It was there like a flyspeck on a frosted window. As he watched, the speck grew into a black helicopter. Another mile closer, and he identified it as a McDonnell Douglas Explorer with a twin tail and no rear rotor.

"We have company," he announced. "A helicopter flying in from the northwest. Coming fast and low over the water. Looks like he's carrying air-to-ground missiles."

Gunn came and stood beside Giordino. "A helicopter doesn't have the range to fly here from Cape Town. It must have come from a ship."

"No markings. That's odd."

"Definitely not a South African military aircraft," said Gunn.

"I do not believe they're bearing gifts," said Giordino sarcastically. "Or they would have called and said to expect them."

The sound of the helicopter's turbines and rotor blades soon broke the cold air. The pilot was no daredevil, but very cautious. Flying a safe height above the cliffs, he hovered for at least three minutes while he studied the ledge that once held the tilt-rotor. Then he dropped down slowly, feeling his way through the air currents. The landing skids touched the rocky surface and the rotor blades slowly spun to a stop.

Silence then. Without the wind, the mountain slopes went quiet. After a short time lag, the big fifty-inch sliding cabin door opened and six men in black coveralls dropped to the ground. They looked as if they were carrying enough weapons and firepower to invade a small country.

"Strange-looking rescue party," said Giordino.

Gunn was already on his Globalstar phone, dialing the admiral in Washington. When Sandecker responded, Gunn said simply, "We have armed visitors in an unmarked black helicopter."

"This seems to be my day for putting out brush fires," Sandecker said caustically. "First Pitt and now you." Then his tone betrayed earnest concern. "How long can you hide out?"

"Twenty, maybe thirty, minutes," replied Gunn.

"A U.S. missile frigate is sailing at full speed toward St. Paul Island. The minute their helicopter is within range, I'll request the captain to send it aloft."

"Any idea, Admiral, how long that will be?"

There was a heavy pause, then, "Two hours, hopefully less."

"I know you tried," said Gunn quietly, a patient understanding in his voice, "and we thank you." He knew the admiral's hard sh.e.l.l was about to crack. "Not to worry. Al and I will be back in the office by Monday."

"See that you are," said Sandecker somberly.

"Goodbye, sir."

"Goodbye, Rudi. G.o.d bless. And tell Al I owe him a cigar."

"I will."

"How long?" Giordino asked, seeing the disquieting expression on Gunn's face and expecting the worst.

"Two hours."

"That's just peachy," Giordino grunted. "I wish someone would explain to me how those murdering slime knew we were here."

"Good question. We were part of a select group. No more than five of us knew the location where the Madras pa.s.sengers found the black skull."

"I'm beginning to think they have an international army of finks," said Giordino.

The search party split up. Three of the armed men spread out fifty yards apart and began sweeping their way around the mountain. The other three took off in the opposite direction. It looked evident that they were going to spiral their way up the mountain until they found the tunnel.

"An hour," murmured Gunn. "It will take them the better part of an hour to stumble on the old road."

"More like five minutes," said Giordino, gesturing toward the helicopter that rose in the air. "The pilot will lead his buddies right to our doorstep."

"Think it will do any good to parley?"

Giordino shook his head. "If these guys are tied in with the bunch Dirk and I met in Telluride, they don't shake hands, hug, or give quarter."

"Two unarmed men against six loaded for bear. We need to even the odds."

"Got a plan?" asked Giordino.

"I certainly do."

Giordino gave the little man with the academic, nerdy look a bemused stare. "Is it evil, rotten, and sneaky?"

Gunn nodded, with an impish grin. "All that, and more."

THE helicopter circled the mountain nearly four times before its pilot spotted the ancient road leading to the tunnel. Informing the two search teams, one of which was far around the other side of the mountain, he hovered over the road as a guide. The first team of three men converged on the road and advanced in a line, a good twenty yards apart. It was a cla.s.sic penetration pattern-the first man concentrated on the terrain ahead as the second studied the upper slope of the mountain, while the third trained his concentration on the lower side. The helicopter then moved toward the second team to guide them along the easiest path to the road.

The first team on the road negotiated the landslides and approached the giant rock Gunn and Giordino had pa.s.sed earlier just outside the tunnel entrance. The lead man moved around the rock and found himself standing outside the archway. He turned and shouted to the men behind. "I've reached a tunnel," he said in English. "I'm going in."

"Be wary of an ambush, number one," the second man in line shouted back.

"If they had weapons, they'd have used them by now."

The leader disappeared around the rock. Then two minutes later, the second man did. Out of sight to the others, the third man in line was approaching the rock, when a figure quietly rose up from the rocks where he had been buried. His concentration trained on reaching the tunnel, the searcher did not notice the soft clunk of loose rock or hear the almost silent crunch of footsteps at his back. He never knew what hit him as Gunn swung a large rock with such viciousness it fractured his skull, and he dropped without a sound.

Less than a minute later, the body was completely covered and hidden under a pile of rocks. A quick look to ensure that the helicopter was still out of sight on the other side of the mountain, and Gunn was creeping around the rock. This time, though, he was armed with an a.s.sault rifle, a nine-millimeter automatic pistol, and a combat knife, and protected by a body armor vest. He had also removed the searcher's radio. Gunn's sneaky survival plan was off to a running start.

The lead man of the search team cautiously entered the tunnel, a long flashlight tucked under his armpit, lighting his path. He stepped slowly from the tunnel into the first chamber, crouched in a firing position, and pivoted his body from right to left, swinging his flashlight as he moved. All he saw was the skeleton of the old sailor, the rotting furniture, and the seal hides that hung from one wall.

He relaxed, lowered his gun, and spoke into a radio set that was clamped around his head. "This is Number One. There is n.o.body in the tunnel and cave except the bones of an old seaman who must have been a castaway on the island. Do you read me?"

"I read you, Number One," came the voice of the helicopter pilot, accented by the roar of the engines above and behind him. "You're certain there is no sign of the NUMA agents?"

"Believe me. They're not in here."

"Soon as Numbers Four, Five, and Six reach you, I'll conduct a search of the sea cliffs."

Number One switched off his radio. It was the last act of his life. Giordino sprang from behind the sealskins and rammed one of the ancient obsidian-tipped spears into the man's throat. There was a ghastly coughing, gurgling sound, and then silence, as the searcher crumpled to the floor of the chamber, dead.

Giordino s.n.a.t.c.hed away the a.s.sault rifle almost before the man struck the ground. Quickly, he pulled the body off to the side of the tunnel portal and removed the headset radio, placing it on his own head. Next he wadded up his foul-weather gear into a ball and pressed it against the muzzle of the rifle.

"Number One," shouted a voice from the archway tunnel entrance, "what have you found?"