"Wait!" he said.
Zavala lowered the gun and smiled as he studied the figures. He was looking at the mummified bodies of two men, propped up on metal stands. They stood in a natural position, arms hanging down by their sides. Their skin was as dark as leather and stretched tightly against their skulls. The eye sockets were empty, but the faces were remarkably well preserved. Austin and Zavala moved in for a closer look.
Zavala said, "I don't think these guys are the Blues Brothers."
"I don't think they're brothers at all. Judging from their clothing, I'd say they come from different eras."
One man was dressed in a heavy shirt and leggings of coarse ma- terial. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders. The taller man had short blond hair and wore a pro-World War II leather coat, not unlike the ones Austin and Zavala were wearing. Hanging above the mummies was a large, ragged-edged piece of aluminum. The word Nietzsche was printed on it.
Next to the mummies was a glass display case like those found in museums. Inside the case were a Leica 35mm still camera and sev- eral lenses, a Zeiss movie camera, charts of the northern hemisphere and a leather-bound book. Austin opened the case and leafed through the pages of the book. It was filled with entries in German, stopping in 1935. He stuffed the book into his pocket. He was examining a dis- play of Eskimo harpoons and knives, when Zavala called him over.
"Kurt. You've got to see this."
Zavala had wandered over to the long ebony chest that rested on a waist-high platform. On top of the chest was a horn that looked as if it had been made from an elephant's tusk. The instrument was studded with gems and banded in gold. Austin carefully removed the horn and handed it to Zavala, who marveled at the detail of the bat- tle scenes carved into the ivory.
Austin opened the chest and pushed back the lid. Lying on pur- ple velvet inside the chest was a sword in its scabbard. He lifted the leather scabbard from the chest and inspected the gold-clad hilt and hand guard. Set into the heavy triangular pommel was a huge ruby. The elaborate hand guard was etched with flowers. He mused at the incongruity of the beautiful decoration on a weapon with such deadly potential.
He hefted the two-edged sword, feeling the perfect balance, then gingerly drew the weapon from the scabbard. An electric thrill seemed to run through his arm. Could this be Durendal, the fabled weapon that Roland swung against the Saracens? The blade was chipped here and there. A picture flitted through his mind of Roland banging the sword against a stone so that it wouldn't fall into the hands of the enemy.
Zavala whistled. "That thing must be worth a fortune." Austin thought about all the time and money Balthazar Aguirrez had expended in his search for the object in his hand. "It's worth a lot more than that," he said.
He removed his coat and buckled the scabbard around his waist. He took a few steps as an experiment and found that the scabbard slapped against his leg. The thick leather belt hindered access to his revolver holster as well. He tried another position, slipping the scab- bard belt over his shoulder so that the sword hung down by his left side. Then he got back into his coat.
"Planning to do some fencing?" Zavala said. "Maybe. You must admit it beats your army knife." "My knife has a corkscrew," Zavala reminded him. "What about the overgrown bugle?"
"We'd better put it back. I don't want to advertise the fact that I've absconded with the toothpick under my coat."
They carefully replaced the horn the way it was found and moved to the other side of the room, where a map of the world was spread out on the worktable. Austin bent over the map and saw that coastal areas on all the continents were blocked out in red pen. Noted next to each red section was a date and a listing of various species offish. A large star marked the lake site where they had boarded the airship. He drew his finger from the star along a pencil line due east into the North Atlantic. The notation above the line was that day's date.
He straightened and said, "We've got to stop this ship before it gets to the Atlantic. This isn't a test run."
"Fine with me. I might point out that this thing is almost a thou- sand feet long and full of heavily armed thugs who might have other ideas."
"We don't have to take over the whole ship, just the control cabin.'
"Why didn't you say so? It's as good as done."
"Think you can fly this old gasbag?"
"Can't be that hard," Zavala said. "You hit the throttle and point the nose where you want to go."
Despite the casual reply, Austin never doubted Zavala's words. His partner had hundreds of hours under his belt flying practically every aircraft built. Austin tried to picture where they were in the zeppelin. He guessed that they were about midway along the length of the great airship. If they kept moving forward and down, they would come to the control cabin.
They left the room and its strange museum display and followed a maze of passageways totally unlike those they had encountered when they first came aboard. Their surroundings were newer and more functional. They came to a set of stairs leading down. Austin thought they had come to the control cabin, but he changed his mind when his nose picked up a whiff of brine and fish. He was reminded uncomfortably of his first breath inside the Oceanus fish nursery in the Faroe Islands.
He hesitated at the top of the stairs, drew his Bowen, and slowly descended into the blackness below. His ears picked up the sound of motors and bubbling aerators, further convincing him that his fish- nursery theory was correct. He was about halfway down the stairs, when the lights went on and he saw that he had more than biofish to contend with.
Dr. Barker stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him, a cheerful smile on his thin face. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.
"Hello, Mr. Austin," Barker said. "We've been expecting you.
Won't you join us?"
Any inclination to refuse Barker's offer was tempered by the sight of the stone-faced guards who surrounded the man, and the assault rifle muzzles pointed up the stairwell. The touch of a finger on even a single trigger would be enough to reduce Austin and Zavala to their basic molecules. Even more persuasive was the expression on the face of Barker's scarfaced henchman, who had tried on several occa- sions to kill Austin. His liver-colored lips were stretched in a wide grin that told Austin he was still the top target in the man's sights.
"I would be a fool to refuse such a warm invitation," Austin said, as he descended the rest of the way.
"Now drop your guns and kick them over/' Barker said. Austin and Zavala did as they were told. The guards picked the weapons up. One man came over and frisked Zavala. Scarface stepped up to Austin and ran his hands roughly down the front of the leather coat.
"I'm going to enjoy watching you die," he growled.
Durendal seemed to glow red hot against Austin's ribs. "I know a dentist who could do wonders for your teeth," he said.
Scarface stopped his search and grabbed Austin's lapel in a chok- ing hold, only to back off at an order from Barker.
"That's no way to treat our guests," Barker said. Turning to Joe, he said, "You're Mr. Zavala, I presume?"
Zavala's mouth turned up slightly at the ends, and the softness of his dark brown eyes couldn't disguise the contempt in his voice. "And you're Dr. Barker, the mad scientist, I presume. Kurt has told me a lot about you."
"All good, I'm sure," Barker said. He seemed amused as he glanced back to Austin. "Are you gentlemen on your way to a cos- tume ball?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. If you don't mind, we'll be on our way/ Austin said.
"Don't run off so soon. You just got here."
"If you insist. We'd like to lower our hands, if you don't mind." "Go right ahead, but don't give my men an excuse to kill you on the spot."