A feather of blood spurted from Paulus’s calf, and he staggered and fell. He was slow to get to his feet, giving Eddie the time to cover the distance. He crashed into the South African, sending them both sprawling across the rocks. Though injured, Paulus was a big man, used to the punishing life of mining, and could absorb a tremendous amount of pain.
“You’re going pay for that, mate,” he said through gritted teeth, goading Eddie to hit him again.
“Don’t bet on it.” Eddie used the moment of confusion at his American accent to whip the AK-47 at Paulus’s head. The miner ducked just in time but gave Eddie an opening for a brutal kick to the knee.
Paulus took the hit without even wincing and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s chest, squeezing with machinelike strength. Eddie slammed his forehead into Paulus’s nose, feeling the bone crackle, but the miner only seemed to redouble the pressure. Eddie hit him again, and this time the South African roared in pain, loosening his grip enough for Eddie to get one hand free. He grabbed the man’s ear and gave it a savage yank. Paulus let go. Eddie got one leg behind Paulus’s and shoved him back. Paulus reached out as he fell, taking a handful of Eddie’s shirt.
Hitting the ground with Eddie on top of him should have driven the air from Paulus’s lungs, but it didn’t. The impact had been cushioned. It reminded Eddie of falling on a waterbed. To his horror he realized they’d landed in a huge puddle of mercury.
Before Paulus could recover, Eddie rammed his knee into the man’s crotch at the same time he forced his head below the surface. Paulus involuntarily gasped at the pain, sucking in a mouthful the toxic liquid metal. He started going into convulsions, but Eddie stayed on him like a cowboy riding a bull. Paulus managed to wrench his head above the surface. He coughed up great silvery globs of mercury before Eddie jammed his head back under. It took a minute more for him to stop struggling. When Eddie got off the body, it rose back to the top of the pond. Paulus’s mouth and nostrils were little glimmering pools of mercury, and his eyelids looked like someone had already laid coins over them.
“That is definitely on my list of top ten ways not to die,” Juan said, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
“For a while there,” Eddie panted, “I thought I had to take on all these goons by myself.”
Juan helped him to his feet. “What, and deny us a share of the glory?” He nodded at the corpse. “Anton Savich?”
“No, a South African hired to oversee this nightmare named Paulus, Jan Paulus.”
“Any idea where Savich is?”
Eddie shook his head. “Last I knew, he was in that big cruise ship down the beach. Paulus had Savich’s pilot hostage, so I think he’s already dead.”
“Damn.”
“Why? Saves us the trouble.”
Cabrillo went silent for a moment then said, “The fence.”
“Fence?”
“Like the guy who buys stolen goods from a thief,” Juan explained. “Until gold is properly assayed and stamped by an official mint, it’s worthless. No one legitimate will touch it. Savich had to know that before putting this caper together, which means he already has someone lined up to buy it from him. Someone who could get the gold authenticated and trickle it into the system. It has to be someone big to handle this much, a major banker with serious connections.”
“Sorry, boss, I’ve got no idea who it is.”
Juan smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll find the greedy bastard.”
Linc called Juan over the radio. “Beach is secure, Chairman. The Russians saw the writing on the wall and surrendered in exchange for a ride out.”
“It’s time for us to get out of here.” Cabrillo looked around. Hundreds of Chinese workers seemed to have materialized from the ground. They’d found cover among the boulders, and now that the fighting had stopped and the tug had motored a mile down the bay, they were milling around in shock. “All of us.”
Once Juan issued his orders it took only a few minutes for the word to spread that the workers were to board the newest ship to arrive on the beach, but it would take an hour or more for them to climb the only ladder tall enough to reach the ship’s rail.
Juan was waiting at the pier the trawlers used when Tory motored up in the assault boat. “Going my way, sailor?”
He jumped down into the deck and impulsively kissed her mouth, but the kiss was interrupted by another booming explosion from the volcano that sent foot-high ripples dancing across the water.
“My, my, you made the earth move.” Tory laughed huskily.
For Juan the mood had already passed. They were in a fight against the clock, and every second counted. Tory correctly read his expression and gunned the throttles.
On Cabrillo’s orders, Max had swung the Oregonaround so her stern pointed at the grounded cruise liner. Deckhands had run out the ship’s own towing cables from recessed hatches under her fantail. Using a pair of Jet Skis, thick ropes attached to the cables had been transferred to shore where a hundred of the most able-bodied Chinese immigrants were in position to haul the big hawsers to the cruise ship.
“Max, you reading me?” Juan called over his radio.
“I’m here.”
“What’s the situation?”
“They’re about ready to haul the cable over to the cruise ship. Her name’s Selandria,by the way. Linda and Linc are over there directing everything. She says the bollards are nothing more than mushroom-shaped rust, so we’re going to thread the cable around her anchor capstans. They should be able to handle the strain.”
“Okay. I’m almost back. As soon as they have the cable secure, I want all our people back on the Oregon.”
“I’m going to have to sit on Doc Huxley. She wants to take a team over there right now and start helping the worst of the Chinese.”
“Then sit on her,” Juan snapped. “If this doesn’t work, the grim truth is we’re going to leave those people behind and pray we can get some help up here before the volcano blows its top.”
“On that front, once the fighting stopped I tried to raise the Russian Coast Guard, but the mountain’s pumping out a lot of electrical interference. All our communications are out except the short-range tactical net.”
“We’re on our own.”
“’Fraid so.”
“I want you to stay in the op center. I’ll be up on the flying bridge. Have someone meet me there with some clean clothes.” He shot Tory a glance, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Some for Tory, too.”
Juan stripped out of his filthy battle jacket as he made his way through the ship, feeling bad that the housekeeping staff was going to have a hard time getting his muddy boot prints out of the plush hallway carpets. He reached the flying bridge just as Maurice stepped off the elevator from the op center. He was pushing a silver mess trolley. He handed a bundle of clothes to Juan and another bundle to Tory. Tory stepped into the radio shack to change while Juan undressed where he stood.
“That feels better,” Juan said.
Maurice pushed back the trolley’s gleaming cover, and the aroma of hot food made Juan’s mouth swim. “Shredded jerked beef burritos and coffee.”
Around a mouthful of the spicy, foot-long Mexican specialty Juan said, “Maurice, you just doubled your salary.”
The elder waiter then tipped a flask into Juan’s coffee cup. “From my stock of brandy. Just enough to take the edge off.”
“Tripled it.”
The storm they had raced up the Sea of Okhotsk had caught up with them. Rain began to pound the windscreen, and lightning crackled overhead. From under the trolley Maurice pulled out a matching pair of rain suits, baseball caps, and Juan’s rubber sea boots. “I had a feeling, sir.”