White Death

Pablo smiled and relayed the order.

Austin called Zavala over and they talked briefly. While Zavala set off along the pier, Austin got the others together. "I want you to head for Ben's village on the far side of the lake. Wait for us there. If things get too hot after the fireworks start, lose yourselves in the woods."

"Are those my people out there on the barge?" Ben said anxiously.

"I think so. Joe and I will take a closer look."

I want to go.

"I know you do. But we're going to need your knowledge of the forest to get us out of here." Seeing the stubborn set to Ben's jaw, he added: "The danger to your people becomes greater with every sec- ond we spend talking."

The rumble of a motor came from where Zavala had been at work on one of the boats tied up at the dock. Barker's men had taken no chances after Bens last visit, and there were no keys left in the igni- tion, but Zavala could take a marine engine apart in his sleep. Mo- ments later, the husky power plant of a Jet Ski could be heard purring. Zavala came back to where the others were standing. "I knew my Swiss army knife would come in handy," he said.

Austin glanced anxiously out into the lake, then climbed down from the pier onto the Jet Ski. Zavala got on behind to ride shotgun, literally. Austin pushed off from the pier and twisted the throttle, and seconds later, the Jet Ski was scudding across the lake at fifty miles per hour in pursuit of the distant lights.

Austin was ambivalent about personal watercraft. They were noisy polluters with no purpose beyond disturbing beachgoers, wildlife and sailboats. At the same time, he had to admit, riding a Jet Ski was like tearing around on a waterborne motorcycle. Within minutes, he could see the outlines of the catamaran without the use of the night goggles. The barge seemed to have stopped. Those aboard the craft heard the sound of the fast-approaching watercraft and saw the foamy rooster tail it was creating in its wake. A spotlight blinked on.

Temporarily blinded by the bright light, Austin ducked low over the handlebars, knowing that his reaction came too late. He had hoped to get close to the barge before being discovered. Even the shortest glimpse of his Caucasian features and pale hair would have identified him as a stranger, and by definition, as the enemy. He put the Jet Ski into a sharp turn that kicked up a wall of foam. The light found them within seconds. Austin swerved in the opposite direction, not knowing how long he could keep up the water acrobatics, or even if the slalom turns would do any good. He yelled over his shoulder.

"Can you douse that light?"

"Keep this thing steady and I will," Zavala shouted back.

Austin obliged by slowing the Jet Ski and putting it broadside to the catamaran. He knew he was giving those on board an easy shot but felt he had to risk it. Zavala raised his shotgun to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed. The light stayed on, and the beam found them again. Ears still ringing from the first blast, Austin felt rather than heard the second shot. The light blinked out.

The men on the boat broke out their flashlights. Soon, thin beams probed the darkness, and Austin could hear the rattle and snap of small-arms fire. By then, he was outside the range of the lights, keep- ing the Jet Ski at a low speed so its wake wouldn't be so obvious. They could hear the bullets ripping up nearby sections of water. The cata- maran had pulled anchor and was moving again.

Austin was certain that the encounter had not delayed the evil task of those on board, but only hastened it. He suspected that if he tried to pull the boat over like a traffic cop, he and Zavala would end up with more holes than a sieve. Precious seconds went by as he scoured his brains. He recalled what Ben had said about the cata- maran, and an idea came to him. He outlined his plan to Zavala. 'I'm starting to worry," Zavala said. 'I don't blame you. I know it's risky."

'You don't understand. I like the plan. That's what worries me." 'I'll make an appointment with a NUMA shrink when we get back. See if you can soften up the opposition in the meantime."

Zavala nodded and leveled his shotgun at a figure of a man who had the bad judgment to stand where he was silhouetted by the run- ning lights. The shotgun thundered and the man threw his arms up and disappeared from view like a duck in a shooting gallery.

Austin throttled up, and seconds later, when a fusillade from the boat lacerated the surface of the lake, he was well away from the spot. The shotgun thundered and another body toppled over. The men aboard the barge finally figured out that they were easy targets and doused the ru

The catamaran was starting to pick up speed. Austin ran the Jet Ski parallel to the barge for a moment, then circled around until he was a couple of hundred yards astern. Eyes riveted on the twin wakes ahead, he accelerated the Jet Ski. He aimed directly off to one side of the stern and cut power at the last second.

The front of the Jet Ski hit the catamaran's stern with a loud and hollow thump, then the watercraft made a horrible scraping noise as it slid up and onto the sloping deck. A crewman who had heard the approaching watercraft stood in the stern with his machine pistol at the ready. The Jet Ski's rounded bow slammed into his legs. There was the audible snap of bone, and he was catapulted halfway down the length of the deck. Zavala had rolled off before the Jet Ski had come to a stop. Austin dismounted and yanked the Bowen from its holster.

The Jet Ski had skidded so that it was sideways on the deck, of- fering them some protection. Austin drew a quick bead on a figure moving in the darkness and fired off a shot. He missed, but the muz- zle flash illuminated a horrifying sight. Bodies-he couldn't tell if they were alive or dead in the dark-were lined up crosswise on the conveyor belt and were slowly moving toward the stern, where they would slide down a chute into the lake.

He yelled at Zavala to cover him. The shotgun fired off three shots in rapid succession. From the screams at the other end of the boat, one or more rounds found their deadly mark. Austin bolstered his revolver, launched himself at the nearest struggling form and pulled it off the belt. Another, smaller body took its place on the nightmar- ish assembly line. Austin pulled it aside out of harm's way and saw that it was a child.

More bodies were coming at him. He wondered how long he could pull them to safety, but he was determined to try. He grabbed another by the legs. From the weight, he guessed that it was a man, and he grunted with exertion as he pulled him to safety. He had his hands around the ankles of another, when the belt stopped. He stood up. Sweat poured down his face, and he was breathing hard. He felt a twinge of pain from his old chest wound. He looked up and saw a figure holding a flashlight coming his way. The Bowen filled Austin's hand.

"Don't shoot, amigo," came the familiar voice of his partner. Austin lowered the Bowen. "I thought you were covering me." "I was. Then there was nothing left to cover you from. After I nailed a couple of guys, the rest of them jumped ship. I found the OFF switch on the belt controls."

The first body Austin had pulled from an almost certain death was making muffled sounds behind the duct tape. Austin borrowed the flashlight and found himself looking into the unmistakable gentian eyes of Therri Weld. He carefully stripped the duct tape from her mouth, then freed her hands and feet. She gave him a quick thanks, then freed the little girl who had almost been her companion in death. Austin handed over the doll, and the girl hugged it in a crush- ing embrace.