The Storm - Cussler Clive (книги без сокращений .TXT) 📗

Kurt spotted the row of yellow drums. Only a dozen of perhaps sixty remained.

He pointed, and the two of them moved that way. As they closed in, someone began to shout at them in Arabic.

Kurt turned and saw the bearded man named Sabah standing by the row of trucks. Kurt recognized some of the words, something about lazy workers.

Sabah pointed and shouted again and waved his hands in earnest. He seemed to be indicating an idle forklift.

Kurt raised a hand in acknowledgment and began walking toward it.

“I think he wants us to drive it.”

Joe followed him. “Do you know how to drive one of these things?”

“I’ve seen it done once or twice,” Kurt said. “How hard could it be?”

Joe cringed but followed Kurt to the gray-and-orange forklift. He stood by as Kurt climbed on the four-wheeled machine and tried to familiarize himself with the controls.

Sabah began shouting again.

“You better at least start the engine,” Joe whispered.

Kurt found the key and twisted it, the motor rumbled to life.

“Climb on,” he said.

Joe scrambled up onto the side of the forklift and held fast something like a fireman on the ladder trucks of old.

Kurt found the clutch and the gearshift. The rig had three gears: low, high and reverse. Kurt pressed the clutch down, forced the shift into low and added some gas.

Nothing happened.

“We’re not moving,” Joe whispered.

“I realize that.”

Kurt let out the clutch a little more and pressed the accelerator a little harder. The engine revved, the gears meshed and the big machine lurched forward like a driver’s ed car in the hands of a three-time dropout.

“Easy,” Joe said.

“I thought that was easy,” Kurt replied.

Sabah waved impatiently, pointing them toward the stack of yellow drums, each of which sat on its own pallet.

Kurt turned that way. Up ahead one of the other forklifts was raising a pallet that held one of the yellow drums. As it lifted the load, a second workman lashed it to the apron with a metal cable. Apparently no one wanted to spill the contents of these barrels.

The forklift reversed and headed off with the worker still hanging on to the front.

“That’s your job,” Kurt said.

“Great.”

“You’d better find us a cable.”

Joe discovered one hooked to the forklift’s roof guard. He disconnected it and hopped down to the desert floor.

As Joe edged toward the yellow drums, Kurt struggled to guide the big machine. He lined up and moved forward. He grabbed the fork control and went to lower the forks, but they moved opposite to what he remembered. The forks came up, threatening to puncture the drum.

He slammed on the brake, and the forklift stopped short.

As he lowered the fork, Kurt caught sight of Joe. His eyes were wide. Kurt couldn’t really blame him. When the forks were at the correct height and angle, Kurt inched the rig forward and picked up the pallet.

Joe stepped up and lashed the drum tight and gave Kurt the thumbs-up.

With a great degree of caution, Kurt backed up and turned. Going forward once again, he found the rig far better balanced with Joe and the yellow drum weighing down the nose.

He moved slowly toward the line of trucks, following in the tracks of the other forklift.

There were five trucks in all. They were flatbeds with treated canvas tarps stretched over the top of metal ribs. It looked like the lead truck was filled and being buttoned up. The others were still being loaded.

Sabah pointed toward the last truck in the line, and Kurt moved toward it. He lined up with the rear bumper and raised the forks. When it was even with the bed of the truck, Joe unlashed the drum and eased it forward, sliding the entire pallet onto a set of rollers on the bed of the truck.

Moving it like that, he slid it into place and lashed it down like the other barrels. With the job done, Joe climbed back onto the side of the forklift.

“You realize this could be considered aiding and abetting the enemy,” he said as Kurt turned the forklift back toward the staging area.

“We can leave this off the report,” Kurt said. “A simple omission.”

“Great idea. It could happen to anyone.”

“Exactly,” Kurt said. “When we load the final barrel, you stay in the truck bed. I’ll park this thing and join you when no one’s looking.”

It sounded like a good plan and it seemed to be working. All the way up until they were almost ready to put it into action.

As they waited to grab the last barrel, Jinn and several of his men came out of the tunnel.

Sabah held up a hand like a traffic cop, and all activity stopped as he went to talk with his master.

Kurt cut the engine, hoping to overhear.

Another group of men joined Jinn. The young woman Kurt suspected to be the real Leilani was with them.

“You’re bringing her with us?” Sabah asked.

“I am,” Jinn said. “This complex is no longer secure.”

“I’ll contact Xhou,” Sabah said. “The Chinese are treacherous, but they always prefer to save face. That is why he sent Mustafa. He will redouble his efforts and release more funds. He will not be a problem until the sting of this failure has gone away. And that will be long enough for us to gain full control.”

“I’m not worried about the Chinese,” Jinn said. “That American was right. His government will move aggressively. They no longer care about borders. We’re not safe here.”

“We shall see,” Sabah said.

“I need a new headquarters,” Jinn insisted, “one they will not suspect. And I must do more to ensure our plan goes into effect, efforts I cannot make from here.”

He pointed to the woman. “Keep her out of the way until the loading is done. Then put her in the third plane, away from the men. I don’t want them near her.”

“She should be guarded,” Sabah said.

“Her will is broken,” Jinn said. “She will soon do as I demand, but if you must have her watched, send two guards, no more. And warn them, Sabah, if they touch her, I will stake them to the ground and set them on fire.”

Sabah nodded. He picked two men and they took Leilani toward one of the waiting transports. As she was dragged away, Kurt and Joe exchanged glances.

Kurt started the engine again and turned in silence toward the last of the yellow drums. He picked it up deftly, an old hand by now. Joe secured it and came back aboard the forklift.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Joe said.

“Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“Wouldn’t if I could,” Joe replied. “Do you want some help?”

“I’d love some,” Kurt said. “But someone’s got to figure out where these drums are going and warn whoever they’re meant for. This way, we’re not putting all our eggs in one basket.”

They’d reached the truck. Kurt grabbed the lift lever and began to raise the drum.

“As soon as you can get to civilization, contact Dirk. We have to let Paul and Gamay know they have a mole in their midst.”

Joe nodded. “Once you grab that girl, get out of the hornet’s nest. Don’t take on more than you can chew.”

The drum had reached an even level with the truck bed and the rollers. “Hornet’s nest? I thought we established that this was a lion’s den?”

“Lions don’t fly,” Joe said. “Once you’re up in the air, it’s a hornet’s nest.”

“Now you’re getting the hang of this.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, friends who’d bailed each other out of countless scrapes. Splitting up went against every instinct in their hearts. Fight together, survive together, they’d often said. But in this case it would mean abandoning a young woman to a terrible fate or cutting in half their chances to alert the world and their friends of pending danger. The stakes were too high for that.

“You sure about this?” Joe asked.

“You take the low road and I’ll take the high road,” Kurt said, “and I’ll be in civilization before you.”