The boat was barely moving.
Kicking powerfully, the Warrior swam for the starboard side. He girded himself to act swiftly, decisively, and he was ready when his arms broke the surface right next to the craft. In that very instant he gripped the upper edge and hauled downward, counting on the fact that all the tonton macoutes were standing to unbalance their boat and possibly tip it over.
The strategy succeeded.
Caught totally off guard, the voodoo cult members on the port side were thrown against those on the starboard, together their combined weight served to tip the boat at an almost vertical angle and dump all of them into the swamp.
Blade had already released the top when the first man in black hit the water. The rest followed suit in a confused mass and he whipped the Bowies from their sheaths and tore into them, taking advantage of their momentary disorientation as they went under. Their first reaction was to thrash and make for the surface again, leaving them vulnerable to his attack.
Arcing to the left, Blade buried both knives in the chest of the first man under, then wrenched them out and turned, going for three foes at once, his movement impeded by the water but still forceful enough for him to slash one tonton macoute across the throat and stab the other pair.
Leaving just two.
The Warrior twisted and saw the remaining duo trying to clamber onto the stalled boat. He came at them from below, spearing his right Bowie into the unprotected abdomen of the nearest man in black, ripping the stomach wide open, and then attacked his final adversary.
Displaying remarkable agility, the last tonton macoute, who was dangling over the starboard side, flipped his legs up and rolled into the craft. In another moment he reappeared at the side, an M1 carbine pressed to his right shoulder.
Blade was a mere six feet from the side of the boat. He abruptly bent at the waist and shot toward the underside, and his head passed underneath the bottom just as the tonton macoute cut loose. The blasting of the M1 was muted but audible. He bent in half again to draw his legs out of sight that much faster, expecting to feel a stinging sensation at any second.
The firing suddenly stopped.
The Warrior’s lungs were beginning to ache. He couldn’t stay under that much longer. His exertions had used up too much precious oxygen.
He figured the man in black must be waiting for him to poke his head out, but he had another idea. Sinking down about a yard, he swam straight up and rammed his right shoulder into the middle of the boat, which rocked and swayed from the impact. Again he repeated the maneuver, and yet once more, and after the third hit he swam to the right and broke the surface right next to the bobbing craft while sliding the left Bowie into its sheath.
Upright in the center of the boat, the tonton macoute struggled to retain his footing despite the rolling motion. His wide eyes probed the gloomy depths for the giant, focused on the spot where he had last seen him.
Surging out of the water; Blade used his left hand on the top of the side to propel himself from the opposite direction, his arm extended, the Bowie straight out.
The man in black spun.
Too late.
The Bowie caught the tonton macoute in the groin, he screeched and doubted over, the M1 clattering at his feet.
With only the upper half of his torso in the boat, he had to rely strictly on his massive arms. As always, his rippling sinews were equal to the occasion. He let go of the side, reached out to grab his foe’s black shirt, and draw the man toward him. Jerking the knife free, he lanced its bloody tip into the man’s chest above the heart. Twice he stabbed, and his adversary abruptly wheezed and went limp.
Blade allowed the tonton macoute to drop, then climbed all the way into the craft and paused to catch his breath. He saw several bodies floating to the east, and one man struggled feebly in water stained crimson to the south.
Something else moved to the south.
A 15-foot alligator, only its head and back visible, bore down on the bodies with startling speed.
The Warrior scooped up the M1 and stood, ready in case the reptile should attempt to come after him. But his fears turned out to be groundless.
Never slowing, the gator swam straight at the one tonton macoute who still struggled, however weakly, its tail made a wake for yards to its rear.
Blade simply watched, unwilling to intervene. He saw the alligator open its mouth at the very last instant and the man slid into its teeth-filled maw. Immediately the reptile dove rolling over and over, twirling the body end over end.
The tonton macoute uttered a pathetic, gurgling.
As if on that cue, the gator abruptly dived, taking its supper along. A flurry of bubbles marked the spot for half a minute then subsided.
The Warrior had seen enough. Every second he delayed increased the likelihood of other men in black showing up if they’d heard the gunfire. He stooped, took hold of the one he had killed, and hurled the man into the water. Rotating and kneeling, he worked on the outboard for 15 seconds, and was rewarded by the motor roaring to life.
Taking a seat and laying the M1 in front of him, he steered it due north, having decided to swing in a wipe loop to evade other boats that might be looking for him. The encroaching night rapidly reduced the field of vision.
Blade proceeded slowly, wary of striking a submerged log or some other obstruction. He realized the tonton macoutes must have a means of navigating at night and he checked the bottom of the boat. Under the middle seat he discovered a watertight wooden box secured by a small clasp. Opening it, he found a half-dozen tools apparently intended for use should the motor give out and a small portable spotlight that could be clamped to the side of the craft and swiveled in any given direction.
But would it work?
The Warrior attached the spotlight to his right and flicked the black switch on the top. A bright beam illuminated the swamp ahead for a distance of 20 yards. His brow creased as he pondered the implications.
The spotlight operated on battery power, which meant the Black Snake Society either possessed a supply of new batteries they had obtained from an unknown source, perhaps from the Russian zone through the black market, or else they owned generators and a stockpile of rechargeable batteries. Both possibilities indicated the organization was efficiently, if cruelly, operated.
Blade settled back for the ride, unsure of the amount of time it would take him to reach the stronghold.
Even with the aid of the spotlight, he would have to proceed relatively slowly. Underwater obstacles could still pose a problem. One hole in the bottom and he’d face the distinctly unpleasant chore of swimming all the way there.
A bayou at night was not the most hospitable of environments.
As the minutes dragged by the light revealed the nocturnal wildlife on the prowclass="underline" huge alligators cruising about seeking a meal, snakes of varying proportions moving their sleek forms in the telltale wavy pattern, enormous bullfrogs searching for insects, and big bugs looking for little bugs. Where only a handful of each species had been abroad during the daylight hours, after dark the water teemed with creatures, primarily predators.
Blade was particularly impressed by the number of snakes.
Once, off to the west, a tremendous splashing occurred, as if a gargantuan animal were throwing a temper tantrum in the water, and the sound persisted for over three minutes.
The Warrior stared intently, striving to ascertain the source. He switched off the spotlight, concerned the thing might be attracted to it.