Clive Cussler - Poseidon's Arrow

Ann kicked it aside and knelt to free the case, which had been tied to the bench.

Only stunned by the blow, the man cradled his bleeding head with one hand and groped the deck for his gun. Instead of locating it, he found Ann’s ankle. He wrapped an angry fist around it and pulled with all the strength he could muster.

Hunched over the crate, Ann was caught off balance and went sprawling across the deck. But her reflexes were quick, and she quickly rolled to her feet. The gunman still clutched her left ankle, so she let go with her right foot, landing a vicious blow on the side of his head.

He grunted and pulled harder, so she let fly with another kick, connecting with his jaw. His fingers finally went limp, his eyes glazed over, and he sunk to the deck.

Ann scurried back to the crate, untying one strap and then the other. At last it was free. She dragged it to the stern and hoisted one end onto the rail. She bent to lift the other end, then froze. A cold ring of steel touched the back of her neck.

“That will be staying here, my dear,” boomed the deep voice of Pablo as he pressed his Glock pistol into her flesh.

16

TWINKLING LIGHTS BLANKETED THE SHORE IN A glowing wave of amber, but the serene image only irritated Pitt. The full outline of the Mexican boat had long since disappeared, leaving only its running lights to track its position. As the glow from the fast boat shrank in the distance, it melded with the shore lights until becoming lost from view.

Pitt held the tiller steady, tracking to the boat’s last visible position while hoping it didn’t dramatically alter course. He didn’t realize that the Mexican coast from the border south offered no natural harbor for some thirty-five miles. After running blind for several minutes, they approached the shoreline and the bright hillside lights above it. Around them, the seas appeared empty, so he angled the Zodiac south. Two minutes later, they caught sight of it.

“There!” Giordino shouted, pointing off the bow.

A mile ahead, they could just make out a small rock jetty that fingered into the Pacific. A primitive quay had been constructed over the first fifty feet of rock—and here an illuminated boat sat, idling. As they motored closer, Pitt and Giordino could make out several figures moving along the dock to a waiting four-door pickup truck. Two figures returned to the boat, then carried an oblong crate to the truck and dropped it onto the rear bed.

“That’s our box,” Giordino said. “Do you see Ann?”

“No, but she might be one of the people in the truck. I’ll try to get us to shore on the other side of the jetty.”

He kept the boat well out to sea as they approached the jetty and backed off the throttle to lessen the motor’s whine. When they had drawn close, the Mexican boat suddenly burst away from the quay. It looped around the end of the jetty, coming within a whisker of flattening the unseen Zodiac as it sped down the coast.

Rocked hard by the wake, the Zodiac’s lone fuel can tipped over. Giordino shook the can before setting it upright. “We don’t have the fuel to chase her any distance.”

Pitt spotted the truck’s taillights illuminating as its engine started. “Then we best get to shore.”

He gunned the throttle, ignoring any attempt at stealth while racing the inflatable along the jetty. He could see by the lights of some nearby homes and businesses that the jetty extended from a shallow beach. He ran the boat through the surf and straight up onto the sand just as the pickup began pulling down the street.

Giordino leaped out of the Zodiac and was dragging it past the tide line even before Pitt could kill the motor. Both men sprinted to the dirt road. The truck was just a block ahead. Without a ready alternative, they took off after it.

The truck traveled slowly over the rough road until it came to a paved cross street, brightly illuminated and dotted with traffic. A string of tiny stores in crumbling stucco buildings ran along it, most of them closed for the night. But a handful of cantinas and small restaurants kept a steady stream of people flowing along the sidewalks. Turning left, the truck picked up speed briefly, then caught up to some slow-moving traffic. Pitt and Giordino reached the intersection a few seconds later.

“I’m not keen to run a midnight marathon without my glow-in-the-dark racing shorts.” Giordino gasped as they watched the truck accelerate ahead.

“And I forgot my lucky headband,” Pitt said between breaths.

They searched for something resembling a taxi, but saw none. Then Pitt motioned toward the next corner. “I think I see a loaner.”

A pair of electricians in gray coveralls was busy working on the panel box of a two-story industrial building. Moonlighting from their day jobs with Mexico’s national electric company, they were also making use of their employer’s small utility van. Several yards from the electricians, the van was parked at the curb with both its doors flung open and its radio blaring.

Pitt and Giordino sprinted straight to the vehicle and leaped into the front seats. The keys were dangling from the ignition. Before the electricians knew what was happening, Pitt had the engine started and was laying rubber.

“¡Alto! ¡Alto!” shouted one of the men as he dropped a screwdriver and gave chase. His partner stared for a moment, then retrieved his cell phone and made a frantic call.

Pitt caught a break in the traffic and quickly outdistanced the pursuer. Some tools and wire bounced out the back of the van until Pitt stormed over a speed bump and the rear doors slammed shut.

“Those boys are going to have some explaining to do in the morning,” Giordino said.

“You don’t think their supervisor will believe that their truck was stolen by a pair of mad gringos?”

“Perhaps. But I think we should be a little gentle, all the same,” he said, patting the dashboard.

Pitt promptly hit a deep rut, jarring both men out of their seats.

They had lost sight of the four-door pickup, so Pitt drove anything but gently. He kept the pedal glued to the floor, bursting around several slower cars on the narrow road. He braked hard to avoid striking a woman, who had darted across the road with a pair of caged chickens, then narrowly avoided a pack of stray dogs at the edge of town.

The avenue meandered up a hill, leaving behind both traffic and roadside businesses—and also any lighting. Passing a rusty Volkswagen Beetle, Pitt caught sight of the truck a half mile ahead. The utility van’s small engine howled in protest as he kept the accelerator floored, while the small tires lapped up the asphalt. The road curved sharply, and Pitt screeched through the turn, spraying a cloud of dust on a blue Dodge Charger parked on the shoulder. The Charger’s headlights instantly popped on, and it eased onto the road.

“You still feeling sorry for those utility men?” Pitt said.

“A wee bit. Why do you ask?”

“I think they went and called the Federales on us.”

“How do you know?”

Pitt glanced in the rearview mirror as flashing lights exploded on the Charger’s roof.

“Because they’re right behind us.”

17

THE CHARGER’S ROOF-MOUNTED LIGHT BAR BATHED the parched hillsides in alternating rays of blue and red. A short distance ahead, the pickup truck’s driver clenched the steering wheel when he saw the lights behind him.

“Pablo! It’s the police. They were waiting at the last bend.”