Read Online Fire Ice by Clive Cussler, Paul Kemprecos - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Clive Cussler, Paul Kemprecos
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lone horseman broke away from the others and spurred his mount into a gallop. Kaela and her friends heard the thunder of hooves and turned to see the rider bearing down on them with sword held high. Austin swung around until he was facing the horseman. He brought up the flare gun, but had a problem keeping it steady for proper aim. Instead, he put the Gooney into a low dive that took him a few feet above the heads of the runners and aimed directly at the horseman, a big man with a flowing red beard. At the last second, Austin pulled up. The float missed the man's head by inches. The horse whinnied in terror and broke into a wild run. The rider struggled to hang on as the horse took matters into its own hooves, climbed the dune and chased after the other riders, who had lost their stomach for the at- tack and were galloping for the woods.
Meanwhile, Austin was fighting a losing battle to keep the damaged plane level. He sat half out of the cockpit, like someone hiking out on an angled sailboat, gritted his teeth - and braced himself for the hard landing that he knew was coming.
-5- KAELA DORN HELD her breath as the strange little aircraft plunged from the sky in a spiraling tailspin. At the last second, the plane swung up in a wild G-force swoop. It soared and dipped like a kite on a string, then leveled off, although the wings quivered and the aircraft pitched and yawed as if it were on an invisible roller coaster.
The pilot finally brought the plane under a semblance of control and put it in a landing glide. He held it steady, but before he could touch down, the left wing dipped sharply and dug into the soft sand. The wing snapped off where it joined the fuselage and the plane slammed into the beach at an angle, skidding several yards before it came to a jarring halt, tail section high in the air. The engine shut down, and the beach was suddenly quiet except for the lap of waves and the crackle of burning grass.
The reporter and her colleagues stared like zombies at the plane wreck. They were too exhausted to move, drained by their swim to shore, still panting from the run for their lives. Kaela was in the best shape of the three, and her legs felt like putty. When the stubby plane had first appeared, they hadn't known whether it was friend or foe, but there had been no question as to the intentions of the horsemen with their wild yells and drawn swords: They had been out for blood. The plane looked like a bird that had flown into a fan, and it seemed impossible that its pilot could have escaped without harm, but someone moved in the cockpit. The pilot got one leg, then another over the cockpit combing and climbed out.
He seemed to be all right as he walked around the aircraft, hands on hips, inspecting the damage. He kicked a buckled wheel as if he were checking out a used car and shook his head. Then he turned to the television crew, gave them a friendly wave, and started in their direction, walking with a slight limp.
Lombardo and Dundee moved in and stood protectively at Kaela's sides. She was more interested in appraising the stranger. He was tall, slightly over six feet, and the broad powerful shoulders of a nightclub bouncer filled out the navy sweatshirt. He wore tan shorts, and his muscular legs looked as if they could propel the husky body through a brick wall. As he came closer, he removed his baseball cap to reveal his steel gray, almost platinum hair. His bronzed face was unlined, except for laugh crinkles around the eyes and mouth. She guessed his age at around forty. Dried blood dripped down one cheek and soaked the bandanna around his forehead. The aircraft landing must have been hair-raising, yet he seemed as if he were coming off a game of tennis.
"Good afternoon," he said, with a wide grin. "Are you folks okay?"
"Yes, we're fine, thank you," Kaela replied warily. "What about you? You're bleeding."
He touched the wound absentmindedly.
Meanwhile, Austin was fighting a losing battle to keep the damaged plane level. He sat half out of the cockpit, like someone hiking out on an angled sailboat, gritted his teeth - and braced himself for the hard landing that he knew was coming.
-5- KAELA DORN HELD her breath as the strange little aircraft plunged from the sky in a spiraling tailspin. At the last second, the plane swung up in a wild G-force swoop. It soared and dipped like a kite on a string, then leveled off, although the wings quivered and the aircraft pitched and yawed as if it were on an invisible roller coaster.
The pilot finally brought the plane under a semblance of control and put it in a landing glide. He held it steady, but before he could touch down, the left wing dipped sharply and dug into the soft sand. The wing snapped off where it joined the fuselage and the plane slammed into the beach at an angle, skidding several yards before it came to a jarring halt, tail section high in the air. The engine shut down, and the beach was suddenly quiet except for the lap of waves and the crackle of burning grass.
The reporter and her colleagues stared like zombies at the plane wreck. They were too exhausted to move, drained by their swim to shore, still panting from the run for their lives. Kaela was in the best shape of the three, and her legs felt like putty. When the stubby plane had first appeared, they hadn't known whether it was friend or foe, but there had been no question as to the intentions of the horsemen with their wild yells and drawn swords: They had been out for blood. The plane looked like a bird that had flown into a fan, and it seemed impossible that its pilot could have escaped without harm, but someone moved in the cockpit. The pilot got one leg, then another over the cockpit combing and climbed out.
He seemed to be all right as he walked around the aircraft, hands on hips, inspecting the damage. He kicked a buckled wheel as if he were checking out a used car and shook his head. Then he turned to the television crew, gave them a friendly wave, and started in their direction, walking with a slight limp.
Lombardo and Dundee moved in and stood protectively at Kaela's sides. She was more interested in appraising the stranger. He was tall, slightly over six feet, and the broad powerful shoulders of a nightclub bouncer filled out the navy sweatshirt. He wore tan shorts, and his muscular legs looked as if they could propel the husky body through a brick wall. As he came closer, he removed his baseball cap to reveal his steel gray, almost platinum hair. His bronzed face was unlined, except for laugh crinkles around the eyes and mouth. She guessed his age at around forty. Dried blood dripped down one cheek and soaked the bandanna around his forehead. The aircraft landing must have been hair-raising, yet he seemed as if he were coming off a game of tennis.
"Good afternoon," he said, with a wide grin. "Are you folks okay?"
"Yes, we're fine, thank you," Kaela replied warily. "What about you? You're bleeding."
He touched the wound absentmindedly.
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