White Death (NUMA Files 4)

Cruising at a speed of one hundred twenty-five knots, the heli- copters soon passed over a rocky shoreline and left the sea behind them. They were traveling over a dense forest of fir trees, keeping a tight formation, hugging the treetops in the hope of avoiding detec- tion. Austin checked the load in his Bowen revolver, then he sat back in his seat, closed his eyes and worked through their plan in his head.

Zavala sometimes jokingly accused Austin of making things up as he went along. There was some truth to the charge. Austin knew planning could only go so far. Having grown up on and around the water, his views were colored by his nautical experiences. He knew that a mission was like sailing a boat into foul weather; when things went wrong, they really went wrong. A good sailor kept his lines clear and his bailing can handy.

He was a strong believer in the KISS principle. Keep It Simple Stupid. Since his primary goal was to get Ben's family and friends out safely, the SeaCobra couldn't just swoop down and blast away at everything in sight. Austin knew there was no such thing as a surgi- cal strike. The chopper's armament would have to be used sparingly, a fact which neutered its fearsome capability. He furrowed his brow at the wild card that fanatical idiot Marcus Ryan had dealt him.

Austin didn't need his fondness for Therri Weld to cloud his judg- ment.

The Eurocopter's engine changed pitch as the aircraft cut speed and came to a hover over the forest. Ben, who was sitting behind Austin with Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers, was signaling the pilot to descend. The pilot shook his head and insisted that there was no place to land.

Pablo glanced out the window. "Do you trust the Indian?" Austin checked the landing zone. Visibility was restricted, and he could see nothing but dark greenery in the lowering sun. They were now in Ben Nighthawk's backyard. "This is his country, not mine.

Pablo nodded, then barked in Spanish at the pilot, who muttered to himself and radioed the other helicopter of his plans to land. The SeaCobra peeled off and flew a back-and-forth pattern over the woods, using its infrared detectors to see if there were any warm bodies lurking in the vicinity. Detecting no sign of human life, the SeaCobra gave the okay to land.

The Eurocopter sank into the forest. No one except Ben would have been surprised to hear the rotors shred themselves in an unequal match with the sturdy tree trunks. But the only sound was a crackle and snap of thin branches and the soft thump of the skids hitting the around. Ben's sharp eyes had seen what the others had not, that what appeared to be thick forest was in real

ity a cleared area overgrown with heavy underbrush. The SeaCobra dropped down a short dis- tance away.

Austin let out the breath he had been holding and jumped from the chopper with Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers right behind him. They ducked into a combat crouch with guns at the ready, de- spite the infrared sweep. As the rotors spun to a stop, a silence so com- plete that it seemed to have substance settled on them. Ben climbed out of the chopper and glanced at the upheld machine rifles.

"You won't find anyone here," he said. "This place hasn't been used since I was a kid. There's a river over there through the trees." He pointed to some ramshackle buildings that were barely visible in the dusky light. "That's the bunkhouse and the sawmill. It's a bad- luck place. My father said they had lots of accidents. They built a new camp downriver where they could float the logs to market quicker."

Austin had more temporal things on his mind. "The light's fad- ing. We'd better get moving."

They rounded up their rucksacks and broke into two groups. The NUMA men, Nighthawk and the Aguirrez brothers would be the assault group. The muscular Basques moved with an air of assurance that suggested they were no strangers to clandestine missions.

The two pilots, who were also heavily armed, would wait for a call to provide backup. Ben led the way into the forest, and they went from dusk to darkness the second they were under the trees. Each man except the last in line carried a small halogen flashlight, which they held beam-pointed-down as they followed Ben, who moved through the woods as silently and as swiftly as a woodland wraith. They traveled between a walk and a trot for several miles, making good time on the soft carpet of pine needles, until Ben finally called a halt. They stood in the piney darkness, panting with exertion, sweat pouring down their faces.

Ben cocked his ear, listening. After a moment, he said, "We're less than a mile away."

Zavala slipped the shotgun off his shoulder. "Time to make sure our powder is dry."

"Don't worry about the guards," Ben said. "They're all on the lakeside. Nobody would expect us to come in this way."

"Why not?" Zavala replied.

"You'll see. Make sure you don't get ahead of me," Nighthawk said, and without another word, he pushed on. Ten minutes later, Ben slowed his pace to a walk. Advising them to proceed with care, he brought the group to an abrupt halt at the edge of a chasm. Austin flashed his light on the steep vertical walls, then pointed it downward toward the sound of rushing water. The beam exhausted itself before reaching the river far below.

"I think I know why there are no guards on this side," Zavala said. "We took a wrong turn and ended up on the north rim of the Grand Canyon."

"This is called 'Dead Man's Leap,' " Ben said. "The people around here aren't very original when it comes to naming things." "They make their point well enough," Austin said.

Zavala looked to the right and the left. "Can we detour around this little ditch?"

"We'd have to travel another ten miles through thick forest," Ben said. "This is the narrowest point. The lake is a half mile from here." "I remember an Indiana Jones movie where they crossed a chasm on an invisible bridge," Zavala said.

"Ask and you shall receive," Austin said, as he removed his back- pack. He unsnapped the flap and pulled out a coil of nylon rope and a compact folding grapnel.

Zavala's eyes widened. "You never cease to amaze me, amigo. Here I was thinking I was well prepared because I brought a Swiss army knife with the corkscrew. I'll bet you have a bottle of fine wine in your little baggie as well."

Austin produced a pulley and rappelling harness. "Before you nominate me for a Boy Scout merit badge, I should confess that Ben told me we'd have to cross this moat before we scaled the castle walls."

Austin warned everyone to give him room. He stepped danger- ously close to the rim, whirled the grapnel over his head and let it fly. The first try fell short and clanged against the chasm wall. Two other tosses landed on the other side but failed to hook on. On the fourth throw, the hooks wedged into a cleft between some rocks. Austin be- layed the other end of the rope to a tree and tested his weight to see if the grapnel would hold. Then he attached the pulley and rap- pelling harness to the rope, took a deep breath and stepped out into space.

By the time he reached the other side, he seemed to be moving at Mach 2. A clump of bushes cushioned his landing. Using a retrieval line, Zavala pulled the pulley back, attached Austin's backpack and sent it over. After the rest of their gear was transported the same way, Zavala and Ben made the next crossing, then the two Basques followed.

They gathered up their packs and kept on moving through the woods until they began to see will-o'-the-wisp lights sprinkled among the trees like the campfires of a gypsy encampment. They could hear the muffled sounds of machinery.

Ben brought them to a halt. "Now you can worry about the guards," he whispered.