One of the men aimed his rifle at Austin, who was an easy target, but his companion pushed the barrel down. He undipped a hand grenade from his belt, tossed it lightly in the air a few times like a baseball pitcher warming up, then as Austin passed, the man pulled the pin, holding down on the lever. Austin's eyes glanced from the grenade and into the merciless face of the man who had stabbed him. His nose was a bloody pulp and streams of blood had caked on his cheeks. He must have been in terrible pain, but the face broadened into a wide grin as he leisurely lofted the grenade into Austin's boat. Then he and the other man ducked behind an outcropping of rocks and covered their ears.

The arcing grenade clunked into the boat, landing practically at

Austin's feet. Austin wrung the last bit of torque out of the engine. The boat planed at a sharp angle, and the grenade rolled down the deck until it lodged against the narrow transom.

The boat burst through the arch into the open water. Choosing be- tween the devil and the deep blue sea, Austin instinctively chose the latter: A part of his brain made the choice between being blown to bits instantaneously and freezing to death in a few minutes. He launched his body off the boat.

He plunged into the frigid water, and, a second later, heard the muffled thud of the grenade, then the fuel tanks erupted in a sec- ondary explosion. Austin stayed under as long as he could and sur- faced under a rainfall of wood splinters. The boat was gone, and he dove again to avoid the burning fuel that floated on the water's sur- face. When he came up a second time, he was numb with cold, but the survival instinct burned in his chest. He started to swim in the di- rection of land, but he had taken only a few more strokes before his joints felt as if someone had poured liquid oxygen into them.

Over the wave-tops, he caught a blurred glimpse of a boat speed- ing his way: His pursuers were no doubt coming to finish off the job. A gurgled laugh escaped from his throat. By the time they ar- rived, he'd be nothing but a giant Slurpee.

NUMA 4 - White Death

13

SECONDS BEFORE HE slipped below the surface, however, Austin's one-way trip to Davey Jones's locker was cut short. A hand reached over the side of the launch and grabbed him by the hair. His teeth clacked like a pair of castanets, and his scalp felt as if it were being pulled out by the roots. Then other hands were grabbing him by the armpits and collar, and he was hauled from the sea, sputter- ing and coughing, like a kitten in a well.