White Death (NUMA Files 4)

Zavala and the Basques slipped their weapons off their shoulders and Austin loosened the flap on his belt holster. He had studied the satellite photos of the complex, trying to glean the layout as best he could even without the dome. Ben had helped fill in the gaps.

The zeppelin dome lay a short distance from the lake, surrounded by a network of paved walkways and roads that connected several smaller buildings hidden in the woods. He asked Ben to take him to where he saw the dome. While the others waited, the Indian led the way through the woods to the edge of a tarmac path that was lit by low-intensity, ankle-high lights. Seeing that the way was clear, they quickly crossed the tarred path into another patch of woods.

At one point, Ben stopped, then raised his hands like a sleepwalker and began to move toward the trees barring their way. He stopped again and whispered for Austin to do the same. Austin followed with arms outstretched until his hands were about to touch the shadowy tree trunks. But instead of rough bark, his palm encountered a smooth, cold surface. He put his ear against the exterior and heard a low humming. He backed off and saw the tree trunks again. Adap- tive camouflage has a great future, he thought.

He and Ben quickly retraced their path and rejoined the others. Austin suggested that they investigate the outbuildings. They would regroup in fifteen minutes.

"Don't take any wooden Eskimo pies," Zavala said, as he slipped away into the darkness.

Pablo hesitated. "What if we're discovered?"

"If you can do so quietly, neutralize anyone who sees you," Austin said. "If not, and all hell breaks loose, escape the way we came."

"What about me?" Ben asked. "You've done enough leading us here. Take a rest."

"I can't rest until my family is safe." Austin didn't blame Ben for wanting to find his family. "Stay close behind me." He drew his Bowen from its holster and waited until the others had melted into the darkness. Then he motioned for Ben to follow, and they struck off along the pathway, sacrificing the cover of the woods for speed.

They could hear activity from the direction of the lake, but the way was clear, and before long, they came across a long, low building. It was unguarded.

"Shall we?" Austin said to Ben. They stepped inside. The build- ing was only a storage warehouse. They made a quick inspection and headed back to the rendezvous. Zavala showed up a few min- utes later.

"We checked out a warehouse," Austin said. "Did you find any- thing exciting?"

"I wish I hadnt Zavala said. "I'm swearing off fish and chips forever. I think I hit the Frankenfish mother lode."

' He described the strange, deformed creatures that he had seen in the building he'd investigated. It took a lot to disrupt Zavala's natu- ral calm, but from the tone of his voice, he was clearly rattled by the mutant monsters in the fish tanks. "Sounds like the things in your finny freak show constitute the prototype models," Austin said.

He stopped talking at a soft rustling in the woods. It was only Pablo returning. He said that he had found what looked like an empty garage. Inside there were signs of human habitation, scraps of food, slop buckets and blankets that might have been used to sleep on. He handed Aus

tin an object that made Austin's jaw go hard. It was a child's doll.

They waited for Diego to appear, and when he did show up, they saw why he was late. He was bent low, carrying a heavy burden across his shoulders. He stood up, and an unconscious guard crashed to the ground. "You said to neutralize anyone who got in the way, but I thought this pig might be more useful alive."

"Where did you find him?"

"He was in a barracks for the guards. Maybe one or two hundred bunks. This thing was taking a siesta."

"Bet it's the last time he sleeps on the job," Austin said. He got down on one knee and flashed his light in the guard's face. The high cheekbones and wide mouth were indistinguishable from the other guards he had seen, except that he had a bruised forehead. Austin stood and unscrewed the top of a canteen. He took a sip, then poured water onto the guard's face. The heavy features stirred and the eyes fluttered open. They widened when they saw the guns pointed at his head.

"Where are the prisoners?" Austin said. He held the doll out so the guard could see what he wanted.

The man's lips spread wide in a mirthless grin, and the dark eyes seemed to glow like fanned coals. He snarled something in an in- comprehensible language. Diego added a little persuasion, putting his boot on the man's crotch and placing the muzzle between the fierce eyes. The grin vanished, but it was clear to Austin that the guard was bound by a fanaticism that would withstand all the threats and pain that could be brought to bear.

Diego saw that he was getting nowhere, and switched around, putting his foot on the man's face and his gun jammed into the man s crotch. The man's eyes widened and he mumbled something in his language.

"Speak English," Diego said, and jammed the gun harder. The guard caught his breath. "The lake," he gasped. "In the lake." Diego smiled. "Even a pig wants to keep his cojones he said. He removed the gun, turned it around and slammed the butt down. There was a sickening hollow sound, and the guard's head lolled like that of the doll still clutched in Austin's hand.

Austin flinched, but he had no sympathy for the guard. He was too busy pondering the frightful possibilities for the prisoners. "Sweet dreams," he said with a shrug. "Lead the way," Pablo said.

"Since we're slightly outnumbered, this may be a good time to call in the reserves," Zavala said.

Pablo undipped the radio from his belt and ordered the SeaCo- bra pilot to hover a mile away. Austin tucked the doll inside his shirt. Then, with the others following, he hurried in the direction of the lake, determined to return the doll to its rightful owner.

35

WHEN THE GUARDS had burst into the garage prison brandishing truncheons, Marcus Ryan was huddled with Jesse Nighthawk. He had been probing the Indian's knowledge of the forest so that he could put together an escape plan. Ryan's hopes were dashed as the guards, at least two dozen of them, clubbed the pris- oners at random. Most of the Indians were used to the sporadic beat- ings aimed to discourage resistance, and they cowered against the far wall. But Ryan was slow to move, and blows rained down on his shoulders and head.

Therri had been playing with a little girl named Rachael, when the door burst open and the makeshift prison was suddenly filled with shouts and swinging clubs. Rachael was about five years old, the youngest child in the group, and like many of the villagers, she was part of Ben's extended family. Therri stepped between one of the at- tackers and the little girl, and braced herself for the blow to come. The guard froze, confused at the unexpected show of defiance. Then he laughed and lowered his upraised club. He glared at Therri with pitiless eyes. "For that, you and the girl will go first."