Clive Cussler - NUMA 1 Serpent

A PAIR OF SILHOUETTES MATERIALIZED in the starboard doorway, where they were framed against the blue darkness, one behind the other, making no attempt at concealment. It was a fatal mistake. Seizing his opportunity, Austin lined his sits up on the lead intruder and squeezed the trigger: The Bowen's thunderous roar rattled the wheelhouse windows as it sent a heavy .50caliber slug smashing into the first attacker's sternum, shattering it to bony splinters before the bullet burst from his nib cage and ripped through the heart of the second figure. The force of the impact threw the intruders back, and their bodies crashed over the rail.

The shotgun boomed. Austin spun around with his ears ringing and through the haze of smoke saw another attacker step boldly through the portside door. Zavala's shot had gone off to one side, and the shotgun pellets gouged a headlevel chunk from the door jamb. Zavala rapidly pumped another shell into the chamber and got off a second shot. This time the pellets found their mark. The intruder yelped and drew back, but not before squeezing off a quick unaimed burst of machinegun fire. The rounds went wild except for one.

The bullet grazed Austin's ribs, passing through the flesh under his left armpit. He felt as if he'd been lashed with redhot barbed wire.

Zavala was shaking his head in disgust and didn't see Austin go down on one knee. I aimed right at him, he said incredulously. Point-blank range. I couldn't miss.

The captain came out of the radio room and slammed a fist into his palm.

Damn! I forgot to tell you that old gun pulls right. You've got to aim it an inch left.

Zavala turned and saw that Austin was down. Kurt, he said with alarm, are you all right?

I've been better, Austin said, clenching his teeth.

Years at sea had given Captain Phelan a hair-trigger reflex in emergencies. He brought over a first-aid kit, and while Zavala kept guard, pacing from one door to the other, the captain fashioned a compress that stemmed the bleeding.

Looks like your lucky day he said, rigging a sling. They missed the bone.

Too bad I don't have time to play the lottery With the captain helping, Austin got back on his feet. I nailed two with one shot. Unfortunately they took their guns over the side with them.

Showing me up again, Zavala said peevishly. I think I only wounded my guy.

My guess is that they figured they'd catch us asleep and unarmed, so they got too cocky for their own good. It won't happen again. They'll test us next time, draw our fire to see what we've got. They'll see real fast that the ship is mostly deserted and will concentrate all they've got on the bridge. We'd better be gone by then.

We can move around through the ship's conduits, the captain offered. I know them better than my own living room.

Good idea. Our guerrilla operation will be a lot more effective if we can pop up where they least expect us. Be careful, these guys are dangerous but not invincible. They fouled up when they let Nina get away, twice, and just now they got a little overanxious and it cost them. So they make mistakes.

So do we, Zavala said.

There's one difference. We can't afford our mistakes.

They secured the wheelhouse doors and went into the radio shack. The SOS was still broadcasting mindlessly into the night. Austin wondered who would hear it and what they would make of the message. He paused and lifted the Bowen with his good arm. The weight was too much for one hand, and the revolver wavered from side to side.

My aim's shaky. You'll have to use it.

He passed the revolver to Zavala, who tucked the flare gun into his waistband. Zavala handed the shotgun to the captain and told him to watch the door. Remember, it pulls to the right. He hefted the revolver. Two birds with one stone. Good shooting. With four shots left we can take out eight guys.

We can do it with one shot if they all line up, but I wouldn't count on it, Austin said. He picked up the slim darkwood case he'd dug out of his luggage. All is not lost. We've got the Mantons.

The ends of Zavala's lips twitched. Poor bastards won't stand a chance against your single-shot dueling pistols, he said with bleak humor.

Ordinarily I might say you're right, but these aren't just, aiy dueling pistols.

A matched pair of antique flintlock dueling pistols lay inside the box snugly cushioned in compartments covered with green baize. The gleaming brownish barrels were octagonal and the highly polished butts rounded like the head of a cane.

During the ship's stopover in London, Austin had gone to a Brompton Street antique dealer whom he'd had good luck with before. The brace of pistols had come into the shop as part of an estate liquidation, said the proprietor, an older man named Mr. Slocum. From their high finish and lack of ornamentation Austin would have known who made the pistols even if he hadn't seen the Joseph Manton label inside the case. Manton and his brother John were the most renowned eighteenth-century gun makers in England, where the best dueling pistols were made. Manton pistols were short on decoration and long on what really counted in matters of honor:mechanical precision. When Austin heard the astronomical price he balked.

I do have Mantons in my collection, he said.

Slocum was not to be deterred. I might point out that these were custom-made by Mr. Manton, he said, using the honorific as if the gunsmith were still living. These are just the weapons for a scoundrel. Austin took no insult from the statement, understanding exactly what Slocum meant, that the pistols had built-in insurance. Using a creative combination of traveler's checks and American Express, Austin walked out of the shop with the brace of pistols.

When Austin first showed off his acquisition, Zavala held the pistol at arm's length and said, It feels barrel-heavy.

It is,' Austin had explained. Gun makers like Manton knew there was something about staring down a .59 caliber muzzle that made a fellow nervous. Duelists tended to shoot high. The barrel was weighted to keep their aim down. The checkering on the grip and the trigger spur for your middle finger will help you keep it steady."

How accurate is this thing?

Duels were supposed to be settled by fortune. Deliberate aiming or barrel rifling were considered unsportsmanlike. Even cause for murder. He removed the other pistol from the case. This has 'blind rifling.' Manton made it so the grooves stopped a few inches short. You can't see them by looking into the barrel, but it's enough rifling to give you the edge. At three to five yards, it should be right on target for a snap shot.

Standing in the radio room now, Austin brought the gun up quickly and sighted down the ten-inch barrel as if it were an extension of his arm. Just the thing for a one-armed man.

Earlier Austin had given Zavala a quick lesson in loading, so he had the concept down even if he was lacking in execution. The flat, pea-rshaped powder flask had a spring-activated shut-off that measured out the right amount of load. Zavala had no problem tamping the heavy lead ball down the barrel, but he spilled too much primer in the pan. The second pistol took half the time, and the loading was a lot cleaner. Austin told Zavala he'd make an excellent second in a matter of honor. He tucked one pistol in his sling and held the other in his right hand.

Deciding it would be too dangerous to go back through the wheelhouse, they went into the chartroom, and the captain slowly opened the aft door that led outside. With the Bowen at ready Zavala cautiously peered through the crack. All was dear. They slipped out into the night.