserves that were relatively easy to salvage.”
“Which you offered to the highest bidder.”
Vasquez nodded. “A shame I didn’t have more, though. One party paid an astounding price for my meager stores. Big Russian with a patch for a left eye.”
“Katlov!” Natalya said loud enough to draw the armed guards’ attention to her. Her eyes locked with McCracken’s.
“Then,” Blaine realized, “Raskowski was after the Atragon here as well. Unlike him to give up so easily.”
“He didn’t give up,” Natalya said. “He found what he needed in Pamosa Springs. The Biminis became superfluous. If anything he’d want the reserves here buried forever, so we wouldn’t be able to get to them either.”
“Stop the games!” Vasquez barked. “All the stories in the world won’t save you this time, McCrackenballs.”
“No story this time, fat man. I was after those crystals to power an energy shield, against a death ray controlled by a Russian madman. Once he wipes out America the rest of civilization will fall like dominoes. Think about it.”
“You’re lying!” Vasquez insisted, but his voice sounded tentative. “Holding to tricks, deceptions, till the very last.”
