White Death (NUMA Files 4)

Aguirrez checked the elevation of each cannon. He pulled aside the black cloth and sighted through the gun ports on an imaginary circle on the sea. Having encountered no opposition, the first galley came in close to the caravel-and Aguirrez gave the order to fire. Both cannon thundered. One shot was premature and snapped the beak off the galley, but the second cannonball smashed into the ar- tillery platform.

The bow section disintegrated in a burst of fire and smoke. Water poured into the ruptured hull, aided by the galley's forward speed, and the boat slipped below the surface and sank within moments. Aguirrez felt a pang of pity for the rowers, manacled to their oars and unable to escape, but their death would be quick compared to weeks and months of suffering.

The crew of the second galley saw the lead boat's fate, and in a dis- play of the nimbleness the triremes were famous for, it veered sharply away from the caravel, then looped around to rejoin Martinez, who had prudently held his boat back.

Aguirrez guessed that the galleys would split up, come around both sides of the ship, careful to stay out of cannon range, then cir- cle back and attack the vulnerable rowers. Almost as if Martinez were reading his thoughts, the galleys pulled apart and each began a long swing around the opposite sides of the ship, circling like wary hyenas.

Aguirrez heard a snap above his head, caused by a desultory flap

of the mainsail. He held his breath, wondering if it was only an er- rant puff as before. Then the sail flapped again and filled out, and the masts creaked. He ran to the bow, leaned over the rail and shouted at his deck crew to bring the rowers back on board.

Too late.

The galleys had cut short their long, lazy loop and angled sharply back on a course that brought them directly at the ship. The right- hand galley swung around and presented its long side, and the gun- ners concentrated their arquebus fire on the defenseless longboat. A withering fusillade raked the rowers.

Emboldened, the second galley tried the same maneuver on the port side. The caravel's marksmen had rallied after being taken by surprise, and they concentrated their fire on the exposed artillery platform where Aguirrez had last seen Martinez. ElBrasero was un- doubtedly hiding behind thick wood, but he would get the message.

The volley hit the platform like a leaden fist. As soon as the marks- "en let off one shot, they picked up another weapon and fired again, while crewmen feverishly reloaded the guns. The fusillade was con- tinuous and deadly. Unable to withstand the prolonged hail of fire, the galley veered off, its hull splintered and its oars in fragments.

The caravel's crew rushed to haul in the long boats. The first boat was bathed in blood and half the rowers were dead. Aguirrez yelled orders to his heavy gunners, raced to the helm and grabbed the wheel. Gun crews swarmed around the cannon and muscled the heavy weapons into the bow gunports. Other deckhands adjusted the rig- ging to wring the most out of the freshening breeze.

As the caravel picked up speed, leaving a growing wake, the cap- tain steered the ship toward the galley that had been raked by fire from his gunners. The galley tried to elude him, but it had lost row- ers and was moving erratically. Aguirrez waited until he was within fifty yards. The galley's gunners fired at their pursuer, but the shots had little effect.

The cannon boomed and the balls scored a direct hit on the roofed captain's house on the stern, blasting it to toothpicks. The cannon were speedily reloaded and aimed at the galley's waterline, where they punched massive holes in the hull. Heavy with men and equip- ment, the galley quickly slipped under the surface, leaving bubbles, shards of wood and a few hapless swimmers to mark its passing.

The captain turned his attention to the third galley.

Seeing the odds change, Martinez was on the run. His galley sped off to the south like a startled hare. The agile caravel turned from its kill and tried to follow. Aguirrez had blood in his eyes as he savored the prospect of dousing El Brasero's fire.

It was not to be. The freshening breeze was still gentle, and the caravel could not match the speed of the fleeing galley, whose row- ers were pulling for their lives. Before long, the galley was a dark spot on the ocean.

Aguirrez would have chased Martinez to the ends of the earth, but he saw sails on the horizon and guessed that they might be enemy re- inforcements. The Inquisition had a long reach. He remembered his promise to his wife and children and his responsibility to the Basque people. Reluctantly, he swung the ship around and set a course north toward Denmark. Aguirrez had no illusions about his enemy. Mar- tinez might be a coward, but he was patient and persistent. It would be only a matter of time before they met again.

PROLOGUE II

Germany, 1935

SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, the dogs began to howl along a swath of countryside between the city of Hamburg and the North Sea. Terrified canines stared at the black, moonless sky with lolling tongues and shivering haunches. Their keen hearing had picked up what human ears could not: the faint whir of engines from the giant silver-skinned torpedo that slithered through the thick layer of clouds high above.

Four Maybach 12-cylinder engines, a pair on each side, hung in streamlined housings from the bottom of the 800-foot-long airship. Lights glowed in the oversized windows of the control car near the rront of the fuselage. The long, narrow control car was organized like a ship's pilothouse, complete with compass and spoked steering wheels for the rudder and elevators. standing next to the helmsman, feet wide apart, arms clasped behind his back, was Captain Heinrich Braun, a tall ramrod-straight figure impeccably dressed in a dark-blue uniform and a tall-peaked cap. Cold had seeped into the cabin and overwhelmed its heaters, so he wore a thick turtleneck sweater under his jacket. Braun's haughty profile could have been chiseled from granite. His rigid posture and silver hair, cropped close to his scalp military-style, and the slight elevation to his jutting chin, recalled his days as a Pruss- ian naval officer.

Braun checked the compass heading, then turned to a portly middle-aged man whose bushy, upturned mustache made him re- semble a good-natured walrus.

"Well, Herr Lutz, we have successfully completed the first leg of our historic journey." Braun had an elegant, anachronistic way of speaking. "We are maintaining our goal of one hundred twenty kilo- meters per hour. Even with a slight headwind, fuel consumption is exactly as calculated. My compliments, Herr Professor."

Herman Lutz looked like the bartender in a Munich beer cellar, but he was one of the most highly skilled aeronautical engineers in Europe. After his retirement, Braun had written a book suggesting airship service across the pole to North America. At a lecture pro- moting his book, he'd met Lutz, who was trying to raise money to fund a polar airship venture. The men were drawn to each other by their firm belief that airships could promote international cooperation.

Lutz's blue eyes danced with excitement. "My congratulations to you, Captain Braun. Together we will advance the greater glory of world peace."

"I'm sure you mean the greater glory ofGermany" sneered Ger- hardt Heinz, a short, slight man who had been standing behind the others, close enough to hear every word. With great ceremony, he lit up a cigarette.

In a steel-tipped voice, Braun said, "Herr Heinz, have you for- gotten that above our heads are thousands of cubic feet of highly flammable hydrogen? Smoking is permitted only in the section so designated in the crew's quarters."

Heinz mumbled an answer and snuffed out the cigarette with his fingers. Attempting to gain the edge, he drew himself up like a preen- ins rooster. Heinz had shaved his head to the skin and affected a pince-nez for his nearsighted eyes. The pale-white head was perched on narrow shoulders. While the effect was supposed to be intimi- dating, it was more grotesque.

Lutz thought that, with his tight black leather overcoat, Heinz looked like a maggot emerging from its pupa, but he wisely kept this thought to himself. Having Heinz on board was the price he and Braun had had to pay to get the airship into the air. That and the aircraft's name: Nieztsche, after the German philosopher. Germany was struggling to get out from under the financial and psychologi- cal yoke imposed by the Treaty of Versailles. When Lutz had pro- posed an airship voyage to the North Pole, the public had been eager to contribute funds, but the project had stagnated.

A group of industrialists quietly approached Lutz with a new proposition. With military backing, they would fund an airship to make a secret trip to the North Pole. If the