Clive Cussler - Lost City

Sebastian threw a crossbow bolt at Skye's feet. "This is yours."

"What's going on?" Austin said.

"Your wine contained a paralytic substance," Emil said. "Within moments you will be unable to move, but all your other senses will function fine and you will know what is happening to you." He produced a pair of manacles from under his cloak and dangled them in front of Austin's face. "Maybe if you say "For the love of God, Mon-tres or I'll let you go."

"You bastard," Austin said. He lsa ned against the wall with his hand as if the strength were ebbing from his legs, but his eyes were fixed on the crossbow bolt a few feet away.

Skye had gasped in fright when she first saw Sebastian. Now, seeing Austin's plight, she lunged for Fauchard's gun hand and grabbed him by the wrist. Sebastian stepped in from behind and wrapped his good arm around her throat. Although he was operating with one arm in a sling, his strength was still formidable and she began to black out for lack of air.

Austin suddenly straightened up. Holding the bottle by the neck, he brought it down on Sebastian's head. The bottle broke in a shower of glass and wine. Sebastian released Skye, who fell to the floor, then stood for a few seconds, an expression of wonder in his eyes, and toppled like a fallen redwood tree.

Emil stepped aside to avoid Sebastian's crashing body and the ugly muzzle of the gun swung toward Austin. Austin threw a body block

and slammed Emil into the recess. He groped for Emil's gun hand, but Fauchard got off a shot. The shot went wild and the bullet hit the wall inches from Austin's face. Stone fragments peppered Austin's cheek and he was blinded temporarily by the close muzzle flash. He tripped over the bricks and went down onto his knees. Fauchard danced out of the way.

"Too bad you won't have the lingering death I planned for you," he heard Fauchard say. "Since you're on your knees, why don't you try begging for your life?"

"I don't think so," Austin said. His fingers curled around a narrow wooden shaft. He scooped up the crossbow bolt and brought the point down on Emil's foot.

The sharp point easily passed through the gold slipper. Emil let out a mighty scream that echoed throughout the vault and he dropped the gun.

By then, Austin was back on his feet. He picked out a point on Emil's jaw and put all his weight and power behind a hard right cross that almost separated Fauchard's head from its shoulders. The gun dropped to the floor and Emil crumpled in a heap next to his companion. Austin helped Skye up. She had her hand to her bruised throat and was having trouble catching her breath.

He made sure she could breathe, then he bent over the dough-faced man.

"Looks like Sebastian let the wine go to his head." "Emil said the wine was drugged. How "

"I let it dribble down my chin. Wine that old probably tastes like vinegar."

Austin grabbed Emil by the ankles and pulled him into the recess.

Then he cuffed one end of the manacles to Fauchard's wrist and the other to a wall ring. As he took his jester's cap off and pulled it down over Fauchard's ears, he said, "For the love of God, Montresor."

Austin removed the torch from its sconce and led the way along

the tunnel. Despite his drunken act, he had tried to memorize every foot of the route they had followed. Before long they were back in the dungeons, looking down on Cavendish's body. The rats had scurried off at their approach. The Englishman's plump face was frozen in a rictus of horror.

Austin placed his fingers against Cavendish's neck, but he felt no pulse. "He's dead."

"I don't understand," Skye said. "There's no blood." Austin ran his thumb along the edge of the blade, which was touching the feathers on Cavendish's chest. "Fauchard was telling the truth for a change. The blade is made of wood. Emil failed to let Cavendish in on his joke. I think our friend here was scared to death. C'mon, there's nothing we can do for him."

They continued along the passageway to a steep, narrow, winding staircase. The atmosphere in the tunnel became less musty as they climbed, and soon fresh air was blowing in their faces. They came to a door that opened into the courtyard and followed the laughter around to the front of the chateau, where the guests were being ushered under the open portcullis.

Walking slowly and weaving as if they were intoxicated, Austin and Skye caught up with the others. They melded into the crowd, passed through the gate, then walked across the arched stone bridge. Cars were lining up in the circular driveway to pick up the guests, who were effusively bidding one another good-night. Soon all the guests had departed and only Austin and Skye were left. One more car was coming around. It was Darnay's Rolls-Royce. The driver must have thought the car belonged to a guest. Austin stepped to the rear and opened the door for Skye.

He heard someone shout in French and turned to see Marcel running across the bridge. A servant who had been standing nearby heard Marcel's command and stepped in between Austin and the car. The guard was reaching under his tuxedo jacket when Austin

demolished him with a short right to the midsection, then yelled at Skye to get in the backseat. He ran around to the other side of the car, yanked the door open, pulled the driver out, dispatched him with an elbow to the jaw and slid in behind the steering wheel.

He snapped the car into gear and stomped the accelerator. The Rolls took off, its tires kicking up a shower of gravel, and skidded around the fountain. Austin saw movement off to his left. Someone was running toward the car. He jerked the wheel in the opposite direction. Another guard stepped into the glare of the headlights. He had a gun clutched in both hands.

Austin ducked behind the dashboard and nailed the gas pedal. The man bounced over the hood and into the windshield, before rolling off. But the windshield was a network of spiderweb cracks from the impact with the man's body. Then the window on the passenger's side disintegrated. Austin saw muzzle flashes ahead and heard a sound like someone whacking a jackhammer against the chrome grille. He yanked the wheel over, felt the impact of another body and jerked the wheel in the opposite direction.

A light burned into his face and made it impossible to see through the damaged windshield. Austin hit the gas again, thinking he was headed for the exit drive, but his sense of direction had been thrown off. The Rolls left the ground at the edge of the moat, soared through the air and splashed down in the water. The air bag had activated and as he fought to push it aside, he could feel the water pouring through the window onto his legs. Bullets peppered the roof of the sinking car but the water dampened their effectiveness. Austin scrunched behind the dashboard and filled his lungs with air. A second later, the car went under completely.

THE ROLLS-ROYCE angled its long hood into the water like a submarine making a crash dive, and seconds later the car settled into the mud and detritus built up through the centuries. Austin crawled into the spacious backseat, his hands blindly extended in front of him like antennae on a foraging lobster. His groping fingers encountered soft flesh. Skye grabbed his wrists and pulled him up into a shallow pocket of air. He could hear her frenzied breathing.

He spit out a mouthful of putrid water. "Can you hear me?"

The gurgled reply could only have been a yes.

The water was up to his chin. He stretched his neck to keep his mouth and nose elevated and blurted out quick instructions.

"Don't panic. Stay with me. Squeeze my hand when you need air. Understand?"

Another gurgle.

"Now take three deep breaths and hold the last one."

Hyperventilating in unison, they filled their lungs to the limit, just as the air pocket disappeared and they were totally immersed.