Clive Cussler - Treasure of Khan

"Mayday, mayday, this is ..."

Her voice withered away as a pair of thick-callused hands reached into the shack and tore the radio off the wall, ripping the microphone clutched in Summer's hands out of the socket. With a perverse grin on his face, the man took a short step and hurled the radio over the side rail, watching as it splashed into the water. Turning back toward Summer with a thin smile that revealed a set of dirty yellow teeth, it was his turn for a shock. Summer took a step toward him and let loose with a powerful kick to his groin.

"Dirty creep," she cursed as the man fell to one knee in agony. His eyes bugged out of his head, and Summer could tell he was teetering with dizziness. She quickly stepped back and swung her leg in another kick, delivering a roundhouse blow to the side of the man's head. The assailant crumpled to the deck, where he rolled about in obvious pain.

Two of the other boarders witnessed the takedown and quickly charged Summer, grabbing her arms to restrain her. She struggled to free herself until one of the men pulled out a knife and held it to her throat, grunting into her ear with stale breath. The other man found a section of rope and hastily tied her hands and elbows together in front of her.

Gripped with fear but helpless to act, Summer studied her assailants with deliberation. To a man, they were short in stature yet bullish in build. They were of Asian descent, but had high cheekbones and more-rounded eyes than the classic Chinese profile. Each was dressed in black T-shirt and work pants, and all looked like they were accustomed to hard work. Summer guessed they were Indonesian pirates, but what they wanted with a sparse work barge was beyond her guess.

Gazing at the opposite end of the barge, Summer felt her stomach suddenly tightened into a knot. Two of the boarders had carried axes with them and were now swinging them through the air, cutting into the stern mooring lines. With a few quick swings, they severed the lines, then walked toward the bow to repeat the act. A third man stood overseeing the work with his back to Summer. His profile looked familiar, but it wasn't until he turned around and exposed the long scar on his left cheek that she recognized him as Dr. Tong. He walked slowly toward Summer, surveying the equipment on the deck as the two hatchet men went to work on the forward anchor lines. When he came near, she shouted to him.

"There are no artifacts here, Tong," she said, figuring he was no doctor but simply an artifact thief.

Tong ignored her, staring at the running equipment with annoyance. He turned and barked an order to the man Summer had kicked, who was now limping around the deck trying to walk off the blow. The injured man limped to the shack, where the small portable generator was humming. As he had done with the radio, he hoisted the generator up in the air and shoved it over the side. The machine gurgled as it slipped under water, silencing the small gas motor. The man then set his sights on the two air compressors. Limping to the nearest one, he looked it over, searching for the kill switch.

"No!" Summer shouted in protest.

Finding the STOP button, the injured man turned to Summer and gave her a twisted smile, then pressed his thumb against the switch. The compressor immediately wheezed to a stop.

"There are men below on those air lines," Summer pleaded.

Tong ignored her, instead nodding to his minion. The man hobbled over to the second compressor and, with another smile directed at Summer, punched stop. As the roar of the dying compressor fell away, Tong walked over and stuck his face close to Summer's.

"I hope your brother is a good swimmer," he hissed.

A well of fury burned within Summer, replacing her fear. But she said nothing. The man holding the knife at her throat pulled tighter, then spoke to Tong in a foreign tongue.

"Shall I kill her?"

Tong glared at Summer's fit tan body lasciviously. "No," he replied, "take her aboard."

The two axmen finished cutting the bow anchor lines and walked toward Tong with their hatchets over their shoulders. The barge was now drifting freely, the current pushing it out to sea. On board the drill ship, the helmsman manually engaged the positioning thrusters and backed the ship in reverse to stay alongside the moving barge. Absent a fixed target, the drill ship had to bob and weave to keep from colliding with the free-floating barge. Several times they nudged sides, the barge slapping against the bigger drill ship with a clang.

"You—incapacitate the rubber boat," Tong barked to one of the men holding an axe. "Everybody else, back on the ship."

A small Zodiac had been secured to the bow of the barge, in case the NUMA team needed to go ashore. The ax bearer walked over and with a few quick swings cut loose the securing lines. He then pulled a knife from his belt and wedged it into the inflated pontoon in several spots, producing a loud rush of escaping air. For good measure, he stood the boat on end, then flipped it over the side rail. The deflated rubber boat bobbed on the surface for several minutes until a wave swamped its sides and sent it to the bottom.

Summer witnessed little of the sabotage as the thug at her side shoved her roughly to the rail. A thousand thoughts were surging through her mind. Should she risk trying to fight back with a knife to her throat?

How could she help Dirk and Jack? Would anything good come from stepping aboard the drill ship?

Every query led down a short path to something bad. There might be one chance, she decided, and that was if she could get into the water. Even with her hands tied, outswimming these roughnecks would likely be no problem, she figured. If she could jump into the water, she could easily swim under the barge to the other side. Maybe it would be enough of an annoyance to let her go. And maybe she could then help get Dirk and Jack aboard and mount a stronger defense. That is, if they were all right.

Summer feigned a lack of resistance and followed the other men as they climbed on top of the rail and pulled themselves onto the deck of the drill ship. The knife wielder gave her a boost, holding her elbows as she stepped onto the rail. One of the men on the ship knelt down and reached over to help pull her up.

Summer reached up but pretended to slip before she could reach the man's hands. She then flung her right foot backward, striking the knife holder flush in the nose with her heel. By the sound of the muffled crunch, she knew she had broken his nose but didn't turn to see the blood rushing out of his nostrils.

Instead, she ducked her head forward and dove for the thin patch of water between the two vessels.

She floated weightless for a fraction of a second, awaiting the splash of the cool water. But it never came.

Seeming to materialize out of thin air, a pair of hands sprung over the rail and clasped the back of her shirt and the cuff of her shorts. Instead of falling vertically, she felt herself flung sideways, bouncing harshly over the side rail before falling hard to the deck of the barge. She had hardly hit the ground when the same pair of hands jerked her to her feet. The hands belonged to Tong, who showed remarkable strength for a man who stood nearly a foot shorter than Summer.

"You will be going aboard," he spat.

The blow came from her left side and Summer was a hair late warding it off. Tong's fist struck her on the side of the jaw and she immediately buckled to her knees. A flurry of stars danced before her eyes but she didn't pass out. In a dazed stupor, she was yanked aboard the drill ship and dragged up to the bridge, where she was locked in a small storage room at the back of the wheelhouse.

Resting on a large coil of rope, it seemed to Summer that the whole world was spinning around her head. A wave of nausea swept over her until she threw up into a rusty bucket in the corner. She immediately felt better and pulled herself up to a small porthole. Sucking in fresh air, her vision gradually cleared until she could see that the drill ship was positioned in the cove over the same spot where the barge had been moored.