"This looks familiar," Zavala said.
"We're near the mid station control booth," Austin said.
They entered the right-hand tunnel that would take them back to Fifi, only to stop after taking a few steps. Rough male voices could be heard coming in their direction. They ran back to the intersection and tried going straight, but a sluice gate barred their way. They came back to the intersection. The distant sound of booted footfalls was coming from the passageway at the left.
"We're surrounded," Zavala said.
A desperate plan was hatching in Austin's brain. He turned into the left-hand tunnel.
Zavala held back. "Hold on, Kurt. Fauchard's goons are coming that way, too."
"Trust me," Austin said. "But do it fast. We don't have a second to spare."
Zavala shrugged and sprinted into the dimly lit passageway a step behind Austin. He mumbled to himself in Spanish as they splashed through the puddle-covered floor. He had worked with Austin on many missions since joining the NUMA Special Assignments Team. Zavala had developed an abiding faith in Austin's judgment. There were times, however, like the present, when Austin's behavior seemed completely irrational, and that confidence was put to the test.
Zavala pictured them bumping into Fauchard's thugs in a deadly version of a Keystone Kops silent movie. But they reached the control booth unimpeded and scrambled up the ladder onto the catwalk. Fauchard's men materialized in the dim tunnel and gave out with a hoarse cry of triumph at having brought their game to roost. They unleashed a blistering attack on the booth.
Bullets pinged and ricocheted off the metal catwalk, the tunnel walls amplifying the racket to D-day proportions. Austin dove into the control booth, pulled Zavala in behind him and slammed the door shut. The rest of Fauchard's men heard the gunfire, came running and joined in the turkey shoot. They peppered the booth with hundreds of rounds. The windows disintegrated and the sustained barrage of lead threatened to punch through the steel walls.
Austin crawled across the shards of glass littering the floor, got up on his knees and, keeping his head low, ran his hands onto the control panel keyboard. A diagram of the tunnel system appeared on the screen. The racket of bullets slamming into the booth was deafening and Austin tried to stay focused. He typed out several commands and was gratified when he saw the colors change on the diagram.
Zavala started to rise, hoping to get off a shot or two, but Austin pulled him down.
"You'll get your head shot off," he yelled over the sound of gunfire.
"Better than getting my ass shot off," Zavala said.
"Wait," Austin said.
"Wait? For what}"
"Gravity."
Zavala's reply was drowned out by a new volley. Then the gunfire stopped abruptly and they could hear Emil's mocking voice.
"Austin! Are you and your friend enjoying the view?"
Austin put his finger to his lips.
When Austin didn't answer, Emil taunted, "Don't tell me you're shy. I want you to listen to the plans my mother has for your lady friend. She's going to give her a face-lift. You won't recognize her when she's through with the transformation."
Austin had had enough of Fauchard. He signaled for Zavala to hand over his gun and moved closer to the control booth wall. Disregarding his own advice, he squeezed the trigger until it was a feather's touch away, then he popped up like a hand puppet, fired once and ducked down. He had honed in on Fauchard's voice, but his aim was off. Fauchard and his men scattered in search of cover. Once they saw that there was no follow-up attack, they again sprayed the booth with lead.
"You really showed them that time," "Zavala yelled over the racket. "Emil was starting to irk me." "Did you get him?"
"Emil? Unfortunately, no. I missed Sebastian, too. But I nailed the guy standing next to him."
"That is unfortunate," Zavala said, raising his voice a few decibels. "Brilliant strategy, though. Maybe they'll run out of bullets."
Bullets were starting to punch through the floor of the booth. Austin knew he had to stop the shooting and buy time. "Do you have a white hanky?" he asked Zavala.
"This is a funny time to be blowing your nose," Zavala said, ducking as a round ricocheted off the wall. He saw from Austin's face that he wasn't joking and said, "I've got my Mexican 'do-rag." " Zavala fished his multipurpose red bandanna out of his back pocket and handed it over.
"This will do," Austin said, tying the bandanna to the gun barrel. He poked the impromptu flag out the door and waved it.
The gunfire again stopped. Emil's sharp-edged laughter echoed throughout the tunnel.
"What is that rag, Austin?" he said. "I'm no bull to be taunted by your antics."
"I didn't have a white flag," Austin shouted down.
"A white flag? Don't tell me you and your friend are prepared to come to terms with your fate?"
Austin cocked his ear, listening. He thought he heard a distant whispering, like the surf along the shore. But his ears were still ringing from the gunfire and he couldn't be sure.
"You misunderstood, Fauchard. I'm not ready to surrender."
"Then why are you waving that ridiculous piece of cloth?"
"I wanted to say good-bye before the freight train comes through."
"Have you gone mad, Austin?"
The whispering had become a low rumble.
Emil gave the order to start firing again.
Bullets whined and splattered around their heads in a nonstop crescendo. The concentrated gunfire was punching through the walls. In another few minutes, the booth would beAno more protection than the slice of Swiss cheese that it was starting to resemble.
Then the firing stopped abruptly.
The gunmen had felt the vibration. With the guns silent, they, too, had picked up the rumble of distant thunder.
Austin got to his feet and stepped out onto the catwalk. Emil had a puzzled look on his face. He looked up, saw Austin staring down at him and knew he had been bested.
"You've won for now, Austin," he yelled up, shaking his fist in defiance, "but you haven't heard the last from the Fauchards."
Austin grinned, stepped back into the booth, grabbed onto one of the metal legs supporting the console table and told Zavala to do the same.
Emil shouted one last oath, and then he turned and he and his gang of thugs ran for their lives. Sebastian lurched after the others.
It was too late.
Seconds later, the wave hit Fauchard and his men with an explosion of blue water that swept them away like a giant broom. Heads bobbed for an instant in the cold foam, arms flailed ineffectually. Sebastian's face was pale against the dark water. Then he was gone along with Emil and his men.
Unlike their previous experience, when Austin and Zavala stayed high and dry inside the undamaged watertight booth, this time the cascading water flowed in through the broken windows, flooded the control room and tried to pull Austin and Zavala from their anchor. They hung on with every ounce of strength.
Just when their lungs were ready to burst, the main force of the wave spent itself and the water began to subside.
They stood on shaky legs and peered through the jagged-edged framework, which was all that was left of the window.
Zavala looked down on the river flowing under their feet, amazement on his dark features. "How did you know that high tide was coming?"
"I opened and closed a few sluice gates in another part of the system and diverted water this way."
Zavala grinned and said, "I hope that Fauchard and his pals are all washed up."
"My guess is that they're feeling a bit flushed by now," Austin said. Miraculously, the control monitor was in a secure housing and had escaped damage. Austin punched in some keyboard commands. The water level dropped until the rushing river became a narrow stream. Both men were shivering in their wet clothes by then. They had to get out of the tunnels to someplace dry and warm before hypothermia set in. They climbed down the ladder. This time, no one tried to stop them.