Clive Cussler - Treasure

He looked briefly into the mirror strapped to the side mount spare tire.

He estimated the distance between the Cord and the terrorists' cars at no more than three hundred meters. That brief glimpse was all he had time for. His rear view was suddenly cut off as a bullet drilled through the mirror and shattered the reflection.

"Down on the floor!" he yelled at the two women in back.

There was no drive shaft on the Cord, and the women were able to curl up and press themselves against the flat floor. Hala stared into Lily's face and began trembling uncontrollably. Lily put an arm around her and forced a brave smile.

"Not to panic," she said encouragingly. "Once we make it to town we'll be safe."

"No," Hala murmured as shock began to set in. "We won't be safe anywhere."

In the front seat Giordino hunched low to get what shelter he could from the gunfire and higid wind whistling around the windshield. "How fast will this thing go?" he asked conversationally.

"The best top speed ever recorded for an L-29 was seventy-seven,"

answered Pitt.

'Miles or kilometers?"

'Miles. "

"I have a sinking feeling we're outclassed." Giordino had to shout in Pitts ear to be heard above the howl of the Cord's second gear.

"What are we up against?"

Giordino swung around, leaned over the door and cast a wary eye backward. "Hard to tell what model a Mercedes is from the front, but I'd say the hounds are driving five hundred SDLS."

"Diesels?"

"Turbocharged diesels to be exact, capable of 220 kilometers per hour."

"They gaining?"

"Like tigers after a -toed sloth," Giordino replied drily. "They'll chew our ass long before we reach the local sheriff's coffee hangout."

Pitt jammed the clutch to the floor, grasped the end of the gear-shift arm that extended from the dashboard and shoved it into third. "Better we save lives by staying away. Those killcrazy bastards are liable to slaughter a hundred innocent bystanders just to assassinate Kamil. "

Giordino peered to the rear again. "I think I can see the whites of their eyes."

Ismail screamed a dozen curses as his gun jammed. In a rage, he heaved it out of the Mercedes onto the highway and snatched another from the hands of his follower in the backseat. He reached out the window and squeezed off a burst at the Cord. Only five shells spat from the muzzle before the armno clip emptied. He cursed again as he fished in his pocket for another clip, wrestled it free and pushed it in the slide.

"Do not excite yourself," said the driver carefully. "We'll catch them in the next kilometer. I'll come around on the left while Omar and his men in the other car take the right. We can snare them in a cross fire at close range."

"I want to kill the scum who interfered," Ismail snarled.

"You'll get your chance. Patience."

Almost like a sullen child who can't have his way, Ismail slumped in the seat and stared vengefully through the windshield at the fleeing car ahead.

lsmail was the worst kind of killer. He was utterly incapable of remorse. He would have celebrated after blowing up a maternity ward.

First-class hit men recorded their kills and studied ways to improve their craft. He never bothered to react or count the bodies. His planning was sloppy, and on two occasions he had wiped out the wrong quarry, which made a fanatic like Ismail all the more dangerous.

Unpredictable as a shark, he struck indiscriminately and without mercy at any innocent victim who was unlucky enough to step in his way. He justified his bloody deeds by killing for a religious cause, but in another time, another place, he'd have been a serial murderer, leaving a trail of dead for the full of it. Ismail would have sickened John Dillenger and Bonnie and Clyde.

He sat there moving his fingers over the rifle as if it were a sensual object, waiting, waiting to pump its lethal fire through the thin walls of the old car and into the flesh that had temporarily cheated him of his prey.

"They must be saving their ammunition," sadd Giordino thankfully.

"Only until they box us in and can't miss," Pitt replied. His eyes were on the road, but his mind was desperately turning over escape schemes.

"My kingdom for a rocket launcher."

"Which reminds me. When I got in the car this morning, I accidentally kicked something under the seat."

Giordino bent down and probed the floorboard under Pitt. His hand touched a cold, hard object. He held it aloft. "Only a socket wrench,"

he announced sadly. "Might as well be a hainbone for all the good it'll do."

"There's a Jeep trail just ahead that leads up to the top of the ski runs. Maintenance vehicles sometimes use it to carry supplies and equipment to the peak. Might give us a slim chance to lose them in the woods or a ravine. We're dead if we stick to the highway."

"How far?"

"Around the next bend in the road."

"Can we make it?"

"You tell me."

Giordino looked back for the third time. "Seventy-five meters and hauling ass."

"Close, too close," said Pitt. "We'll have to slow them down."

"I could show my ugly face and make obscene gestures," Giordino said dryly.

"Only make them madder. We have to go to plan one."

"I missed the briefing," Giordino said sarcastically.

"How's your throwing arm?"

Giordino nodded in understanding. "Keep this old barge in a straight line and fireball Giordino wig retire the opposing term."

The open town car made a perfect platform. Giordino planted his knees on the seat facing backward, his head and shoulders exposed above the roof. He took aim, raised his arm and hurled the socket wrench in a high arc toward the leading Mercedes.

for an instant his heart seized. He thought he had underthrown as the wrench dropped low and landed on the hood of the car. But it took a bounce and smashed neatly through the windshield.

The Arab driver had spotted Giordino in the act of heaving the wrench.

His reaction time was good but not good enough. He hit the brakes and cramped the wheel to swerve out of the way just as the glass burst in a thousand tiny pieces and sprayed into his face. The wrench caromed off the steering wheel and dropped into Ismail's lap.

The driver in the second Mercedes was hanging close to the rear bumper of Ismail's car, and he didn't see the socket wrench sailing through the air. He was caught completely off guard when the taillights in front of his eyes suddenly flashed red. He stared helplessly as he rammed the first Mercedes, sending it spinning out of control until it came to a halt facing in the opposite direction.

"That what you had in mind?" asked Giordino cheerfully.

"Right on the money. Hold on, we're approaching our Turn." Pitt slowed and swung the Cord onto a narrow, snowpacked road leading in a series of switchbacks up the mountainside.

The straight-eight engine with its 115-horsepower strained to pull the heavy car over the slippery, uneven surface. The stiff chassis springs jolted everyone like tennis balls in a washing machine as the lighter rear end slewed back and forth. Pitt compensated with a deft touch on the accelerator and steering wheel, using the pulling power of the front-wheel drive to keep the long hood pointed up the middle of a road that had all the qualifications of a vague hiking to.

Lily and Hala had picked themselves up off the floor and were sitting in the seat, feet braced against the divider partition, hanging onto the overhead straps for dear life.

Six minutes later they left the trees behind and were climbing above timberline. The road now ran between steep inclines carpeted with massive rocks and deep snow. It had been Pitts original idea to abandon the Cord and make a run for it, using the woods and craggy landscape for cover, but the depth of Colorado's famous powdery snow sharply increased at the higher altitudes, making any passage on foot nearly impossible.