Sandstorm (Page 25)

He wrangled the boat back and forth through a narrow switchback. Worry made him miss spotting a hidden rock. The boat jarred into it, hung up for a breath, then with a screech of aluminum dragged free again.

“That couldn’t have been good,” Danny commented.

No, it wasn’t. His brows furrowed deeper. Through his feet, he felt a persistent tremble in the boat. Even on flat water. Something had torn.

Again the sound of the Scimitar’s engine whined louder.

As Omaha rounded another bend, he caught a glimpse of their pursuers. Seventy yards behind. He faced around and heard Danny groan. The river ahead boiled and frothed with white water. This section of the river pinched between high walls. A long straight stretch of river—too long, too straight.

If there had been a place to run the boat aground and take their chances overland, he would’ve done it. But they had no choice. He continued down the gorge, studying the flows and alert for rocks. He mapped the plan in his head.

“Danny, you’re not going to like this.”

“What?”

A quarter of the way down the rapids, he spun the boat into an eddy and skipped it around in a tight circle, pointing the bow back upriver.

“What are you doing?”

“The boat’s corked,” he said. “There’s no way we can outrun them. We’re going to have to take the fight to them.”

Danny nudged the shotgun. “Salt shot against a rocket launcher?”

“All it takes is the element of surprise.” That and perfect timing.

Pushing the throttle forward, he edged back into the current, this time working upriver. He followed the map in his head: skirt around that drop, around that deep boil, edge clear of the rock splitting the current, take the calmer side. He aimed for a standing, refractory wave as it humped over a boulder, worn smooth by the constant churn of water.

The whine of the other boat grew as it approached.

“Here they come…” Danny pushed up his glasses.

Over the lip of the wave, Omaha spotted the bow end of the Scimitar clear the corner. He shifted his thumb and flipped the cover over the nitrous feed. He twisted the nozzle to full feed. It was all or nothing.

The Scimitar rounded the bend and spotted them. It must appear that they were floundering, turned ass backward by some mean boil or whirlpool.

The other boat slowed, but momentum and the current brought the Scimitar into the rapids. Their pursuers were only ten yards away now. Too close to use the grenade launcher. Shrapnel from the explosion would risk their own boat and lives.

It was a momentary standoff.

Or so it seemed.

“Grab tight!” Omaha warned as he punched the nitrous injector.

It was like someone had ignited a case of TNT under their stern. The boat bolted forward, slamming into the standing wave, striking the boulder hidden beneath. The bow climbed the flat rock, driving the stern down. The twin pulse jets shot the aluminum frame straight up. They went airborne over the wave, flying high, trailing fire.

Danny hollered—then again, so did Omaha.

Their boat sailed over the Scimitar, but it was not meant for true flight. The nitrous cut out, the flames died, and their boat came crashing down atop the fiberglass Scimitar.

The jolt knocked Omaha on his ass. Water flooded over the gunwales, swamping him. Then the boat bobbed back up. “Danny!”

“I’m fine.” He was still strapped to his seat, looking dazed.

Crawling forward, Omaha searched beyond the rail.

The Scimitar lay shattered in pieces, floating in different directions. A body, facedown, bobbled among the debris. Blood trailed through the muddy waters, forming its own river. The smell of fuel fogged the air. But at least the current was dragging them safely away from the wreckage in case it exploded.

Omaha spotted two men clinging to flotsam, heading down into the raging rapids with their makeshift floaters. They seemed to have lost interest in dinosaur eggs.

Climbing back into the seat, he checked the engine. It coughed and died. No hope there. The aluminum frame was bent, the keel pocked, but at least they were seaworthy. He broke out the paddles.

Danny unbuckled and accepted one of the paddles. “What now?”

“Call for help before that other boat comes to investigate.”

“Who’re you going to call?”

12:05 A.M. GMT

S AFIA WAS carefully wrapping up the iron heart in acid-free specimen paper when the phone on the bench rang. It was Kara’s mobile phone. She had left it behind as she retreated to the lavatory again. To freshen up, she had told Safia and Clay. But Safia knew better. More pills.

The phone continued to ring.

“You want me to get that?” Clay asked, folding up the camera tripod.

Safia sighed and picked it up. It might be important. “Hello,” she said as she flipped it open.

There was a long pause.

“Hello?” she offered again. “Can I help you?”

A throat cleared, sounding far away. “Safia?” It was said in a soft, stunned voice. One she knew all too well.

Blood drained to her feet. “Omaha?”

“I…I was trying to reach Kara. I didn’t realize you were there, too.”

She fought her tongue free from the shock. Her words came out stiff. “Kara’s…indisposed at the moment. If you’ll hold, I’ll get—”

“Wait! Safia…”

She froze from lowering the phone, holding it as if she had forgotten how to use it.

With the phone pulled away from her ear, Omaha’s voice sounded tinny. “I…maybe…” He struggled for words, finally settling on a neutral question. “If you’re over there with her, then you must know what this is all about. What sort of expedition am I being shanghaied into?”

Safia put the phone back to her ear. She could handle shoptalk. “It’s a long story, but we found something here. Something extraordinary. It points to a possible new history about Ubar.”

“Ubar?”

“Exactly.”

There was another longish pause. “So this is about Kara’s father.”

“Yes. And for once, Kara may be onto something significant.”

“Will you be joining the expedition?” This question was asked woodenly.

“No, I can be more help here.”

“Nonsense!” The next words gushed out loudly. She had to hold the phone away again. “You know more about Ubar and its history than anyone on the face of the earth. You must come! If not for Kara, then for yourself.”

A voice suddenly spoke at her shoulder, having eavesdropped on Omaha’s tinny words. “He’s right,” Kara said, stepping around. “If we’re going to solve this riddle and any more we come across, we need you on-site.”