Austin put his finger to his lips.
When Austin didn't answer, Emil taunted, "Don't tell me you're shy. I want you to listen to the plans my mother has for your lady friend. She's going to give her a face-lift. You won't recognize her when she's through with the transformation."
Austin had had enough of Fauchard. He signaled for Zavala to hand over his gun and moved closer to the control booth wall. Disregarding his own advice, he squeezed the trigger until it was a feather's touch away, then he popped up like a hand puppet, fired once and ducked down. He had honed in on Fauchard's voice, but his aim was off. Fauchard and his men scattered in search of cover. Once they saw that there was no follow-up attack, they again sprayed the booth with lead.
"You really showed them that time," "Zavala yelled over the racket. "Emil was starting to irk me." "Did you get him?"
"Emil? Unfortunately, no. I missed Sebastian, too. But I nailed the guy standing next to him."
"That is unfortunate," Zavala said, raising his voice a few decibels. "Brilliant strategy, though. Maybe they'll run out of bullets."
Bullets were starting to punch through the floor of the booth. Austin knew he had to stop the shooting and buy time. "Do you have a white hanky?" he asked Zavala.
"This is a funny time to be blowing your nose," Zavala said, ducking as a round ricocheted off the wall. He saw from Austin's face that he wasn't joking and said, "I've got my Mexican 'do-rag." " Zavala fished his multipurpose red bandanna out of his back pocket and handed it over.
"This will do," Austin said, tying the bandanna to the gun barrel. He poked the impromptu flag out the door and waved it.
The gunfire again stopped. Emil's sharp-edged laughter echoed throughout the tunnel.
"What is that rag, Austin?" he said. "I'm no bull to be taunted by your antics."
"I didn't have a white flag," Austin shouted down.
"A white flag? Don't tell me you and your friend are prepared to come to terms with your fate?"
Austin cocked his ear, listening. He thought he heard a distant whispering, like the surf along the shore. But his ears were still ringing from the gunfire and he couldn't be sure.
"You misunderstood, Fauchard. I'm not ready to surrender."
"Then why are you waving that ridiculous piece of cloth?"
"I wanted to say good-bye before the freight train comes through."
"Have you gone mad, Austin?"
The whispering had become a low rumble.
Emil gave the order to start firing again.
Bullets whined and splattered around their heads in a nonstop crescendo. The concentrated gunfire was punching through the walls. In another few minutes, the booth would beAno more protection than the slice of Swiss cheese that it was starting to resemble.
Then the firing stopped abruptly.
The gunmen had felt the vibration. With the guns silent, they, too, had picked up the rumble of distant thunder.
Austin got to his feet and stepped out onto the catwalk. Emil had a puzzled look on his face. He looked up, saw Austin staring down at him and knew he had been bested.
"You've won for now, Austin," he yelled up, shaking his fist in defiance, "but you haven't heard the last from the Fauchards."
Austin grinned, stepped back into the booth, grabbed onto one of the metal legs supporting the console table and told Zavala to do the same.
Emil shouted one last oath, and then he turned and he and his gang of thugs ran for their lives. Sebastian lurched after the others.
It was too late.
Seconds later, the wave hit Fauchard and his men with an explosion of blue water that swept them away like a giant broom. Heads bobbed for an instant in the cold foam, arms flailed ineffectually. Sebastian's face was pale against the dark water. Then he was gone along with Emil and his men.
Unlike their previous experience, when Austin and Zavala stayed high and dry inside the undamaged watertight booth, this time the cascading water flowed in through the broken windows, flooded the control room and tried to pull Austin and Zavala from their anchor. They hung on with every ounce of strength.