more on instinct than intellect, Austin quickly touched his brakes. The Eskimo's sled pulled slightly ahead of him. Borrowing a page from Umealiq's book of dirty race tactics, Austin angled his sled to the right. His front wheel slammed into the rear wheel of the other sled, and Scarface fought to maintain control.
The maneuver was risky, but it had the desired effect. With only one sweat-soaked hand gripping the steering wheel, Scarface was unable to stop the rim from spinning. The sled's front wheels jack- knifed. The sled itself fishtailed, then flipped, and Scarface tumbled off, the pistol flying out of his hand and clattering onto the sidewalk. He rolled several times before coming to a stop. His dog team kept on running, dragging the sled on its side, before they figured out it was a waste of time.
Austin was in no position to celebrate. His team was pulling the sled toward Constitution Avenue. He yelled a command to stop and jammed his foot down on the brakes, but it was no use. The dogs had been spooked by the gunshot and unnerved by Austin's erratic driv- ing, and he realized he was simply along for the ride. They plunged into the busy boulevard without looking.
The sled flew off the curb, became airborne and slammed down on all four wheels. Austin's teeth rattled in his skull. There was a ban- shee screech as an SUV as big as a house slammed on its brakes, its massive chrome grille only inches away. Austin caught a glimpse of the horrified face behind the wheel, the driver's eyes popping out of his head as he watched a man in a tux drive a sled team across Wash- ington's busiest boulevard.
The best Austin could do was to hang on and try to keep the sled upright. His ears were filled with the squeal of brakes, and then he heard a thud as someone rear-ended another car. There were several more thuds as the chain reaction continued. The air reeked of the smell of burnt rubber. Then he was safely across the avenue, and the dogs were scrambling onto the opposite sidewalk. The sled was mov- ing slow enough for him to jump off before it hit the curb. The dogs were exhausted from running in the unaccustomed heat and had no desire to keep moving. They simply plopped down where they were, their sides heaving and their tongues dripping like faucets.
Austin looked back across the trail of chaos he had left on Con- stitution Avenue. Traffic on his side had come to a stop, and angry people were getting out of their cars to trade registration and license numbers. Scarface stood on the opposite curb, blood streaming down his face. He pulled his knife from his belt. Holding it close to his chest, he stepped off the curb, only to pause at the sound of sirens. Then one of the kennel trucks Austin had seen near the racecourse screeched to a stop, hiding the Eskimo from view for a few seconds. When it took off a second later, the man had vanished.
Austin went over to the panting dogs and patted each one on the head.
'We'll have to do this again, but not too soon,' he said.
He brushed the knees and elbows of his tuxedo, but he knew he must look as if he were coming off a weekend binge. Shrugging in resignation, he walked back to the museum. Therri was standing on the Constitution Avenue side of the four-story granite edifice. The expression of anxiety on her face disappeared when she saw Austin
trudging toward her, and she ran over to throw her arms around him.
'Thank goodness you're all right,' she said, hugging him in a tight embrace. 'What happened to that awful man?'
'He got thrown for a loop by the Washington traffic and called it a night. Sorry I had to kick you off back there.'
'That's all right. I've been dumped by guys before, although this is the first time it's been off a moving dogsled.'
Therri said that after she had been unceremoniously kicked off the sled, she had found a police cruiser parked near the Castle. She'd told the police that her friend was in danger of being murdered on the Mall, and though the police had looked at her as if she were crazy, they did go to investigate. She had come back to the museum to look for Ben, but there'd been no sign of him. She was trying to decide what to do next when she heard the sirens, walked onto the boule- vard and saw Austin plodding down the avenue. They shared a cab back to their cars and parted with a lingering kiss and the promise to get in touch the next day.
A turquoise NUMA vehicle was in Austin's driveway when he got home, and the front door was unlocked. He walked into the house and heard the Dave Brubeck Quartet playing 'Take Five' on the stereo. Sitting in Austin's favorite black leather chair with a drink in his hand was Rudi Gunn, second in command at NUMA. Gunn was a wiry little man, slim with narrow shoulders and matching hips. He was a master of logistics, a graduate of Annapolis and a former com- mander in the navy.
'Hope you don't mind my breaking into your house,' Gunn said. 'Not at all. That's why I gave you the lock code.' Gunn pointed to the glass. 'You're getting a little low on your Highland malt scotch whiskey,' he said, his lips turning up in his typ- ical mischievous grin.
'I'll talk to the butler about it.' Austin recognized the book that
Gunn was holding. 'Didn't know you liked Nietzsche.'
'I found it on the coffee table. Pretty heavy stuff.'
'It might be heavier than you think,' Austin said, going over to the bar to mix himself a Dark and Stormy.
Gunn put the book aside and picked up a bound folder from a side table. 'Thanks for getting your report to me. I found it far more in- teresting than Mr. Nietzsche's writings.'
'Thought you might,' Austin said, settling into a sofa with his drink.
Gunn pushed his thick horn-rimmed glasses up onto his thinning hair and leafed through the folder. 'At times like this, I realize what a boring life I lead,' he said. 'You've really missed your calling. You should be writing scripts for video games.'
Austin took a big gulp of his drink, savoring the deep flavor of the dark rum and the tingle of the Jamaican ginger beer. 'Naw. This stuff is too far-fetched.'
'I beg to differ, old pal. What's far-fetched about a mysterious cor- poration that sinks ships by remote control? A long-lost cave with fantastic wall art in the Faroe Islands. A creature out of Jaws that knocks you on your ass.' He started to chuckle uncontrollably. 'Now that's something I would have liked to witness.'
'There's no such thing as respect anymore,' Austin lamented. Gunn got his composure back, and he turned a few more pages. 'The list goes on and on. Murderous Eskimo thugs who hunt hu- mans instead of seals. Oh yes, a female attorney with a radical envi- ronmental group.' He looked up from his reading. 'She has long slim legs, I suppose.'
Austin thought about Them's figure. 'About average in length, I'd say, but quite shapely.'
'Can't have everything, I suppose.' Gunn put the folder on his lap and gave Austin the once-over, taking in his scuffed shoes, crooked bow tie and the hole in the knee of the tuxedo. 'Did the bouncer
throw you out of the museum reception? You look a little, ah, rum- pled.'
'The reception was fine. But I learned that Washington is going to the dogs.'
'Nothing new there. Hope that tux wasn't rented,' Gunn said. 'Worse,' Austin replied. 'I own it. Maybe NUMA will buy me a new one.
'I'll take it up with Admiral Sandecker,' Gunn said. Austin refreshed their drinks, then laid out the story of the meet- ing with Marcus Ryan and the evening's events.
After absorbing the account without comment, Gunn tapped the report on his lap. 'Any thoughts on how your dogsled adventure fits in with this wild tale?'
'Lots of thoughts, but nothing coherent. I'll sum up what I know in a single sentence. The people who run Oceanus deal ruthlessly with anyone who gets in their way.'
'That would be my conclusion, too, based on what you've said.' Gunn paused for a moment, brow furrowed. He had the capacity to think as coldly and clearly as a computer. He processed the moun- tain of information, separating the wheat from the chaff. After a few moments, he said, 'What about this Basque character, Aguirrez?'
'Interesting fellow. He's the wild card in this poker game. I talked to a friend at the CIA. Aguirrez may or may not be allied with Basque separatists. Perlmutter is looking into the family background for me. All I know for now is that he's either a Basque terrorist or an amateur archaeologist. Take your pick.'
'Maybe he could bird-dog this thing for us. Too bad you can't get in touch with him.'
Austin set his drink down, pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted the card Aguirrez had given him as he was leaving the Basque's yacht. He handed the card to Gunn, who noted the phone number on the back. 'Why not?' he said, and handed the card back.
Austin picked up a phone and punched out the number. He was tired from the night's exertions, and his
