Treasure (Dirk Pitt 9)

When they had moved within twenty meters of the lodge, they began hurling grenades through the windows.

Inside the lodge, an agent roughly shoved Hala into a cold fireplace. He was in the act of pushing a writing desk over the hearth to shield her when a hail of fire through a window ricocheted off the stone mantel, of the bullets smashing into his neck and shoulder. Hala could not see, but she heard his body thump as it made contact with the wood floor.

Ibc grenades were taking deadly effect now. At close range the shrapnel was far more damaging to human tissue than a rifle bullet. The agents'

only defense was a sharp and precise fire, but they had not counted on a heavy assault and theirsmall stockpile of ammunition was down to the last few clips.

A call for assistance had been transmitted immediately after Ismail's opening shots, but the emergency plea went to the Secret Service office in Denver and precious time was lost before the local sheriff's department was notified and their units organized.

A grenade exploded in a storeroom, igniting a can of paint thinner. A gas can used for filling the tank of a snowblower went next, and one entire side of the lodge soon crawled with flames.

The gunfire died as the fire spread. The Arabs cautiously tightened the net. They formed a loose circle around the lodge; every automatic rifle was trained on the doors and windows. They waited patiently for the survivors to be flushed out by the blaze.

Only two Secret Service agents were still on their feet. The rest were sprawled in bloody heaps among the mutilated pieces of furniture-The full fury of the fire raced into the kitchen and up a rear staircase, spreading to the upstairs bedrooms. Already it was far beyond any hope of extinction. The heat swiftly became unbearable to the defenders on the lower floor.

The sound of sirens echoed up the valley from the direction of town and drew closer.

One agent pushed away the desk protecting Hala in the fireplace and led her on hands and knees to a low window.

"The local sheriff's deputies are arriving," he said quickly. "As soon as they draw off the terrorist fire, we'll make a run for it before we're barbecued to death."

Hala could only nod. She could hardly hear him. Her eardrums hurt from the roar of the grenades. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she pressed a handkerchief tightly against her nose and mouth to filter out the thickening blanket of smoke.

Outside, Ismail lay prone, clutching his H & K automatic, torn by indecision. The lodge had swiftly become a blazing inferno, smoke and flame were rolling through the windows. Anyone still living had to escape in the next few seconds or die.

But Ismail could not wait it out. Already he could see red and blue lights flashing through the trees as a sheriff's car sped up the highway.

Of his original team of twelve men, seven were left, including himself.

any wounded were to be killed rather than left behind to be interrogated by American intelligence officials. He shouted a comnand to his men and they pulled away from the lodge and hurried off toward the entrance road.

The first deputies to arrive slid to a stop and blocked the road to the lodge. While one reported on the radio, his partner cautiously eased open his door and studied the van and burning lodge, holding his drawn revolver. They were only to observe, report and wait for backup.

It was a sound tactic when facing armed and dangerous criminals.

Unfortunately, it didn't work with a small army of unseen terrorists who suddenly opened fire with a storm of bullets that shredded the patrol car and killed the two deputies before they had a chance to react.

At a signal from one of the agents peering around the window, Hala was lifted and brusquely flung out onto the ground. The Secret Service men followed and quickly took her by the arms and began running, stumbling through the snow on an angle toward the highway.

They had covered only paces when one of Ismail's men spotted them and shouted the alarm. Shots struck the trees and branches fell around the fleeing survivors. One of the agents suddenly threw up his hands, clawing at the sky, stumbled forward a few steps and then fell face downward in the snow.

"They're trying to cut us off from the highway!" the other agent snapped. "You try to make it. I'll make a stand and delay them."

Hala started to say something, but the agent spun her around and gave her a not-too-gentle shove that sent her on her way.

"Run, dammit, run!" he yelled.

But he could see it was already too late. any hope of escape was dealt a death blow. They had taken the wrong angle away from the burning lodge and were headed on a direct line toward two Mercedes-Benz sedans parked in woods beside the road. In dazed defeat he realized the cars belonged to the terrorists. He had no alternative. If he couldn't stop them, he would at least slow them down long enough for Hala to hail a passing car. In a suicide gamble, the agent ran at the Arabs, finger locked on the trigger of his Uzi, shouting every obscenity he'd ever learned.

Ismail and his men were momentarily stunned into immobility by what they saw as a charging demon. for two incredulous seconds they hesitated, then recovered and let loose a long burst at the courageous Secret Service agent, cutting him down in mid-stride.

But not before he took out four of them.

Hala saw the cars too. She also saw the terrorists rushing for them.

Behind her she heard the thunderous fusillade of shots. Choking and gasping for breath, her clothes and hair singed, she staggered into a small ditch and up the other side before sprawling on a hard surface.

She raised her head slightly and found herself staring at black asphalt.