Zero Hour (NUMA Files 11)

Only then did he realize it was nearly dark. The sun had been dropping toward the horizon during his chase, but it was long gone now. Only a faded orange glow lingered in the darkening sky.

The helicopter blades began to accelerate above them as the pilot spooled up for liftoff. “It took us a while to find you,” the man explained.

“What about Kurt?”

“Who?”

“Kurt Austin.”

“I don’t know that name,” the man said. He took Joe’s arm and ushered him toward the door. “Please, we have to go.”

Joe shook loose from the man’s grasp. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to my friend. He went down into the mine to rescue your divers.”

The official made a strange face. “There was an explosion,” he said. “If your friend survived, he’s been flown out. But no one’s left at the lake now except the dead.”

With a sick feeling in his heart, Joe climbed aboard the helicopter and strapped himself in. As he flew, night tightened its grip on the land. By the time he arrived at the Australian military base outside Alice Springs, the sky was like black cloth punctured by some of the brightest stars Joe had ever seen.

He was taken to the infirmary first. A young doctor looked him over and tested for signs of chemical or metal poisoning. After informing Joe that he’d live, the doctor left and an even younger nurse came in. She stitched up the gash in his head where he’d smashed it into the windshield.

Shortly after finishing, she jabbed him in the arm with a shot.

“Oww!”

“Tetanus and antibiotics,” she said.

“Sure,” Joe said, rubbing his bicep. “But aren’t you supposed to warn me or tell me that that’s not going to hurt first?”

“Why lie?” she asked. “Besides, I thought you Yanks were tough.”

“It’s been a rough day,” he admitted. “Speaking of Yanks, have you treated any other Americans tonight? Maybe a guy six feet tall with silver hair.”

“Sorry,” she said, packing up her things, “you’re the first.”

After the nurse left, Joe was taken to a different section of the base. It seemed like basic housing or perhaps quarters for the NCOs.

His escort/guard opened the door to reveal a room with two bunks, a utilitarian desk placed between them, and cinder-block walls. It reminded Joe of a dorm room, right down to the roommate already lying on one of the beds with his feet up.

Joe stepped inside, the door was locked behind him, and Kurt Austin sat up.

“Damn, I’m glad to see you,” Joe said. “They had me thinking you’d become part of the junk pile at the bottom of that mine.”

Kurt stood and gave Joe a bear hug. “I had a similar fear about you. Didn’t expect to surface and find Bradshaw, sunning himself on the beach unattended. I was afraid those thugs got the drop on you.”

“I figured he wasn’t up to four-wheeling through the desert,” Joe replied.

Kurt looked at him oddly. “I’m guessing by the stitches that your chase ended with some extracurricular activities?”

“No,” Joe said, “I didn’t catch them. I ended up in a ditch somehow. But considering how well I was doing up until that point, I’m thinking about entering the Baja 1000 next year.”

“You don’t win the Baja by crashing, Joe. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t crash, amigo, I was…” Joe paused. “Okay, I guess I did crash, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my fault.”

The vagueness of his own recollection was puzzling to Joe. He tried hard to remember. “One second, I was going head-on with them… there was a flash, like the glare of sunlight off a pane of glass, and then… I must have swerved. Though, I honestly can’t remember.”

“You sound like Bradshaw,” Kurt noted.

“How is he, by the way?”