Clive Cussler - Fire Ice

Austin thought the animal had stumbled. Then he saw that the rider was firing at them, using his mount as a protective barricade. Other riders followed suit. Those Cossacks still in their saddles split up, corning in from both sides in a pincer movement. Austin and Zavala hit the ground and dug in. Bullets flew over their heads like angry bees.

"Automatic weapons!" Zavala yelped. "You said these guys carried blunderbusses and pigstickers."

"How would I know they'd stop off at a gun show?"

"What ever happened to background checks?"

Austin's reply was drowned out by the stutter of automatic-arms fire. He and Zavala let off a couple of rounds more for show than effect, then pulled back from the rise and crawled toward the warehouse. The Cossacks peppered the ridge with gunfire. Thinking their prey was dead, they climbed onto their horses and took up the charge where they had left off.

From the shelter of the warehouse, Austin and Zavala aimed through the windows and two more riders toppled from their mounts. Seeing that their foe was still alive, the Cossacks called off the attack and galloped to the center of the field to regroup. Taking advantage of the momentary battle lull, Austin turned from the window and surveyed the men who had taken refuge. Austin couldn't remember when he'd seen a more bedraggled-looking bunch. Their tan jumpsuits were wrinkled and begrimed, and their hollow-eyed faces bristled with whiskers. The first runner, who had felt the direct wrath of the Cossack leader, came over to speak with Austin. His uniform was torn at the knees and elbows and covered with dust. Yet he kept his chin as high as if he were wearing newly pressed dress whites on parade. The young man gave Austin a crisp salute. "Ensign Steven Kreisman of the U.S. Navy submarine NR-1."

Austin reached under his belt, where he had tucked the cap Zavala found on the Russian submarine. "Maybe you can get this back to its owner," he said, handing the cap over.

"It's the captain's. Where did you get this?" Kreisman said, looking at the cap as if he were seeing it for the first time.

"My partner found it in a Russian sub."

"Who are you guys?" Kreisman said, losing his aplomb.

"I'm Kurt Austin and that's my partner Joe Zavala at the window. We're with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

The ensign's jaw dropped down to his Adam's apple. With their battle-hardened eyes and smoking guns, the two who had rescued him and his crew looked more like commandos than ocean scientists.

"I didn't know NUMA had its own SWAT team," he said with wonder.

"We don't. Are you okay?"

"I feel as if I've been run over by a bulldozer, but other than that I'm fine," he said, rubbing his neck where the saber had whacked him. "I won't be wearing a tie for a while. This may sound like a dumb question, Mr. Austin, but what are you and your friend doing here?"

"Your turn first. Last I heard, your sub was diving for relics on the bottom of the Aegean."

The young man's shoulders sagged slightly. "It's a long story," he said, with weariness.

"We don't have much time. See if you can tell me what happened in thirty seconds."

Kreisman chuckled at Austin's audacity. "I'll do my best."

He took a deep breath and delivered a condensed version of events.

"A guest scientist we had on board, a guy named Pulaski, pulled a gun on us and hijacked the NR-1. We were transported on the back of a giant submarine. This whole thing is so unbelievable." He paused, expecting a skeptical reaction. Seeing none in Austin's attentive eyes, he continued. "They transferred the crew to a salvage ship. They made us work on an old sunken freighter. Tricky retrieval stuff using the manipulators. Then the big sub brought us here. They kept the captain and pilot with the NR-1. We were held prisoner underground. When they brought us up today, we thought we were going back to the NR-1. Instead they herded us onto that field. The guards who'd been watching us disappeared, and those cowboys with the fur hats started trying to break us up." He rubbed his neck again. "Who are those SOBs?"

Zavala was signaling to Austin. "Sorry," he said. "Our thirty seconds appears to be up."

He went to the window, and Zavala handed him the binoculars. "The members of the polo club are having an argument," he said lazily.

Austin peered through the binoculars at the Cossacks, who were still gathered in the field. Some riders had dismounted and were waving their arms in the air.

Lowering the glasses, Austin said, "They could be exchanging borscht recipes, but my guess is that they're adding our names to the guest list for a slice-and-dice party."

Zavala looked as if he had a stomachache. "You have a way with words. How can we decline the invitation without hurting their feelings?"

Scratching his chin in thought, Austin said, "We've got a couple of options. We can run for the beach and swim out to sea, hoping our fur-hatted friends won't have settled their differences. Or we can hole up below."

"I'm sure you see the same problems I do," Zavala said. "If they catch us in the open, we're sitting ducks. If we go back down to the sub pen, we've only got dive gear for two people." Austin nodded. "I suggest that we go with a double. You and the crew run for the beach. I'll stay here, and if the riders move in I'll draw them into the sub base, where they'll be at a disadvantage on foot. I'll escape the way we came. Like a fish slipping through a hole in a net."

"Your chances would be better if we were watching each other's back."

"Someone has to cover for the sub crew. They look pretty beat-up."

Ensign Kreisman had edged closer. "Excuse me for eavesdropping. I went through SEAL training when I joined the navy. I washed out, but I still know the drill. I can take the men out of here."

Austin sized up the determined set of Kreisman's jaw and decided he would be wasting time arguing with the young navy man. "Okay, it's your show. Run for the beach and start swimming. A fishing boat will pick you up. We'll stay here and cover you as long as we can. I'd urge you to get going. Joe will ride shotgun part of the way."

If the ensign wondered how Austin had arranged for an at-sea pickup, he didn't show it. He snapped his arm in a crisp salute and rounded up his comrades. Then they climbed out of the back of the warehouse through a window. While Zavala escorted the crew to the beach, Austin kept watch. The Cossacks still seemed disorganized. He got on his hand radio and called Captain Kemal.

"You are all right?" the captain said. "We heard guns shooting."

"We're okay. Please listen carefully, Captain. In a few minutes, you will see men swimming out to sea. Go in as close to the beach as you safely can and pick them up."

"What about you and Joe?"

"We'll come out the way we went in. Anchor offshore and watch for us." He clicked off. Something had caught his eye.

Austin was outside the warehouse when Zavala returned a few minutes later. "I went as far as the dune. They should be in the water by now."

"Kemal's been alerted for a pickup." He pointed to the sky, where the sun glinted off metal. "What do you make of that?" The object grew from a pinpoint to the size of a flying insect, and they could hear the beat of rotors.

"You didn't tell me the Cossacks had an air force."

Austin peered through his binoculars at the helicopter speeding their way. "Oh hell – " Lombardo hung out of the open door holding a video camera. "That sawed-off little idiot."

As Zavala took the glasses for his own look, the helicopter spun around so that the other side came into view. He studied the figure in the doorway, then lowered the glasses and gave Austin a strange look.

"You need your eyes examined, my friend." He handed the binoculars back.

This time when Austin looked, he swore even more loudly. Kaela's dusky face, framed by windblown dark hair, was clearly visible. The helicopter was practically over the field. Chastened by their earlier encounter, the TV crew must have instructed the pilot to stay a prudent distance from the ground. They couldn't have known that the horsemen had substituted modern automatic weapons for their antique rifles. The Cossacks saw the helicopter and lost no time targeting the aircraft in a withering fire. Within seconds, the engine began to throw off oily dark smoke. The helicopter shuddered like a bird buffeted in a strong wind, then it dropped from the sky.