Free The Death Strain by Nick Carter Page A

it up into the delicately balanced candles and funnels over the stone. I rolled to one side as I heard Tumo scream. The hot wax came down on him from half-a-dozen of the metal strips. He was atop the altar stone, grabbing in pain at the back of his neck, when I let Hugo fly. It went into his right temple, just above the eye, with full force, penetrating all the way to the hilt I saw the man shudder and fall forward to lay limp across the altar stone, insensible to the hot wax still splattering down upon him.
    I crossed the few steps in one quick bound, pulled Hugo free, wiped the blade on Tumo's shirt and scooped Wilhelmina up. At Rita's scream, I whirled and got off two shots. The two men holding her were flung backwards by the force of the big 9mm slugs at close range. Rita ran toward me and I met her halfway, firing at the others as they came rushing into the area from the surrounding corridors.
    I fired at whatever moved across my line of vision, and I fired
in
short bursts, scattering them like so many leaves in the wind. I was moving backwards, pulling Rita along with me, when the first shot from the patrol boats exploded and the ancient temple trembled. More shots followed quickly, some landing outside in the trees, others direct hits. I knew that the Russian gunners were zeroing in on their target. Some of the men and women were trying to flee, others were gathering together to huddle in small groups, waiting for death to come. A full round of shots hit, and the walls of the old temple seemed to fall away like a child's cardboard house.
    I clambered over the rubble and headed for daylight, pulling Rita along, pausing only to strip the robe from an inert form and give it to her.
    She wrapped it around herself. We hit the ground, tumbling over a mound of rubble, as two shells whistled over our heads. Yanking her along, I got up and ran for the trees, falling again as another pair of shells whistled past to land amid the remains of the temple. They had really sighted their target now and almost every shell was hitting the mark. Rita and I stumbled from the thin line of trees onto the beach and I lay there, pulling out the sending set from my belt buckle.
    "Operation DS," I called, hoping the shots hadn't killed the little power pack. "Operation DS. Hold fire. Pick me up on beach. Repeat. Pick me up on beach. Imperative."
    We flattened ourselves on the beach as a trio of shells looped overhead. The little island was shaking from the fury of the barrage the four patrol cruisers were laying down, and I knew they were using their rocket launchers, too. Then, abruptly, the firing halted, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The power pack had still worked. I put my head up and saw, across the water, the white flash of spray from the prow of a fast-moving vessel heading directly toward us. Then the low lines of the patrol craft came into view, moving in as close as she dared.
    "Let's go," I said, pulling Rita with me into the surf, "We've got to catch the bus."
    The patrol craft slowed, turned and cut her engines not more than a few hundred yards off shore. Rita and I were swimming already, Rita having a rough time of it with the voluminous robe that soaked up water and lay on her like a dead weight I helped her until strong hands pulled us up onto the patrol cruiser. My mind had already left behind what had happened and was racing on, thinking about Carlsbad.
    "Get the girl below decks, please," I said to the captain of the cruiser, a tall, square-faced Russian with short blond hair. "Some hot tea would help, too."
    "Da," he nodded.
    "And get me to your radio," I said. Once more he nodded and I followed him below decks. While they got a pair of dungarees and an old shirt for Rita, I was on the radio, making relay contact first with a big W Class Russian sub and then with the special frequency set up for this operation. I reported the bad news that Carlsbad had flown the coop and was moving forward with his plans elsewhere.
    I