Clive Cussler - Poseidon's Arrow

Inside the windowless lab, it turned as black as a mine shaft at midnight. Ann let out a faint gasp. “What a place to be when the power goes out,” she said, a nervous uptick in her voice.

“May be just a power surge,” Pitt said. “Stay still for a moment so you don’t trip and fall.”

As they waited, an uneasy apprehension bedeviled Pitt’s thoughts. “Try turning on the laptop computer for light,” he said. “It should have some battery power.”

“Good idea.” Ann set down the journal and felt on the desk for one of the laptops. She located one and pressed a variety of keys, hoping to locate the power button.

From inside the house, Pitt heard the hall floorboards creak. They weren’t alone. He reached toward the workbench beside him and ran his hand across its surface, probing for a weapon. Ignoring some strands of loose wire, he felt a tool—a tiny pair of needle-nose pliers—and he palmed it in his hand.

“There, I think I got it,” Ann said. The computer began to boot up, and she spun the screen toward Pitt, casting the room in a turquoise glow. The faint light reached the house door just as it burst open. Two intruders charged in, then froze as they surveyed the interior.

Pitt saw they were both short but muscular, dressed in dark clothes and wearing night vision goggles. They held Glocks at arm’s length and swept the room mechanically until locking sights on Ann and Pitt.

“Do not move!” the lead assailant shouted with a slight Spanish accent.

He produced a flashlight and aimed its beam at them. Ann had to squint when the light lingered on her face.

The gunman strode forward, keeping his weapon trained on Pitt. “Back against the wall,” he said, illuminating the path with his flashlight.

Ann eased up her crutches and hobbled over to Pitt, then they both stepped to the side wall. A door in the wall led to the backyard, and Pitt gently nudged Ann closer to it as the gunman called to his partner. The second man approached and took up a guard position in front of Ann and Pitt, his gun fixed on them. The other man holstered his weapon, raised his goggles, and used his flashlight to begin searching the lab.

He was thorough, Pitt noted, and he knew what he was looking for. He started by examining the laptops and desk journals Ann had found, then methodically searched the lab itself. It took nearly ten minutes before he returned to the desk and organized the items he wanted. Locating an empty plastic bin, he stuffed it with Heiland’s notes and journals.

Ann huddled close to Pitt, stunned that she was staring down the barrel of a gun for the second time in two days. Anger began to push aside her fear as she saw Heiland’s work being stolen right in front of her. Emptying the desk drawers, the burglar stuffed the contents into the bin, finishing it off with the two laptops.

“Are you done?” the man standing guard asked.

“Almost.” The other man glanced at Ann and Pitt with annoyance. “Stay here with them until I get back.”

He hoisted the bin onto his shoulder and crossed the lab, guided by his flashlight.

A few seconds after he left the room, the guard called out to him, but he received no reply.

Pitt could hear the intruder as he lumbered through the house and exited the front door. He didn’t have to be a psychic to know nothing good would come from his return.

Without the lights from the flashlight and computer, the garage had again turned inky black. Too black, Pitt realized with a sudden flicker of hope. The guard’s night vision goggles required some form of ambient light to function, be it only faint starlight. But the only source of ambient light in the garage was the laptop computer and it had been removed. That’s why the guard had called to his partner—because he could no longer see anything.

Pitt’s theory was confirmed when he heard a zipper being pulled open on the guard’s jacket. He was fishing for his own flashlight. Pitt didn’t let him make the catch.

Pulling one of Ann’s crutches from her grasp, he spun it into a battering ram and charged forward. He could only hope that the guard remained where he was when his partner had left, five feet directly in front of Pitt.

As he fumbled for his light, the guard had lowered his gun hand and was totally unprepared when the rubberized foot of the crutch slammed into his sternum. The unseen blow thrust him backward, sprawling across Heiland’s desk. He whipped his gun around and fired several blind shots, not realizing he was aiming three feet over Pitt’s head.

“Ann, get out the back door now!” Pitt shouted.

Ducking low, he spun the crutch around again and started swinging it, trying to make contact with the prone gunman. The muzzle flashes gave him guidance, and he batted the aluminum crutch against the man’s wrist with a bone-shattering crack, sending the gun flying.

Ann had dropped to the ground at the first gunfire and felt along the wall until locating the door, then the handle. She twisted the knob of the dead bolt above it and flung open the door. Grabbing her remaining crutch, she crawled out, then hopped away from the building.

Before the door swung shut, she heard the gunman let out a wail from the pain of his fractured wrist. He scrambled off the desk to escape Pitt’s onslaught. Pitt could hear him stagger to his feet, but now he was beyond reach and out of sight. Knowing that Ann couldn’t move fast with her hurt ankle, Pitt pressed the attack to buy her more time. He dropped the crutch and hurled himself onto the desk, sliding across the spot where the guard had backpedaled seconds before.

Spinning as he slid, Pitt landed on his feet and took a step forward, blindly swinging his fist in an arc in front of him. His knuckles only grazed the jacket of the guard, who had stepped to Pitt’s left.

The guard countered with his good hand, striking a solid punch to Pitt’s shoulder.

Pitt recoiled and shook off the blow. He knew where his target was and he stepped forward with two quick strikes. He connected with both fists, barreling a left and a right into the guard’s chest. The man grunted as he staggered backward, tripping over a chair and clattering to the ground.

Pitt had no time to finish the attack. The hallway door flew open and the other gunman, alerted by the shooting, ran in. He scanned his flashlight across the room, hesitating on the guard’s fallen body before focusing on Pitt a few steps away.

Pitt reacted instantly, flinging himself back across the desk. The gunman tried to track his movements with the light while firing a snap shot, but the bullet went high.

Pitt slid off the desk and onto the floor, ducking out of the shooter’s sight. He wasted no time lying still, scurrying across the floor to the back wall. He bumped against the discarded crutch and plucked it up.

The gunman bolted after Pitt. The beam from his light bounced across the floor as he moved, gradually zeroing in on his prey.

But the light also illuminated the rear door, just a few feet beyond Pitt. Still crouching, he lunged for it, reaching for the handle a second before his torso slammed against the lower half of the door. He caught the handle and twisted, and his weight blasted the door open.

Halfway across the lab, the gunman raised his arm and fired three quick shots on the run. Pitt felt a sting in his leg as he yanked the crutch after him and slammed the door closed.

Springing to his feet, Pitt wedged the crutch’s arm pad beneath the door handle as a makeshift lock. It might give him an extra ten, maybe twenty seconds. But that still wouldn’t be enough. Somewhere in the darkness, Ann was hobbling about. He had to find her, and fast. They would both be sitting ducks for the gunmen, with their night vision goggles, once they exited the lab.