Page 21 of Clive Cussler Desolation Code (The NUMA Files #21)

The sound of boots pounding the metal steps confirmed the bad news from above. Lights dancing on the walls suggested at least three or four men.

“Back down,” Kurt whispered.

That was easier said than done. Just changing direction with the weakened survivor was awkward. Going down the stairs proved even more difficult than going up.

Kurt, Joe, and Five reached the landing and made for the doorway, but their pursuers had caught up to them already, with two men racing downward at a breakneck pace, skipping stairs and whipping through the turns on the half landing, while the third man hurdled over the railing, landing between the fleeing trio and the door.

The zealous athleticism was accompanied by shouts and grunts, which sounded more like a pack of animals than human utterings. The men carried sharpened spikes that resembled homemade spears.

“No!” Five cried out. Even in the dim light he recognized them.

Quickly surrounding their prey, they seemed to expect cowering and submission. They found themselves in for a rude awakening.

Kurt lunged forward, delivering what was known as a push kick, or front thrust kick, to the chest of the man blocking their path. His foot struck the man just above the sternum, hitting so hard that the man’s arms and legs snapped forward as his torso flew backward. It was as if he’d been yanked back by a bungee cord.

The second man lunged at Joe, swinging his own weapon toward Joe’s temple.

Joe pushed Five to the floor while ducking under the swing. He popped up, backing away from a second swing and using quick footwork to avoid being forced into the corner. Pushing off the wall, he swung the backpack as his attacker tried again to land a blow. The spike hit the pack and impaled it, but that played to Joe’s advantage. He pulled hard, yanking the man off-balance. A headbutt to the face knocked him down, leaving him in a heap.

The third attacker went after Five, raising his weapon with every intention of crushing the weakened young man’s skull. A flying tackle from Kurt prevented the killing blow.

The force of Kurt’s hit knocked the wind out of the man and sent him into the railing. With a lift and a shove, he went over it, landing on a descending flight of stairs and rolling downward.

A sigh of frustration came from up above. A broad light illuminated them all and shots from an unseen gun began to rain down on them.

Kurt and Joe reached Five at the same moment, lifting him up, and dragging him through the door as the bullets pinged and ricocheted off the deck, stairs, and railings.

Ducking and covering as they pushed through the door, they were back in the corridor with the storage room.

“Find a hatch,” Kurt shouted, pushing the heavy door shut and turning the speed wheel in the center to make it watertight. He spun it to the stops, but it couldn’t be locked, and if their pursuers knew anything about ships, it wouldn’t hold them for long.

Joe moved off, supporting Five and probing the passageway with the flashlight. They were low on the ship. Low enough that it would be hit-or-miss to find a hatch they could open.

“Notice something about those guys?” Kurt asked, catching up to them and helping lift Five.

“They look exactly like him,” Joe said, nodding toward Five.

“Exactly like him.”

“More brothers,” Five said. “Cruel ones.”

“How many brothers do you have?” Joe blurted out.

Five didn’t answer right away. And then he said simply: “Many.”

Kurt figured he knew the reason for that, but now was not the time to get into it. “We’re going to need another way out. How far up was that aux hatch?”

“Forward of the midship’s bulkhead,” Joe said. “We’re almost there. But it’s a thirty-foot drop to the mud.”

“We’ll find something to slide down.”

At the end of the corridor behind them, the sound of the speed wheel turning could be heard. The heavy door flew open and banged the stops. A figure appeared, backlit by the lights of his men.

“Get down,” Kurt shouted.

No sooner had they dropped when more gunfire rang out. Bullets clipped the walls and tore into the overhead, but failed to find a mark.

Down on the deck, Kurt ushered Joe and Five past him. “Shut off your light.”

Joe doused his beam without an argument and kept crawling. Meanwhile, Kurt flung his flashlight backward down the hall toward their pursuers.

It bounced and tumbled, the beam of light cartwheeling in the dark. When it came to a rest, it was pointed more or less at their pursuers. More shots were fired, lower this time, but they found the floor, pinging off the metal and losing their sting.

Kurt turned and crawled after Joe and Five, hoping they could find an exit in the pitch dark. He found them scrambling on all fours.

Joe was feeling along the wall. They passed the heavy construction of the bulkhead, climbing over a lip. Several seconds later Joe stopped. He’d found a door. A small amount of cool air was filtering through the gap underneath. “Let’s hope it’s not padlocked.”

He located the handle and leaned on it. Pushing it wide, he felt a wave of fresh air and rejoiced at the sight of the open hatchway and the dim, muddy world beyond.

Now he just needed to find a way for them to drop down into the mud below without getting stuck like a lawn dart or breaking their legs in the process. He found a cargo net, but there was nothing to hook it on.

As Joe and Five entered the compartment, Kurt glanced back down the hall. He could see the lights of their pursuers. They were moving slowly at first, but once they passed his discarded flashlight they began to pick up speed, bouncing and jumping as the men holding them began to sprint down the corridor.

He ducked in behind Joe and Five and quietly shut the door. “What’s the plan?”

Joe held up the net. “We have this, but no way to secure it.”

“Throw it over and climb on,” Kurt said, grabbing the end of the net.

With the top edge of the net in Kurt’s control, Joe helped Five get over the edge and lock his hands and feet into the webbing. “Are you sure you can hold us both?”

“No,” Kurt said. “But I’m going to let you down easy.”

“That’s what they all say,” Joe replied.

He grabbed the netting and swung his feet over the edge.

Feeling the weight, Kurt leaned back, but the deck was oily and there was little traction. He dropped to the deck and leaned hard on one hip. Perched this way, he slid across the compartment toward the open hatch. Reaching it, he jammed his feet against the sill at the bottom of the opening.

He grunted with the strain and heard Joe holler up to him. “You call that easy?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Kurt shouted. “And remind me to revisit your every-three-hours eating plan. You’ve gone up a weight class or two.”

A second later the strain vanished. Kurt fell back.

“We’re down,” Joe shouted.

Kurt had figured that part. Now he needed a way to get himself down.

He gathered the net up, pulling most of it in before the door flew open and Five’s cruel brothers stepped in.

Instead of attacking him, they spread out in a triangle formation with their lights aimed at his face. Another figure appeared. He stood in the doorway. Kurt couldn’t see his face, but once the man spoke he recognized both the voice and the overconfident tone.

“What’s the matter,” the man said. “Afraid of a little drop? I did five times that on Reunion.”

“Be my guest,” Kurt said, moving slightly to the side. “Less than three feet of water out there.”

The man didn’t take Kurt up on the offer. “Some other time,” he said, holding up the backpack Joe had used to defend himself. “I got what I came for.”

Kurt realized instantly that there was more to the homemade tracking beacon than met the eye. He considered reaching for it, but could see in the reflected light that the man had a pistol waiting and ready.

“Once again,” the man said. “I bid you adieu.” He turned his back on Kurt, much like he had done with Sharma, and spoke softly to his men. “Kill them,” he said. “ Mord! ”

The pack of cruel brothers rushed Kurt from all sides. But he was too quick for them. He heaved the edge of the cargo net up and covered them in it. With their arms and legs caught and tangled, he hurdled the sill and dropped over the edge, grabbing another rung of the net as he fell.

The cargo net slid several feet, dragging the three trapped men inside it to the edge of the hatch, and then stopping as they were pinned up against it. Kurt scrambled down, leaping from the net seven feet above the water. He hit with a splash, feeling his feet squish into the mud. He dove forward, swimming rather than running, as he tried to catch up with Joe and Five.

Five had recovered enough strength to stand now, and he and Joe were lumbering toward the bow of the freighter. Kurt joined them, hugging the steel wall of the Soufriere ’s hull as shots rang out from the hatch.

Glancing back, Kurt saw their pursuers were coming down the cargo net. First the triplets, followed by their leader.

“They’re not giving up,” Kurt said. “Keep going.”

They raced to the bow of the ship, a slow-motion chase in the water and mud.

“We’ll never get a tuk-tuk at this hour,” Joe said.

Kurt felt the same. But there were other options. Up ahead, a number of small boats tied to a dock rose and fell with the tide. He pointed toward them.

Half swimming and half running, they made it to the dock and found a boat with a small, pull-start outboard motor. As Joe climbed in, Kurt heaved Five over the edge, and then pulled himself up and in.

The motor sputtered to life on the third pull, releasing a cloud of blue smoke. Kurt cast off the line and pushed them away from the dock.

With the outboard buzzing, they sped off, but their pursuers were not far behind. They climbed onto the dock and followed Kurt and Joe’s example, splitting up and taking two boats instead of one.

Joe twisted the throttle to full while Kurt and Five moved forward to keep the boat riding at its most efficient angle.

Joe looked back. “They’re gaining.”

“Head along the beach,” Kurt suggested. “Try to lose them in all the junk.”

Joe cut back into the shallows, weaving around rusted outcroppings of machinery and anything else that might rip open the bottom of the boat. At low tide, all the unwanted junk and debris sat out in the open, an eyesore upon an eyesore, but at high tide much of it was hidden. Or partially so.

“Cut right,” Kurt said.

Joe pushed the outboard to the left, causing the boat to bear right. They narrowly missed what looked like an engine block the size of a locomotive.

“Left,” Kurt shouted seconds later.

Joe pushed the motor to the right, but the helm didn’t answer as quickly as he hoped. They hit the object—whatever it was—skipped across it, and landed back in the water.

Joe had managed to pull the motor up and save the prop, and the boat was intact, but the jarring impact had left them wary.

“What was that?”

“Not sure,” Kurt said. “Stack of hull plating, maybe.”

“At least it was flat.”

Joe glanced behind him. The shallows were no safe haven. The other boats were closing in once again. One of them pulled alongside. Joe swerved into it, but the impact was slight. A second attempt was less successful still, as it gave one of the cruel brothers a chance to jump the gap. He landed on his hands and knees and went after Five. Kurt jumped him before he could get a hand on the terrified young man. He got the man in a headlock and trapped one of his arms. It was an awkward way to do combat: on their knees in a speeding boat. All Kurt could really do was keep the man from breaking free.

“Left turn,” Kurt shouted.

Joe swerved left as Kurt hurled the man to the right. He went over the transom and out into the water, vanishing with a splash as the two boats raced on.

“Trouble,” Five said, looking ahead. “Trouble.”

Joe saw it. They were coming up on the remnants of the smaller freighter. The one Kurt had seen from the balcony that had basically been cut in two. With its bow and stern in separate pieces, most of the middle was long gone.

Joe sped into the gap between the two pieces and then turned sharply right, pulling into the rusted stern section. Cutting the throttle, he waited for the other boats to speed past, but they didn’t come through right away.

Kurt could hear their motors on a lower power setting. “They’re circling around.”

He grabbed a small oar and paddled them backward until they were deep within the hull and completely hidden in the dark. It was like hiding in a metallic cave. Sections of torn bulkheads stuck up out of the water like the roots of trees in a mangrove swamp. Tentacles of wiring and rusted pipes hung down from above, creaking eerily as the waves nudged the ship back and forth. The remnants of the ship’s massive sixteen-cylinder diesel engine could be seen sticking out of the water like a rusted work of modern art.

Five looked around in the silence, awed by what he saw. “Is this NUMA?”

It brought a smile to Kurt’s face. “This is definitely not NUMA,” he said.

“And it’s not a place we can hide for long,” Joe added. “Any chance you’ve come up with that plan B yet?”

Kurt looked at his watch. The timing was just about perfect. “Yep,” he said, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He told Joe his idea, and Joe agreed emphatically that he did not like it, but they were all out of options. The sound of the other boats trolling for a way in was getting closer.

“Who’s likely to be a better boatman,” Kurt said, trying to pump up Joe’s enthusiasm, “you or that angry oaf and Five’s cruel brothers?”

“It’s not my boat-handling skills that I’m worried about,” Joe said. He put his hand on the pull start. “Let’s hope this thing fires up on the first tug.”

Joe gripped the T-handle and drew his hand backward, sharp and fast. The motor fired without a cough and Joe turned the throttle. They accelerated forward and back around, heading out the way they’d come in.

Their pursuers saw them and gave chase, one boat cutting through the middle of the broken freighter, the other going around it. By the time all three boats were back to full speed, they were strung out with a few hundred feet between them.

Joe looked ahead. A half mile up the beach he could see the burning sticks that marked the entrance lane for the new arrival. And coming in from the bay, he could see the big tanker charging for the slot. It ran with a full head of steam, lights blazing, props churning, a six-foot bow wave curling off its nose.

Joe aimed for the rapidly narrowing gap between the bow and the mud.

Someone on the ship must have seen them coming because the horn began blasting a warning into the night. It was painful and overpowering. Five covered his ears, but kept his eyes wide open.

“It’s going to be close,” Joe shouted.

“Head for the mud,” Kurt called out.

Joe understood Kurt’s suggestion, but it sounded like madness. If they hit the mud and got stuck, they would be crushed and killed, and what was left of them would end up buried deep in the gray muck with the asbestos, debris, and scrap for all eternity.

He followed the suggestion anyway, aiming farther in toward the beach.

The tanker came on, blasting its horn continuously. It could neither turn nor slow.

The chase boats kept up the pursuit, with the nearest one right on their tail.

They raced past the line of burning sticks and into the lane. The wall of steel loomed up to the left. The gray mud stood in their way dead ahead, but a surge of water being pushed in front of the ship swept over the mud first.

The small boat tilted as the curling wave raced under them. It came dangerously close to flipping, but Joe navigated the wave like a rafting expert crossing a stretch of dangerous rapids. He maneuvered to the right with the wave’s impact and then up and over it to the left. Coming down the far side of the wave, he sped away from the crossing ship.

The Overseer was in the second boat. From his perspective, Kurt, Joe, and Five simply disappeared. One moment they were there, the next all he could see was the onrushing hull of the huge ship.

Whatever mystery there was to his quarry’s survival, there was no question what happened to the men in the boat closest to them. It was lifted by the bow wave and tossed landward. The men in the boat—his dogs, as he called them—were flung into the air along with it. They landed in a swath of foam on the mud and were instantly steamrolled by the bow of the hundred-thousand-ton ship.

Pulling back, the Overseer watched in morbid fascination as the huge ship slid up the beach, displacing water, mud, and foam. It stopped with surprising smoothness when its momentum was spent and was soon sitting quietly in the postapocalyptic landscape of the beach.

With the tanker now stationary and the waves dissipating, he faced a choice: go around the stern and continue the chase, or let it end.

He felt certain that the Americans had survived. They’d timed their run to near perfection. They’d gone toward the beach to gain a few extra seconds in what looked like the exact moment of destruction. He guessed they hadn’t miscalculated in the least.

A feeling of respect grudgingly entered his mind. His adversaries were more formidable than he’d given them credit for. All the better, he thought. It would make their ultimate demise more satisfying.

But for now it was time to end the chase. The odds had flipped and no longer justified the risk. Besides, he had the transmitter and whatever secrets the Gray Witch had hidden inside.

On the far side of the tanker, speeding away from the scene, Kurt and Joe kept an eye out for any sign of pursuit. They saw only dark waters and froth churned by the wake of the ship. The cruel brothers were gone, and their leader had given up.

In the center of the boat, appearing bewildered and shocked by everything he’d just experienced, Five sensed the lowered tension. “Are they gone?”

Joe nodded. “Stuck in the mud.”

“Permanently,” Kurt added.

Five seemed pleased. “So, now we go to NUMA?”

Kurt laughed out loud. “Sounds like a great idea.”