Atlantis Found (28 page)

Giordino examined the dial of his watch. “It’s been four hours. I’d like to make Cape Town before the pubs close.”

“He must not have been able to charter another tilt-rotor and a pilot, or they’d have been here by now.”

Giordino tilted his head, listening. He moved through the tunnel until he was standing under the archway. The sleet had fallen off to a light sprinkling rain. The overcast was breaking up, and patches of blue sky emerged between the swiftly moving clouds. For the first time in several hours, he could see far out to sea.

It was there like a flyspeck on a frosted window. As he watched, the speck grew into a black helicopter. Another mile closer, and he identified it as a McDonnell Douglas Explorer with a twin tail and no rear rotor.

“We have company,” he announced. “A helicopter flying in from the northwest. Coming fast and low over the water. Looks like he’s carrying air-to-ground missiles.”

Gunn came and stood beside Giordino. “A helicopter doesn’t have the range to fly here from Cape Town. It must have come from a ship.”

“No markings. That’s odd.”

“Definitely not a South African military aircraft,” said Gunn.

“I do not believe they’re bearing gifts,” said Giordino sarcastically. “Or they would have called and said to expect them.”

The sound of the helicopter’s turbines and rotor blades soon broke the cold air. The pilot was no daredevil, but very cautious. Flying a safe height above the cliffs, he hovered for at least three minutes while he studied the ledge that once held the tilt-rotor. Then he dropped down slowly, feeling his way through the air currents. The landing skids touched the rocky surface and the rotor blades slowly spun to a stop.

Silence then. Without the wind, the mountain slopes went quiet. After a short time lag, the big fifty-inch sliding cabin door opened and six men in black coveralls dropped to the ground. They looked as if they were carrying enough weapons and firepower to invade a small country.

“Strange-looking rescue party,” said Giordino.

Gunn was already on his Globalstar phone, dialing the admiral in Washington. When Sandecker responded, Gunn said simply, “We have armed visitors in an unmarked black helicopter.”

“This seems to be my day for putting out brush fires,” Sandecker said caustically. “First Pitt and now you.” Then his tone betrayed earnest concern. “How long can you hide out?”

“Twenty, maybe thirty, minutes,” replied Gunn.

“A U.S. missile frigate is sailing at full speed toward St. Paul Island. The minute their helicopter is within range, I’ll request the captain to send it aloft.”

“Any idea, Admiral, how long that will be?”

There was a heavy pause, then, “Two hours, hopefully less.”

“I know you tried,” said Gunn quietly, a patient understanding in his voice, “and we thank you.” He knew the admiral’s hard shell was about to crack. “Not to worry. Al and I will be back in the office by Monday.”

“See that you are,” said Sandecker somberly.

“Goodbye, sir.”

“Goodbye, Rudi. God bless. And tell Al I owe him a cigar.”

“I will.”

“How long?” Giordino asked, seeing the disquieting expression on Gunn’s face and expecting the worst.

“Two hours.”

“That’s just peachy,” Giordino grunted. “I wish someone would explain to me how those murdering slime knew we were here.”

“Good question. We were part of a select group. No more than five of us knew the location where the
Madras
passengers found the black skull.”

“I’m beginning to think they have an international army of finks,” said Giordino.

The search party split up. Three of the armed men spread out fifty yards apart and began sweeping their way around the mountain. The other three took off in the opposite direction. It looked evident that they were going to spiral their way up the mountain until they found the tunnel.

“An hour,” murmured Gunn. “It will take them the better part of an hour to stumble on the old road.”

“More like five minutes,” said Giordino, gesturing toward the helicopter that rose in the air. “The pilot will lead his buddies right to our doorstep.”

“Think it will do any good to parley?”

Giordino shook his head. “If these guys are tied in with the bunch Dirk and I met in Telluride, they don’t shake hands, hug, or give quarter.”

“Two unarmed men against six loaded for bear. We need to even the odds.”

“Got a plan?” asked Giordino.

“I certainly do.”

Giordino gave the little man with the academic, nerdy look a bemused stare. “Is it evil, rotten, and sneaky?”

Gunn nodded, with an impish grin. “All that, and more.”

 
THE helicopter circled the mountain nearly four times before its pilot spotted the ancient road leading to the tunnel. Informing the two search teams, one of which was far around the other side of the mountain, he hovered over the road as a guide. The first team of three men converged on the road and advanced in a line, a good twenty yards apart. It was a classic penetration pattern—the first man concentrated on the terrain ahead as the second studied the upper slope of the mountain, while the third trained his concentration on the lower side. The helicopter then moved toward the second team to guide them along the easiest path to the road.

The first team on the road negotiated the landslides and approached the giant rock Gunn and Giordino had passed earlier just outside the tunnel entrance. The lead man moved around the rock and found himself standing outside the archway. He turned and shouted to the men behind. “I’ve reached a tunnel,” he said in English. “I’m going in.”

“Be wary of an ambush, number one,” the second man in line shouted back.

“If they had weapons, they’d have used them by now.”

The leader disappeared around the rock. Then two minutes later, the second man did. Out of sight to the others, the third man in line was approaching the rock, when a figure quietly rose up from the rocks where he had been buried. His concentration trained on reaching the tunnel, the searcher did not notice the soft clunk of loose rock or hear the almost silent crunch of footsteps at his back. He never knew what hit him as Gunn swung a large rock with such viciousness it fractured his skull, and he dropped without a sound.

Less than a minute later, the body was completely covered and hidden under a pile of rocks. A quick look to ensure that the helicopter was still out of sight on the other side of the mountain, and Gunn was creeping around the rock. This time, though, he was armed with an assault rifle, a nine-millimeter automatic pistol, and a combat knife, and protected by a body armor vest. He had also removed the searcher’s radio. Gunn’s sneaky survival plan was off to a running start.

The lead man of the search team cautiously entered the tunnel, a long flashlight tucked under his armpit, lighting his path. He stepped slowly from the tunnel into the first chamber, crouched in a firing position, and pivoted his body from right to left, swinging his flashlight as he moved. All he saw was the skeleton of the old sailor, the rotting furniture, and the seal hides that hung from one wall.

He relaxed, lowered his gun, and spoke into a radio set that was clamped around his head. “This is Number One. There is nobody in the tunnel and cave except the bones of an old seaman who must have been a castaway on the island. Do you read me?”

“I read you, Number One,” came the voice of the helicopter pilot, accented by the roar of the engines above and behind him. “You’re certain there is no sign of the NUMA agents?”

“Believe me. They’re not in here.”

“Soon as Numbers Four, Five, and Six reach you, I’ll conduct a search of the sea cliffs.”

Number One switched off his radio. It was the last act of his life. Giordino sprang from behind the sealskins and rammed one of the ancient obsidian-tipped spears into the man’s throat. There was a ghastly coughing, gurgling sound, and then silence, as the searcher crumpled to the floor of the chamber, dead.

Giordino snatched away the assault rifle almost before the man struck the ground. Quickly, he pulled the body off to the side of the tunnel portal and removed the headset radio, placing it on his own head. Next he wadded up his foul-weather gear into a ball and pressed it against the muzzle of the rifle.

“Number One,” shouted a voice from the archway tunnel entrance, “what have you found?”

Giordino cupped his mouth with one hand and shouted toward the rear of the chamber. “Only an old skeleton.”

“Nothing else?” The second searcher seemed reluctant to enter the cave.

“Nothing.” Giordino decided to take a risk. “Come on in and see for yourself, Number Two.”

As if he were a buck sniffing the air, Number Two warily entered the chamber. Giordino switched on a flashlight with the beam aimed at the intruder’s eyes and shot him once in the head between the eyes, the foul-weather gear muffling the gunfire. Gunn came rushing into the chamber, assault rifle at the ready, not knowing what he would find.

“Now it’s two against three,” Giordino triumphantly greeted him.

“Don’t get cocky,” Gunn warned him. “Once the helicopter returns, we’re trapped in here.”

“If they buy my act as Number One like Number Two did, maybe I can play P. T. Barnum again and sucker them inside.”

 
THE next batch of searchers were not nearly as guileless as the first. They approached on the road leading to the cave with the same degree of wariness as a postal inspector examining a possible letter bomb. While the helicopter hovered overhead, they advanced one by one, two covering their comrade, who dropped flat before covering them in a leapfrog tactic that moved them ever closer to the archway at the tunnel entrance. They were on their guard because Giordino was staying off the radio as much as possible and not responding to their calls, for fear of their wising up to a strange voice.

Gunn and Giordino stripped one of the bodies that closely matched Giordino’s shoulder and waist size. After slipping into the black coveralls that were two inches longer in the sleeves and three inches in the pants length, he simply folded them back, slung the assault rifle over one shoulder, and boldly stepped outside. He spoke out of one corner of his mouth into the headset’s microphone, trying to use the same pitch as had the man he’d killed.

“What’s taking you so long, Number Four?” he asked, unruffled, without looking up at the helicopter. “You’re acting like old women. I told you, there is nothing inside the tunnel and cave but the rotting bones of a seaman who was a castaway on the island.”

“You do not sound yourself, Number One.”

Giordino knew he couldn’t fool them any longer. “I’ve got a cold coming on. Not surprising in this intolerable weather.”

“Your cold must have cost you four inches in height.”

“Make jokes if you will,” mumbled Giordino. “I’m getting out of the rain. I suggest you do the same.”

He turned and reentered the cave, certain he would not receive a bullet in the back, not until the searchers were positive they would not be shooting one of their own men.

“They’re wise,” said Gunn. “I heard your exchange over the radio.”

“What’s plan Two-A?” Giordino asked laconically.

“We crawl back through the roof collapse in the next tunnel, and ambush them from there.”

“We’ll be lucky to hit one or two at the most.”

“At least that will put the odds in our favor,” Gunn said, almost cheerfully.

They had only a few minutes, so they worked feverishly to reopen a crawl space through the rock into the tomb vault. Despite the damp cold, they were sweating heavily by the time they dragged the two dead bodies through the narrow opening and snaked in themselves, dragging their backpacks after them. Their timing was near perfect. They had no sooner propped the rocks back in place and looked into the outer chamber through tiny peepholes than Number Four leaped into the chamber and dropped to the floor as Number Five raced in just behind, both rotating their lights and their gun muzzles in swift arcs from wall to wall.

“I told you so,” Giordino whispered softly in Gunn’s ear, so it would not be picked up by the microphone in front of his mouth. “They left Number Six outside as reserve.”

“There is no one in here,” said Number Four. “The cave is empty.”

“Impossible,” came the voice of the helicopter pilot. “All three were approaching the tunnel not fifteen minutes ago.”

“He’s right,” agreed Number Five. “Numbers One, Two, and Three have disappeared.”

They talked in undertones, but Gunn picked up every word over his headset radio. Still on their guard and alert for any movement, they nonetheless relaxed to a small degree when they saw no possible hiding place for anyone inside the chamber.

“Take the one standing,” Giordino whispered softly. “They’re wearing body armor, so aim for the head. I’ll take the one on the ground.”

Slipping their gun muzzles into holes no larger than an inch and a half in diameter, just enough to see over the front sight, they lined up on the men who had come to kill them and squeezed off two shots in unison that sounded like a thunderclap inside the rock-walled chamber. The man on the ground merely twitched, while the one standing threw up his hands, gasped, and folded wearily over the body at his feet.

Giordino brushed away the rocks in front of his face, extended the flashlight through the hole, and studied their handiwork. He turned to Gunn and made a slashing gesture across his throat. Gunn understood and switched off his headset radio.

“We must remain where we are,” Giordino muttered.

Before he could explain, a voice burst over the radio. “What happened in there?”

No longer interested in subterfuge, Giordino replied, “No big deal. We shot a rabbit.”

“Rabbit?” demanded the helicopter pilot. “What sort of nonsense is that?”

“I fear our comrades are dead,” said Number Six, soberly. “Those NUMA devils must have killed them.”