Clive Cussler - Serpent

Water poured down again, but instead of a brief burst, it continued to flow in a torrent.

"Don Halcon . . ." There was alarm in Guzman's voice.

"He's bluffing, you fool," Halcon replied with disgust.

"The treasure is of use to no one if he's right," Guzman said.

Halcon's eyes filled with hate. "You've always been nothing but a homicidal cretin from the day my father hired you," he said with contempt. "You can't see the glory!"

A hard smile crossed Guzman's lips.

Water was pouring in like a river now, directly on top of them so that it was hard to see each other, sloshing onto their feet, yet nobody moved.

"Quite a dilemma, isn't it, Guzman," Austin taunted, raising his voice to be heard. "Loyalty to your crazed boss and the Brotherhood, or death by drowning. I sincerely hope you resolve your family spat, but you'll have to settle it without me. That's the cue, Joe!"

Zavala ran toward the well at the far end of the chamber and dove in. Austin dropped the spear point, grabbed Halcon's butt, and with a powerful bum's rush threw him at Guzman, who'd been momentarily distracted by Zavala's sprint. They went down in a tangle, but even as he fell Guzman was pulling out the pistol. Austin dashed for the well. Guzman was up and got off a shot, but Austin was a poor target in the dim light, and the bullet missed. Austin dove into the well.

Guzman cursed and went after Austin. Buffeted by the flood swirling around his ankles and knees, he had taken only a few steps when he realized it would be suicide to stay in the chamber. This conclusion was reinforced when he turned and saw that Halcon had deserted him and was heading for the ladder. Halcon's dreams of glory had finally given way to his instincts for self-preservation. He slogged his way against the rising tide until he was under the ceiling hole where the water roared down in a miniature Niagara. Blinded by the force of the cascade, he groped for the ladder, but his hand slipped. He clenched his teeth with determination and tried again. This time he got a grip on a rung.

As he began to climb a hand grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him down. Guzman wrapped his arms around Halcon's knees and used the full weight of his body to pull him back into the chamber. Halcon held on with one hand and with the other pulled his pistol, which he had retrieved, from its holster and swung it with all the strength he could muster in his awkward position. The gun barrel struck flesh and bone, but Guzman desperately held on. Halcon raised the pistol again and brought it down twice more on Guzman's head with the desired effect.

Guzman's grip loosened. He lost his footing and was swept back into the chamber where his body came to rest against a pile of boat wreckage. Even then he wasn't through. He was on his knees, struggling to get to his feet, when a ship's beam as long as a man slammed into his face. Borne by the current, the timber had the effect of a battering ram. A fiery pain screamed in his brain. Dazed and blinded in one eye, arms flailing uselessly, he gasped for air, only to suck in lungfuls of foul water. His frantic movements eventually slowed and became more feeble, and the current drove him deep into the dark chamber.

Halcon was having his own problems. He had climbed only a few yards up the ladder when a wave surged over the lip of the gap in the ceiling and pummeled him like a giant wet fist until he was no longer able to hold on. More water poured in and knocked him off the ladder. Recognizing that escape by this route was impossible, he fought his way to the stairs leading to the burial chamber. With the water lapping at his heels, he crawled on hands and knees up the stairway

Zavala had been treading water when Austin dove into the pool. As Guzman's bullet whistled overhead, they surface dove and swam down into the shaft, buddy-breathing off one tank. Minutes later they emerged from the jaws of Kukulcan. They checked their compass and swam for open water, using every muscle in their legs to get beyond the current produced by the flooding temple. They surfaced near the cove that hid the plane. Within minutes they had cleared the branches away and started the engine and were skimming across the water for a takeoff. As soon as the plane gained altitude, Zavala banked it around the lake in a big circle.

The island that had built up around the temple was gone. In its place was a black hole. Lake water swirled down the hole like a bathtub drain and tugged at the mooring line of a seaplane that must have been Halcon's.

They had seen enough. They swooped in low over the lake for one last look at the vortex. Zavala couldn't resist temptation. He leaned out the window and shouted, "Goodbye, Columbus."

Then they headed back to the Nereus.

49 THE STUBBY-MASTED SAILB0AT WITH the single oversized gaff-rigged sail cruised over the deep blue waters of Chesapeake Bay, pushed along from directly behind by a steady fifteen-knot breeze from the southwest. Austin lounged in the large open cockpit with one arm on the raised rail, the other on an oversized tiller. His eyes scanned the boat traffic, looking for prey.

His hunt was interrupted, not unpleasantly, by Nina, who emerged from the cuddy with two clinking glasses in her hands. "Purser's rum and juice," she said.

She was dressed in a NUMA Tshirt and highcut white shorts that emphasized her long legs and buttery complexion. Austin was not oblivious to her charms, but he was intent on his task. He murmured his thanks and kept his eyes glued on the sea.

"Aha, my pretty," he said like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. He picked up a pair of binoculars and focused on a graceful sloop with a white fiberglass hull, about twenty-five feet long. Like Austin, it was loafing along, main-sail and jib set wingtowing with the wind behind.

Austin sipped his drink, set it in a glass holder, then moved the tiller so that the catboat came up parallel to the sloop. He waved at the two young men in the other boat's cockpit, jerked his thumb like a hitchhiker, then veered off into a broad reach with the wind on his side.

The sloop's crew took up the goodnatured challenge for a race.

Austin pointed the bow closer to the wind, and the sloop followed suit. They were parallel now, maybe separated by a hundred feet, maneuvering for a start.

Austin tightened sail, putting the rail into the water.

The men in the sloop did the same with their main and jib, and soon the two boats were cutting frothy wakes across the bay. The sloop was sleek and fast, and the crew were good sailors, but before long Austin began to pass the other boat. He lay back against the rail, the picture of relaxation, sipping his juice until he left the sloop far behind.

"What did you just do?" Nina said with a smile.

"I taught a couple more sailors that just because this thing looks like a bathtub doesn't mean it sails like one."

"I think it's a great boat. Big deck. It's amazing the space you have below for a boat only eighteen feet long."

"I've overnighted quite often, and as you can see by the cooking and sleeping facilities, I like comfort and room to stretch. The catboat was originally built as a workboat. One person can handle the single sail, and it's big enough to catch a light wind at the end of the day. She's weatherly, too, in conditions that would sink another boat. Best of all, she's fast and doesn't look it. So I can sneak up on unsuspecting chaps like that sloop crew, and show them my dust. Here we are."

They had sailed off the point of a small island. Austin threw out the anchor and they dug into the picnic basket, enjoying lunch while the boat rocked slightly in the gentle swell. After lunch Nina sat close to Austin and leaned against his shoulder.

"Thank you for inviting me for a sail."

"I thought we both could use a pleasant diversion after the last few weeks."