The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [19]
“I agree. One by the burnt-out light, one to his right, and one near the controls.”
They exchanged another burst of fire with no discernible effect.
“So what do we do now?” asked Mason. “They’re higher out of the water than we are, and that damned solid railing’s protecting them.”
She stared at the cabin cruiser, which was only about fifty feet distant now, then at Mason.
“Dive into the water,” she whispered.
“Are you crazy?” he shot back. “I’ll be a sitting duck!”
“Their spotlight’s gone. They’ll have to lean over the railing to see where you are, and then I’ll have a clear shot at them in the moonlight.”
He looked doubtful. “How good a shot are you with that thing?”
“I hit what I aim at.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He crawled to the front of the boat, then crouched low, ready to dive over the edge.
“Don’t miss!” he said, and then he was in the water.
All three men on the cabin cruiser heard the splash, and as she had expected, they raced to the side of their vessel and leaned over, searching for a sign of him, their silhouettes clear in the moonlight. Before they could spot Mason and riddle him with their bullets, Lara fired half a dozen quick shots. Each man screamed in turn and plunged into Lake Nasser.
“Kevin, get back here!” she yelled.
Mason reached the boat a few seconds later. “Are they dead?” he asked as he pulled himself out of the water.
“Wounded, I think.” Cries of pain and fury came to their ears. “Wounded, definitely.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here!” said Mason. “We can meet the Amenhotep twenty miles upstream!”
“In a minute,” she said, firing a few shots just above the water.
“What was that about?”
“Watch,” said Lara, pointing. All three men began racing to shore as fast as they could force their wounded bodies to swim. She turned back to him. “Now start the motor and get us next to the cabin cruiser.”
“We can’t take their boat!” protested Mason. “The second they get to shore they’re going to tell whoever they report to that we’re on it!”
“We’re not taking it,” replied Lara. “Just do what I tell you.”
He started the motor, and a moment later they were next to the cabin cruiser.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, climbing out of the motorboat and onto the larger vessel.
“What are you going to do?”
“Empty its fuel tanks,” answered Lara. “Why make it easy for their confederates to follow us?”
She walked to the back of the boat, found the tanks, opened them, and jettisoned their precious mixture into the water. She was walking back to where she’d climbed on when a body raced out of the darkness and hurled itself at her.
Even as she fell she was pummeling her attacker, trying every trick she knew to disable him quickly: a thumb in the eye, a heel in the groin, the flat of her hand pushing up against his nose. Nothing seemed to work. He flinched, but he wouldn’t let go of her, and now she saw that he had a knife in his right hand.
As it plunged down toward her, she rolled away from it. It missed her throat by inches, and was delivered with such force that it stuck in the wooden deck. As her opponent tried to pull it out, she got to her feet.
“Who are you?” she asked—or tried to. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.
The man gave another yank, and the blade came free. He stood up to face her, and approached silently. He smiled, his mouth opening grotesquely wide, and she saw that his tongue was gone.
She pulled her guns.
The man’s hand moved in a blur, releasing the knife toward her heart.
Lara’s pistols fired in unison. One bullet deflected the dagger. The other struck the man between the eyes.
A moment later, she was back in the motorboat.
“I heard your guns,” said Kevin. “What happened?”
“Another one of our silent friends,” she said grimly. As before, her voice had returned with the death of the silent assassin. “Let’s go a few miles upstream. There’s no sense being stationary targets.”
Mason turned the motorboat around, heading to the south. “By the way,” he said, “I saw all three men make it to shore.”
“You sound disapproving.”
“You should have