The Navigator (NUMA Files 7)

AUSTIN HAD halted at the edge of the access road and dropped down on one knee.

A match had flared ahead, and the breeze carried cigarette smoke his way. He could see a figure pacing back and forth in the grainy green vista produced by the night vision goggles.

George tapped Austin on the arm. He pointed to himself and then to the sentry.

Austin gave him an okay signal. George bent low and crept up on the unsuspecting guard. Austin watched as the figures merged. There was a grunt, and the guard dropped to the ground. George waved the others on.

“Sloppy,” George said as he stood over the unconscious guard. “Sorry about that.”

Some of the guards had heard the sentry’s grunt and came running to investigate. Shouts were coming from every direction. George was illuminated by light from an electric torch. He raised his hands to shield his eyes. Austin threw a flying block that knocked George out of the path of the fusillade that came next.

George scrambled to his feet and unleashed a short burst from his machine pistol. The light went out, followed by screams of pain.

Austin sprinted toward the castle and ran across the bridge over the dry moat. The mercenary guarding the door was trying to make sense of the shouts, moving lights, and gunfire. Unlike Austin, he didn’t have the advantage of night vision. He didn’t see the figure racing toward him with shoulders lowered until it was too late.

Austin hit the man like a bowling ball. The guard crashed backward, and his head snapped against the castle’s wall. He slumped unconscious to the ground.

Austin opened the heavy door and stepped into the coldness of the castle. With his Bowen extended in both hands, he quickly searched the first level and found the room with the big fireplace. The door at the back of the fireplace had been left open slightly, allowing a sliver of torchlight to escape.

Tossing his night vision goggles aside, Austin kicked the door open and ran down the stairs. He stepped through an arched portal and took in the scene. The circular room with its grotesque statuary. The heavy smell of oil. Carina on the upraised arms. And Baltazar, who stood calmly beside the statue as if he had been expecting Austin.

“Austin!” he said, his face contorted into a mask of fury. “Somehow, I knew it was you.”

As a start, Austin wanted Baltazar away from Carina. He aimed the Bowen. “Fun’s over, Baltazar. Come down from there.”

Baltazar ducked behind the statue and spoke into the voice tube. The hollow voice seemed to issue from the open mouth of the statue.

“Too late, Austin. Sheba rests in the arms of Ba’al.”

Austin heard a grinding noise underfoot and stepped back as the trapdoors slid open to reveal the oil pit.

Clenching his teeth in concentration, he stood with his feet wide apart, aimed the Bowen at the statue’s face, and squeezed the trigger. Chunks of metal went flying. The statue’s nose disintegrated, to expose its hollowed interior. Austin let off another round. The heavy bullet took off a cheek. Then he methodically shot out the rest of the statue’s evil face.

There was a shriek of pain, and Baltazar stepped out from behind the statue. His face was bloodied from flying metal. He reached out and grabbed a torch from the wall. Austin snapped off a wild shot. It missed, but in his haste to seek cover, Baltazar dropped the torch on the stairs.

Baltazar descended the stairway to retrieve the flaming torch. Austin’s gun was empty. He tucked it into the holster and sprinted up the stairs.

Baltazar snatched up the burning brand and stuck it in Austin’s face. Austin ducked and threw his shoulder into Baltazar’s midsection. Baltazar dropped the torch but he was a physical match for Austin, and his rage gave him added strength. They struggled for a moment, lost their footing, and rolled down the staircase to the edge of the pool.

Baltazar head-butted Austin, got to his feet, and kicked Austin in the ribs. He aimed another kick at Austin’s face. Austin ignored the searing pain, grabbed Baltazar’s boot, and twisted. Baltazar stood on one foot, trying vainly to maintain hi

s balance, and then fell head-first into the pool.

Austin scrambled to his feet and saw Baltazar trying to swim in the thick liquid. His head and face gleamed with the black oil.

“Get back, Kurt!”

The bandages that held Carina had stretched during her travels. She had freed herself and climbed off the statue’s arms. Now she stood on the stairs, holding the torch in her hand. With her white dress, and lovely features contorted in anger, she looked like an avenging angel.

“Wait,” Austin said. He started up the stairs.

Carina hesitated. She started to lower the torch. Then she saw that Baltazar was trying to climb out of the pool, a task made difficult by the oil on his hands. He struggled at the edge like a reptilian monster emerging from the deep. Carina raised her arm back and threw the torch. It arced through the air ahead of a trail of embers and landed in the middle of the oil pit.

There was a loud whoof.

Austin raced up the stairs and grabbed Carina around the waist. He pushed her into the space behind the statue and threw his body on top of hers.

Although the statue shielded them from the searing heat, they were in danger of choking from the cloud of greasy black smoke that billowed up to the ceiling. Even with smoke escaping through the vent in the ceiling, the chamber was filled with toxic fumes within seconds.