this, and Austin refused.'
Therri bit her lower lip in frustration. Her loyalty toward Ryan was intense but not uncritical.
'Don't turn your sights on Kurt. If it weren't for him, you'd be eat- ing sardines in a Danish prison cell.'
Ryan beamed his lighthouse smile. 'You're right. I'm out of line.
But there's still time to call Bear and have him take you out of here.'
'Not on your life, Ryan.'
Mercer had finished organizing their backpacks. He strapped on a pistol belt and handed one to Ryan. Therri refused a weapon. They piled their supplies into the inflatable, shoved it off the beach and started the engine. It ran with a low hum and pushed them through the water at a slow but respectable speed. They hugged the shoreline even after they had passed through the channel into the larger lake.
Ryan was using a topographic map with notations based on Ben's information. He stopped the boat at one point and peered through his binoculars at the opposite side of the lake. He could make out a pier and several boats, but no structure matching Nighthawk's de- scription.
'That's funny, I don't see any dome. Ben said it rose above the trees.
'What should we do?' Therri said.
'We'll go to Ben's village and wait there. Then we'll head across the lake, leave our calling cards where they will do the most good and set the timers for late morning, when we'll be well on our way out of here.'
They got underway again. The sun was falling behind the trees when they saw the clearing and the dozen or so houses that made up Ben's village. It was deathly quiet, with only a faint soughing in the trees and the lap of the waves against shore breaking the silence. They stopped about fifty yards offshore while Ryan, then the others, checked out the village with light-gathering glasses. Seeing nothing, they cruised straight on in, beached the boat and came ashore.
Ryan was careful, insisting that they check out the houses and store. The village was deserted, as Ben had described. They had something to eat. By the time they finished, darkness was complete, except for a blue-black sheen on the lake and pinpoints of light on the opposite shore. They took turns standing watch while the others slept. Around midnight they were all awake and preparing to move out. They slid the boat into the water and pushed off.
Halfway across the lake, Ryan peered through his glasses, and said, 'Jesus!'
The sky across the lake was lit up. He handed the binocs to Therri, but even with her naked eye she could see the dully lit greenish-blue structure that mounded above the trees. It seemed to have dropped from space.
Ryan directed Mercer to steer off to one side, away from the pier. They beached a few minutes later, pulled the inflatable onshore and piled brush around it. Then they made their way along the beach to- ward the pier. When they were a few hundred feet away, they cut in- land and came upon the road that Ben and Josh Green had used to get to the airship hangar. The muddy ruts Ben had described had since been graded and blacktopped.
They were looking for a particular type of building, and found what they were looking for in a structure that hummed with the sound of pumps. Mercer made short work of the padlocks with a tiny cutting torch.
Large glass tanks stretched from one side of the building to the other, and the air inside was heavy with the smell offish and the hum of motors. The room was in semi-darkness, but large pale shapes could be seen moving behind the glass. Mercer got right to work. He placed packets of C-4 in strategic places, molding the putty-like explosive around pumps and electrical conduits where explosions would do the most damage. What was left, he placed on the outside of the tanks.
They worked fast, arming the charges and setting the timers, and were done within thirty minutes. The only people they had seen were those moving in the distance, but Ryan wasn't going to press their luck. They made their way back toward the lakeshore, again with- out encountering anyone. Ryan was beginning to feel uneasy, but he pressed on. If all went as planned, Bear would be picking them up just before the big bang.
Unfortunately, all did not go as planned. Their boat was missing to begin with. Thinking that they may have misjudged the distance in the dark, Ryan sent the others down the beach to look for the boat while he stood watch. When five minutes had passed and they hadn't returned, he struck out after them, and he found Therri and Mercer standing side by side looking out toward the lake.
'Did you find it?' he said.
No answer. They remained motionless. When he moved in closer, he saw why. Their wrists were bound behind their backs with wire, and they had tape across their mouths. Before he could free his friends, the bushes behind the beach erupted and they were sur- rounded by a dozen burly figures.
One man took Ryan's gun away and another came closer and flicked on a flashlight, its beam illuminating the man's hand. Dan- gling in his fingers was one of the charges Ryan had set in the fish house. The man threw the explosives into the lake and put the beam on his own face so that Ryan could be sure to see the pockmarked jack- o'-lantern features and the fierce grin.
He drew a white-bladed knife from his belt and put it under Ryan's chin so that the point dimpled his skin and drew a droplet of blood. Then he uttered something in a strange language and re- turned the knife to its scabbard. Together, they began to march back toward the airship hangar.
31
AUSTIN EXAMINED THE satellite photograph through the magnifying glass and shook his head. He slid the picture and magnifier across his desk to Zavala. After studying the photo for a moment, Zavala said, 'I can see a lake with a clearing on one side and some houses. Could be Nighthawk's village. There's a pier and some boats on the other side, but no airship hangar. Maybe it's hidden.' 'Maybe we're setting off on a fool's mission, old chum.' 'Wouldn't be the first time. Look at it this way: Max said this is the place, and I'd trust Max with my life.'
'You may have to,' Austin said. He checked his watch. 'Our plane will be ready in a couple of hours. We'd better get packed.'
'I never packed from my last trip,' Zavala said. 'See you at the airport.'
Austin did a quick turnaround at his boathouse and was heading out the door, when he saw the light blinking on his telephone an- swering machine. He debated whether to listen to the message, but when he pushed the button, he was glad he did. Ben Nighthawk had called and left a phone number.
Austin dropped his duffel bag and quickly punched out the num- ber. 'Man, am I glad to hear from you,' Nighthawk said. 'I've been waiting by the phone hoping you'd call.'
'I tried to get in touch with you a couple of times.'
'Sorry for being such a jerk. That guy would have killed me if you hadn't stepped in. I wandered around and hung out with some pals feeling sorry for myself. When I got back to my apartment, there was a message from Therri. She said that SOS was going off on its own. Ryan talked her into it, I guess.'
'Damned fools. They'll get themselves killed.'
'I feel the same way. I'm worried about my family, too. We've got to stop them.'
'I'm willing to try, but I need your help.'
You ve got it.
'How soon can you leave?' 'Whenever you want me to.'
'How about now? I'll pick you up on the way to the airport.' 'I'll be ready.'
After Zavala left the NUMA building, he drove his 1961 Corvette convertible to his home in Arlington, Virginia. While the upstairs was spotless, as would be expected of someone who routinely dealt in microscopic tolerances, Zavala's basement looked like a cross be- tween Captain Nemo's workshop and a redneck gas station. It was crammed with models of undersea craft, metal-cutting tools and piles of diagrams marked with greasy fingerprints.
The one exception to the jumble was a locked metal cabinet where Zavala kept his collection of weaponry. Technically, Zavala was a marine engineer, but his duties on the Special Assignments Team sometimes required firepower. Unlike Austin, who favored a custom-made Bowen revolver, Zavala employed whatever weapon was handy, usually with deadly efficiency. He eyed the collection of firearms in the cabinet-wondering what, short of a neutron bomb, would be effective against a ruthless multinational organization with its own private army-and reached for an Ithaca Model 37 repeat- ins shotgun, the primary weapon used by the SEALs in Vietnam. He liked the
