White Death (NUMA Files 4)

"You're not getting out of our dinner date that easily." "Dinner? How can you think about such a thing with all this in- sanity going on? You're crazy!"

"I'm quite sane, but I'm determined to get through a romantic meal for two without interruption."

Her face softened and a faint smile came to her lips. "I'd like that, too. So be careful."

He kissed her lightly on the mouth. Then he and Zavala pushed the Jet Ski back into the water. It had suffered a few dents and bul- let holes during the rescue assault on the catamaran, but the motor was in fine shape and Zavala had no trouble getting it running again. As Austin pointed the watercraft back toward the vortex of violence, he realized that he didn't know what he was going to do when he fi- nally met up with Dr. Barker. But he was certain he'd come up with something.

Austin and Zavala landed on the beach a few hundred yards from the dock and made their way back toward the plaza, where Barker had ad- dressed his gang of thugs. The plaza was empty. Many of the defend- ers had scattered into the forest when the helicopter attacked. Austin and Zavala made their way around a crater and several bodies.

With its electronic camouflage in use, the dome itself was invisi- ble, but light streamed from a slim rectangular opening in the forest where the portal had been left open. No one barred the way as Austin and Zavala stepped inside and got their first breathtaking glance of the huge silver torpedo that filled most of the hangar. Powerful flood- lights reflected off the zeppelin's shiny aluminum skin, leaving the perimeter of the dome in darkness. They slipped into the shadows and hid behind a scaffold on wheels, where they had a good view of the scene.

The men scurrying around the zeppelin, apparently making last- minute preparations for take-off, lent scale to the gigantic aircraft. Launch crews strained at the anchor lines like contestants engaged in a tug-of-war game. High above, the dome's roof was slowly open- ing, and stars were visible through the gap. Austin ran his eyes along the zeppelin's length, coolly taking in every detail, from the blunt nose to the tapering tail, his gaze lingering for a second on the tri- angular top fin and the word Nietzsche. The airship was a beautiful example of form following function, but aesthetics were secondary in his mind.

The control cabin was only a few feet above the floor, but it was surrounded by guards. He surveyed the airship again and saw what he was looking for. He pointed to the nearest engine nacelle and quickly outlined his idea to Zavala, who nodded and gave him the okay sign, signifying he understood. Zavala radioed Diego that they were boarding the airship. The roof opening was almost big enough to let the airship through. In another few seconds, the launch crews would begin to let up the slack on the anchor lines.

The zeppeli

n rested on tapering supports that resembled old- fashioned oil derricks. Other towers were arranged closer to the air- craft. With Zavala close on his heels, Austin made his way from tower to tower, finally reaching two scaffolds that supported the star- board rear nacelle. He glanced around. The crews were still intent on keeping the zeppelin down as it strained against the anchor lines. Satisfied that they had not been seen, he climbed to the top of the tower.

The egg-shaped engine housing was about the size of an SUV and attached to the fuselage by metal struts. The spinning propeller was the height of two men. Austin grabbed onto a strut and pulled him- self onto the top of the nacelle. He could feel the vibration from the powerful engine through the soles of his boots. As the propeller picked up speed, it created a backwash, and he had to hold on tightly to prevent being blown off. He reached down to lend a hand to Zavala, who was still scrambling onto the engine housing, when the launch crew slacked the lines and the zeppelin began to rise. Zavala's legs dangled as he tried to get a foot up on the rounded side of the nacelle. Holding on with one hand, Austin used the considerable strength in his shoulders to give Zavala the lift he needed.

By then, the zeppelin was halfway to the roof. From their position atop the nacelle, they were shielded from eyes below. But the prop wash was picking up, and it was becoming harder to hold on to the slick, rounded surface. Austin looked up and saw a rectangular open- ing where the struts disappeared into the fuselage. He yelled at Zavala, but his words were blown away by the wind, so he simply pointed. Zavala answered, and although Austin couldn't hear his partner's reply, he was sure Joe was saying, "After you."

Austin began to climb. The strut had been made with ladder rungs to allow an engineer access to the engine pod for midair repairs. With the prop turning and the zeppelin rising, the journey of several feet was the ultimate challenge. Austin's progress wasn't pretty, but he made it through the rectangular opening in the zeppelin's belly.

Once out of the main force of the prop wash, he hung on the lad- der and looked back. Zavala was right behind him. The zeppelin had risen through the top of the dome, and the doors in the roof were closing. The people in the dome looked to be the size of ants. By the time Zavala made it into the fuselage, the dome was closed completely. Having made their decision to stow away, he and Zavala had no other choice. They began to climb into the darkness.

37

THE NIETZSCHE WAS a miracle of aeronautical design. Twice as long as a Booing 747 Jumbo Jet, it had been built in an age before computers and space-age materials. The Nietzsche had been modeled after the Graf Zeppelin, the 776-foot-long silver cigar built in 1928 by airship pioneer Hugo Eckener, but innovations that would later be part of the Hindenburg had also been incorporated into the design. In the Graf, passenger quarters were behind the control room. But the Nietzsche had been designed with living space within the fuselage itself.

Once inside the fuselage, Austin and Zavala found themselves in a small room, after their perilous climb from the nacelle. Hanging on the wall were machinists' tools and spare parts and long black leather coats like those favored by aviators of a bygone era. The room was unheated, and the coats would come in handy for those who worked there. Austin tried a coat on and found that it fit.

"You look like the Red Baron," Zavala said.

Austin slipped a leather cap down on his head. "I prefer to think of myself as a master of disguise." Seeing the skepticism in his part- ner's face, Austin said: "Maybe you've noticed that we're somewhat different in appearance from the Eskimo gentlemen we've seen on this little adventure. If these ridiculous outfits give us a second's edge, they might be worth it."

"The sacrifices I make for NUMA," Zavala said, searching for a coat that fit him.

The room's single door opened onto a long corridor. The walls of the plushly carpeted passageway were decorated with fanciful scenes of men in top hats flying a variety of odd-shaped hot-air balloons and flying machines. Antique crystal lamps hung from the ceiling. At the end of the corridor was a passenger area of comfortably appointed staterooms, each with two berths and its own unique pattern of flow- ery wallpaper.

A short walk led to an elegant dining salon. There were about a dozen small rectangular tables, each covered with a white tablecloth, neatly creased napkins set in place. Two upholstered chairs with ma- hogany arms and legs were pulled slightly back from each table, as if guests were to arrive momentarily.

Tall curtained windows would have given the diners a God's-eye view of the world below. Next to the dining room was a lounge, complete with bar and bandstand, and a dance floor of highly pol- ished wood. Like the dining salon, the lounge was decorated in Art Deco motif. Geometric patterns prevailed. The wall behind the bar was an art gallery ofzeppelin photos.

The lounge was hushed except for the muted rumble of engines.

Zavala looked around in wonder. "This is like being on an old ocean liner."

"Just pray that it isn't the Titanic," Austin said.

Austin led the way toward a room furnished with leather sofas and chairs. His knowledge of German was limited, but he guessed that the sign on the wall designated the area as the smoking room. They left the room and followed another corridor that led to an expansive space that seemed to be a work area. They could see a large functional table illuminated by halogen lamps, computers and several chairs that were designed more for function than comfort. Part of the room was in shadow. Austin found a wall light switch and flicked it on. The entire room was flooded with light, and both men tensed when they discovered that they were not alone. Two figures stood against the far wall, and Zavala swore in Spanish. Out of the corner of his eye, Austin saw the shotgun coming to bear.

"Wait!" he said.

Zavala lowered the gun and smiled as he studied the figures. He was looking at the mummified bodies of two men, propped up on metal stands. They stood in a natural position, arms hanging down by their sides. Their skin was as dark as leather and stretched tightly against their skulls. The eye sockets were empty, but the faces were remarkably well preserved. Austin and Zavala moved in for a closer look.

Zavala said, "I don't think these guys are the Blues Brothers."