The Council of Ten (41 page)

A shattering explosion from one blew out a section of wall just ahead of Wayman and forced him to the deck, covering his head. His target was now the bridge where Corbano would have retreated in order to direct his defenses. Wayman regained his feet and started running. Black smoke burned his eyes. He smelled oil and cordite along with the coppery scent of blood. The cutter was limping now, fighting to hold to its course. There were just twelve minutes to high tide.

He approached the ship’s main gun and was nearly deafened by its sudden report. He collapsed to the deck holding his ears, as a pair of Trelana’s lead boats exploded under the cannon’s fire. Another boat featuring a grenade launcher prone on its bow roared close for a shot and perished similarly.

He had to knock out that gun!

The Timber Wolf pulled his hands from his ears and the constant clacking of fire assaulted them again. Screaming to shield the awful pounding more than anything else, he leaped to grasp the turret and used it to hoist himself up and over. He crashed into the pair of men handling the reloading chores and was feeling for his machine gun’s trigger when a third man yanked him backward. Wayman went with the motion, slamming the butt behind him as he felt himself being pulled. There was a grunt and the Timber Wolf felt the pressure let up. He located the trigger as the first two men charged him and split their midsections open with a single burst.

He turned quickly at that point, free of the turret now, and the man who had been manning the cannon missed him with a swipe of his knife as Wayman backpedaled across the deck. He lashed the blade out again, but the Timber Wolf was ready, smashing a hard fist into the man’s throat as he blocked his strike.

The front of the cutter was clear now. Trelana’s fleet poured in with weapons ready to tear the ship to bits.

Wayman rushed into the spreading smoke in the direction of the bridge.

All in all, Drew considered the fleet containing all types of boats of varying sizes swinging into attack formation against the cutter to be one of the greatest sights he had ever laid eyes on. He had followed the proceedings up to that point through binoculars, saw the Timber Wolf be captured, then turn the tables, then be saved himself by the fleet.

From this distance, the scene held a texture similar to a film he had once seen of a pack of ants attacking a large spider. The spider seemed invincible, but the ants were able to wear it down and drain the larger creature’s defenses.

They’ve got the bastards!
he thought.
They’ve got them!

Trelana’s boats sped along as they fired, leaping over each other’s wakes and narrowly avoiding collision after collision as they encircled the cutter with a constant barrage of fire. Smoke clouded most of the larger ship’s bow, an occasional explosion sending a burst of flames toward the sky. The cutter seemed to be floundering, swinging around for land and much shallower water where its progress would almost certainly be arrested by the bay’s hidden rises. But its deadly cargo, if released, could still do the damage promised to the same degree.

Drew peered tensely through the binoculars, searching for the Timber Wolf or Corbano and failing to spot either.

It was the sound of water dripping onto the deck that made him turn suddenly, just in time to see the black-suited scuba diver aim his spear gun. Drew dove as the spear shot out, missing the intended target of his midsection but digging deep into his thigh.

Drew screamed as he landed hard on the deck face first, mouth filling with water. He coughed and tried to claw back to his feet, while another set of gloved hands appeared over the side and the first diver approached with an underwater knife drawn and raised. Drew twisted as the man lunged, feeling an incredible burst of pain in his torn leg that forced his arms back involuntarily. They closed on something round and wooden, and he brought it up and around without thinking.

The back end of the handle caught the first diver across the side of the face, staggering him. The second diver had leaped into the boat spear gun first and this time Drew had no way to move fast enough to avoid the shot.

He heard the
plunk
when the spear jetted out and screamed an instant before it passed through his life jacket and lodged in the fatty flesh of his left pectoral dangerously close to his heart. He lost his grip on the staff he had grasped before, realizing it had a hooked extension on the end used for drawing in fishing nets. The second diver was upon him as he tried to grab it. Drew felt a solid blow to his face, tasted blood, and then realized with terror that the man had grasped the spear shaft and was twisting and pushing the attached blade at the same time.

The pain was beyond anything Drew could have imagined. His eyes bulged as he screamed with all the air flooding from his body.

His agony allowed him to finally grasp the hooked staff. His next conscious thought was that the jagged end was rusty, as he brought it up with all the force he could muster.

The curved hook sliced into the diver’s midsection as easily as butter. The man’s body arched backward at an impossible angle as scarlet drained onto his black wet suit. He hung there suspended until an agonizing gurgle found Drew’s ears and the man’s mouth spilled purplish blood. The man kneeled over forward, driving the steel hook all the way through his back. It sliced through with a tearing sound and emerged coated with the dead man’s flesh and spaghettilike intestines.

Drew found himself able to move only his head, and that was enough for him to see the first diver fighting to load a second spear in his gun with blood pouring down the side of his face. An underwater knife remained in the scuba belt of the dead man face-down by his side and Drew reached into the blood pooling under him to grasp it.

A horrible bolt of agony seared through him. He could feel fresh blood pumping from behind him and realized he was pinned, realized that the second diver’s efforts had forced the sharp spear edge all the way through flesh and bone and into the wooden gunwale. He fought to angle himself to be able to reach the knife.

The other diver jammed his second spear home and started to bring it up from the deck while steadying it between a pair of trembling hands.

Drew strained forward as far as he could, but the hilt of the knife remained just beyond his reach.

He saw the gun coming all the way up now, saw the diver’s hand closing on the trigger, and he knew the third spear would finish the job the first two had started.

His mind recorded those images between breaths, providing the panic he needed. Drew screamed as he pushed himself forward from the gunwale, flesh ripping and blood spurting behind him. The pain was so incredible that he felt only his fingers at the last grasping the hilt of the dead diver’s knife and tearing it from his belt.

His eyes looked down the gun’s barrel as the first diver started to pull the trigger. With another wail, Drew hurled the knife.

There was no real design to the move, only desperation. The blade split the air as the diver’s finger jerked the heavy trigger. Drew closed his eyes after they seemed to record the knife flying hopelessly off target while the spear remained dead on his midsection.

They opened when the gasping sound found his ears. The first diver sat writhing before him on the deck, supported by the cabin wall with the hilt of the knife protruding from the center of his throat. Blood leaped from the wound. His hands flailed out as if to grasp something, then crumbled as blood poured from his mouth and nostrils, eyes locking open in a death stare.

I did it!
Drew realized, exhaustion and pain robbing him of any feelings of elation he might have had. There could be no movement for him now. A feeling of deep repose came over him. His life jacket felt like a pillow and his head dropped for it, chin coming to rest with reasonable comfort. He felt cold everywhere, except where the blood was still running over his back and leg. The two spear shafts protruding outward made a sickening sight, but he was already used to it. In fact, Drew had just started to believe that he might live through this in spite of everything when the third diver hurled himself onto the deck.

Elliana stepped softly through the dark corridors of the Castle of the Moors, her path lit only by a flashlight as she inspected the ancient structure. Since the Council presence was nonexistent in the aboveground levels, as expected she had free passage of the halls so long as she maintained her stealth, careful to avoid the several trip wires and ultraviolet beams that would have betrayed her.

Ellie didn’t know which floor she was on, third or fourth probably, but it didn’t much matter. Her training had included extensive instruction on how to wire explosives to bring down a structure from
any
level. The trick was to place the charges at key structural and stress areas, especially in this instance to ensure that the ancient castle would crumble downward through the vast underground levels where the Council of Ten’s headquarters undoubtedly lay. Six packs of her plastic explosives ought to do the job nicely, leaving her two for later if she needed them.

Into each of the plastic packs, Ellie jammed a miniature antenna, which stretched perhaps two inches above the mound. The antenna was homed in on a signal from a detonator that broadcast from a distance of a half mile. She had rigged the detonator into her watch so it would be near her at all times.

The safe thing to do would be to set the charges and detonate them from a safe distance outside the castle. But then she wouldn’t be as sure of killing the Council members. She had to be certain they were here, which necessitated a foray into the deep bowels of the Castle of the Moors. Besides, after so much pursuit, so much blood and tears, she needed to kill David’s murderers face-to-face.

Ellie set the final charge and moved slowly for a huge stone staircase that circled through the castle levels. The first floor was darker than any of the others and she moved down the hall with added caution. The problem now was to find an entrance to the underground chambers that the Council of Ten called home.

The dusty, cobweb-coated floor trembled slightly beneath her. Coupled with the night wind blowing hauntingly through the long-abandoned ramparts and cisterns, it should have been enough to make her flesh crawl. But Ellie shuddered only with a chill of recognition. The vibrations in the floor had to be caused by the whirl of heavy machinery almost directly beneath her. She was close now, very close. All she needed was a door to lead her to the underground levels, a door the Council would have no reason to guard since no one would ever have been expected to penetrate their perimeter defenses and get this far.

Ellie found the door built into a wall far along the corridor leading away from the huge rooms to the first floor. It was a monstrous door, made of thick wood and featuring a small trap that opened from the inside to identify those seeking entry. The door opened to the inside and had no knob. Ellie pushed on it gently. It didn’t give, a latch obviously holding it in place from within.

She fished in the pockets of her fatigues for a long, slender knife. Holding it with a surgeon’s skill, she fitted the blade between the wall and door and probed about for the latch. She worked quickly, twisting the blade until the latch came free and the door creaked inward. She eased it open all the way, shifting her flashlight to her other hand while holding tight to the door to prevent further sounds.

Her flashlight beam revealed a huge set of steps before her, angling to the left as it dropped into total darkness. Ellie stepped through and closed the door gently behind her. She began to descend one step at a time, careful to move softly enough to avoid echoes. The smell of rot, must, and mold caught her nostrils and nearly forced her to gag. She steeled herself against the odor and kept descending, finding a rhythm to her movements as she grew familiar with the layout.

By the time she reached the bottom after curving sharply to the left, the whirling of machinery was much closer. She made out the distant muffle of voices as well, along with footsteps. But sounds could travel a long way down these cold stone corridors. Flashlight tight in her hand, Ellie started on again.

The floor was made of dirt here and the smells that rose from it were putrid. Worse, she heard soft scuffling around her and aimed her beam down to find a host of rats skirting by, nothing to pass off lightly. If they were hungry enough and in sufficient numbers, rats would attack anything. Ellie picked up her pace.

The presence of the rats made her think. They were far too smart to make their home along a corridor that lacked any possible food supply. Obviously the ones that had passed her had come from somewhere else within this subterranean labyrinth, somewhere with far more activity and a potential food supply.

Or, perhaps they were heading for it now.

Elliana listened for the scuffling up ahead. When it ceased totally around a corner, she knew she was close even before she saw the slight shaft of light coming through what appeared to be a break in the wall at floor level. Sure enough, closer inspection with the help of her flashlight revealed some sort of tunnel running from one side of the labyrinth to the other. It was fronted by an ancient steel grate and was of ample size to permit her to crawl into and through.

The steel grating had weakened over the long years, and she had no trouble pulling it free and entering the tunnel, which, too, was made of dirt. She began pushing herself on her knees, focusing on the dim light at the other end and the increasing whirl of machinery. This was what she had come for; she could feel it.

Unfortunately, Ellie could feel something else even more plainly—the sensation of small animals dashing about and around her. She felt her heart lurch forward in fear that perhaps she had invaded the lair of the rats whose scouts had passed her back in the corridor. Immensely territorial, the animals would attack if that were the case.

She could feel more of them scurrying about her, seeming to mass, and stopped to develop some kind of defense. Retreat was a possibility, but not with the Council of Ten just yards away at long last.