Clive Cussler - Blue Gold

Austin kicked the shotgun out of reach more out of habit than necessity. Buzz had been frozen with shock, but now he came over and knelt by the body. Austin turned it over so they could see the face.

Buzz studied the man's features for a moment and, to Austin's relief, softly said, "No, he's definitely not my father. He's too tall, to begin with. My father was stocky like me. And the face is all wrong. Who in God's name is he?"

"He called himself Martin, but that's not his real name. I don't know what it is."

"Why was he trying to kill you-I mean, both of us?"

"He didn't really know. He was like one of those trick bombs the Germans used to drop. They'd go off when the bomb squad tried to defuse them. By the way, I thought you were going to wait in the car."

"I tried, but I had to get out and walk. I went behind the house, didn't see anybody, so I came into the barn looking for you."

"I'm glad you did." Austin cocked his ear. "I think I hear something." He took a last look at the body. "Happy retirement, Bucky," he said, and walked toward the door.

Buzz followed him out into the yard as a black-and-white car with blue roof dome flashing burst from the woods and squealed to a stop in a cloud of dust. Printed in big letters on the car door was the word SHERIFF. Two men in blue uniforms got out. One was burly and young, and the other was slim and gray-haired. The younger man came over with his hand on his holster. His badge signified he was a deputy sheriff.

"Which one of you is Austin?" he said.

"That's me," Kurt said.

The deputy must have been prepared for an evasion because he didn't seem to know what to say next.

The older man gently pushed his deputy aside. "I'm Sheriff Hastings. Either one of you seen Bucky Martin?"

"He's in the barn," Austin said.

The deputy hustled into the barn, and when he came out a moment later his face was white.

"Jeezus," he said, fumbling for his sidearm, "Old Bucky is dead. Stuck with a pitchfork. Which one of you two did it?"

Hastings gestured for his deputy to calm down and call the county homicide team. "Could you tell me what's been going on,

Mr. Austin?"

"Martin tried to kill us with that shotgun next to the body. T had to kill him. I was trying to slow him down, but that's not the way it worked out."

"Thanks, but I mean what's real~7y going on with this whole thing, me getting calls from Washington and all."

"Washington?"

"You bet. First the governor's office calls and tells me to hold, then they patch through this maniac Admiral Sandecker He says his man Austin is in danger and I'd better get out to Martin's place or there will be a killing. When I asked what makes him think somebody's going to be killed, he promises to rip me a new belly button if I don't stop asking dumb questions and get on my way." He grinned. "Guess he was right." He turned to Buzz. "What's your name?" "Buzz Martin."

The sheriff blinked in surprise. 'Any relation to the de ceased?"

Austin and Martin looked at each other, not sure how to answer the question.

Finally Austin shook his head and said, "Hope you've got time, sheriff, because that's a long, long story."

The drums had been beating steadily for an hour. The sound was cadenced at first, coming from a lone drum at the same throbbing tempo as a human heartbeat. Then other drums had joined in. The hollow thumping accelerated in pace, and a monotonous chanting could be heard in the background. Francesca paced back and forth in the throne room like a caged lion, her hands clasped behind her, head bent low in thought. The Trouts sat next to the throne, waiting patiently for Francesca to speak. Tessa had pulled her vanishing act again.

Something caused a commotion at the entrance. Seconds later Francesca's two handmaidens rushed into the throne room, threw themselves on their knees, and babbled excitedly. Calming the young Indians with her soft voice, Francesca gently lifted them to their feet and brushed their disheveled hair away from their faces. She listened to the women speak in turn, then took two bracelets made of airplane parts and slipped them onto their wrists. She kissed her attendants on the tops of their heads and sent them on their way.

Turning to the Trouts, Francesca said, "Events are moving faster than I anticipated. The women say Alaric has talked the tribe into moving against us."

Gamay frowned. "I thought they wouldn't enter your palace."

"I've always said Alaric was intelligent. He sent my servants

to tell me his plans, evidently to exert psychological pressure. The drums are his work." She pointed to the ceiling. "The palace walls are clay, but the roof is made of dry grass. They will light the place on fire. He says the true gods will rise from the ashes. If we run outside to escape the flames it will prove that we're the frauds he says we are, and they will cut us down." "Would they really harm their queen?" Gamay asked.

"It wouldn't be the first time royalty has fallen fatally out of favor. Have you forgotten Mary Queen of Scots or Anne Boleyn?"

"I get your point," Gamay said. "What do we do now?"

"We escape. Are you ready?"

"Since all we have are the clothes on our backs, we're ready when you are," Paul said. "But how are we going to get past that unruly crowd out there?"

"I still have a few white goddess tricks up my sleeve. Ah, good, Tessa is back." The Indian woman had materialized as silently as a shadow. She spoke a few words in her native language to Francesca, who answered with a nod. Tessa took one of the torches flanking the throne.

Francesca said, "Dr. Paul, if you would be so kind as to help Tessa." Trout went over and hoisted Tessa up by the waist. She was as light as a feather. Tessa tucked the torch in at an angle where the clay met the thatch. The torch had only to burn a few inches before the flame touched the ceiling. They repeated the procedure with another torch on the opposite wall.

"I don't count arson among my talents, but this crude time delay will create a distraction when we need it," Francesca said. She looked around the throne room. "Good-bye," she said sadly to no one in particular. "In some ways I'll miss being a queen." She turned to Tessa, and they talked heatedly. When the discussion was ended Tessa had a satisfied look on her face. Francesca sighed heavily. "You see what's happening? My subjects are al ready rebelling. I ordered Tessa to stay, but she wants to go with us. We don't have time to argue further. Follow me."

Francesca led the way along the dim passageways to her bed

room. The two woven bags on the bed explained Tessa's temporary absence. She had been packing for their escape. Francesca removed her battered aluminum suitcase from the wooden chest. It had been rigged with a strap which she threw over her shoulder. Handing one bag to Paul and the other to Gamay, Francesca said that the containers held food and supplies and "a few essentials."

Gamay looked around the windowless room. "Where do we go from here?" The sound of drums was muffled, but the beating was more frenetic.

"We take a shower, of course," Francesca said.

She lit a small clay lamp from the torch, went over to the shower stall, and pulled up the polished wooden floor to reveal a rectangular opening.

"There's a ladder. It's very steep. Be careful."

She descended first so the others could climb down by lamp light. They were crowded together in a small space, standing on the gravel drain that had been used to catch water from the shower. A passage led off into the darkness.

"My apologies to you, Dr. Paul. I wasn't expecting someone as tall. We've been digging this tunnel for years, carrying the dirt out in small amounts and secretly disposing of it. This passage way runs into a covered trench I had the men build years ago for future waterworks."