"Few men deserved to die more," Pitt said, catching his breath while massaging a growing knot on his head.
Boudicca turned her attention away from her dead father as though he didn't exist. "I should thank you, Mr. Pitt, for handing me Dorsett Consolidated Mining Limited on a silver platter."
"I'm touched by your sorrow."
She smiled boredly. "You did me a favor."
"To the adoring daughter go the spoils. What about Maeve and Deirdre? They're each entitled to a third of the business."
"Deirdre will receive her share," Boudicca said matter-of-factly. "Maeve, if she is still alive, will get nothing. Daddy had already cut her out of the business."
"And the twins?"
She shrugged. "Little boys have accidents every day."
"I guess it isn't in you to be a loving aunt."
Pitt went taut from the bleak prospects. In a few minutes the eruption would occur. He wondered whether he had the strength left to fight another Dorsett. He remembered his surprise when Boudicca had lifted and crushed his body against the wall on her yacht at Kunghit Island. His biceps still ached from the memory of her grip. According to Sandecker, the acoustic wave would strike the island in minutes, followed by the eruption of the volcanoes. If he had to die, he might as well go out fighting. Somehow being beaten to pulp by a woman didn't seem as frightening as being cremated by molten lava. What of Maeve and her boys? He could not bring himself to believe harm had come to them, not with Giordino present. They had to be warned of the coming cataclysm if there was still any chance they could escape the island alive.
Deep inside him he knew he was no match for Boudicca, but he had to act while he had the slight advantage of surprise. The thought was still in his mind when he sprinted forward, head down, across the room, crashing shoulder first into Boudicca's stomach. Boudicca was caught off guard, but it made little difference, almost no difference at all. She took the full force of the blow, grunted from the sudden shock, and although she reeled back a few steps, she remained standing. Before Pitt could recover his own balance, she clutched him with both arms under his chest, swung around in a half circle and threw him against a bookcase, his back shattering the glass doors. Incredibly, he managed somehow to remain erect on wobbly legs instead of crashing to the floor.
Pitt gasped in agony. His whole body felt like every' bone was broken. He fought off the pain and charged again, catching Boudicca with a bruising uppercut with his fist that drew blood. It was a blow that should have knocked any woman unconscious for a week, but Boudicca simply wiped away the blood streaming from her mouth with the back of one hand and smiled horribly. She doubled her fists and moved toward Pitt, crouched in a boxer's stance. Hardly correct posture for a lady, Pitt thought.
He stepped in, ducked under a savage right-hand slash and hit her again with the last of his remaining strength, He felt his fist drive home against flesh and bone, and then he was pounded by a tremendous blow that caught him in the chest. Pitt thought his heart had been mashed to pulp. He couldn't believe any woman could hit so hard. He had hammered her with a punch that had more than enough momentum to break her jaw, yet she still smiled through a bleeding mouth and repaid him with a driving backhand that drove him into the stone fireplace, forcing all the breath out of his lungs. He fell and lay there grotesquely for several moments, engulfed in pain, As though in a fog, he pushed himself to his knees, then came to his feet and stood swaying, gathering himself for one final move.
Boudicca stepped in and brutally caught Pitt in the rib cage with her elbow. He could hear the sharp snap of one, maybe two ribs cracking, and felt the stabbing pain in his chest as he crumpled to his hands and knees. He stared dumbly at the design in the carpet and wanted to hold onto the floor forever.
Perhaps he was dead and this was all there was to it, a floral design in a carpet.
Despairingly, he realized he could go no further. He groped for the fireplace poker, but his vision was too blurred and his movements too uncoordinated for him to find and grasp it in his hands. Vaguely, he saw Boudicca lean down, take him by one leg and hurl him crazily across the floor, where he collided with the open door. Then she walked over and picked him up by the collar with one hand and smashed him a hard blow in the head just above the eye. Pitt lay there, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, swimming in pain, sensing but not really feeling the blood flowing from a gash above his left eye.
Like a cat toying with a mouse, Boudicca would soon tire of the game and kill him. Dazedly, almost miraculously, drawing on a strength he didn't know he possessed, Pitt somehow struggled slowly to his feet for what he was certain would be the last time.
Boudicca stood there beside the body of her father, smirking with anticipation. Complete mastery was etched in her face. "Time for you to join my father," she said. Her tone was deep, icy and compelling.
"There's a nauseating thought for you." Pitt's voice came thick and slurred.
Then Pitt saw the malice slowly fade in Boudicca's face and felt a hand gently ease him aside as Giordino entered the Dorsett family study.
He stared at Boudicca contemptuously and said, "This fancy maggot is mine."
At that moment Maeve appeared in the doorway, clutching a pair of blond-haired little boys by the hands, one on either side of her. She looked from Pitt's bleeding face to Boudicca to her father's body on the floor. "What happened to Daddy?"
"He caught a sore throat," muttered Pitt.
"Sorry I'm late," said Giordino calmly. "A couple of servants proved overly protective. They locked themselves in a room with the boys. It took me a while to kick in the door." He didn't explain what he did with the servants. He handed Pitt the nine-millimeter automatic taken from John Merchant. "If she wins, shoot her."
"With pleasure," Pitt said, his eyes devoid of sympathy.
Gone was any display of confidence in Boudicca's eyes. Gone too was any anticipation of merely hurting her opponent. This time she was fighting for her life, and she was going to use every dirty street-fighting trick she'd been taught by her father. This was to be no civilized boxing or karate match.
She moved wolflike to position herself to deliver a killing blow, mindful of the gun in Pitt's hand.
"So you came back from the dead too," she hissed.
"You never left my dreams," Giordino said, puckering his lips and sending her a kiss.
"A pity you survived only to die in my house--"
A mistake. Boudicca wasted the half-second with unnecessary talk. Giordino was on her like a cattle stampede, legs bent, feet extending as they came in contact with Boudicca's chest. The impact doubled her over with a gasp of agony, but incredibly, she somehow retained her stance and clamped her hands around Giordino's wrists. She hurled herself backward over the desk, pulling him with her until she was lying, back against the floor, with Giordino face-down on the desktop above her, seemingly defenseless with his arms stretched out and locked in front of him.
Boudicca looked up into Giordino's face. The evil grin came back on her lips as she held her victim helpless in a steel grip. She increased the pressure and bent his wrists with the intention of breaking them with her Amazon strength. It was a shrewd move. She could render Giordino disabled while shielding herself with his body until she could retrieve a revolver Arthur Dorsett kept loaded inside a bottom desk drawer.
Pitt, waiting for a signal from his friend to shoot, could not line up the automatic on Boudicca under the desk. Barely conscious, it was all he could do to keep from collapsing, his vision still unfocused from the blow to the forehead. Maeve was huddling against him now, her arms clasped around her sons, shielding their eyes from the brutal scene.
Giordino seemed to lie there immobile, as if accepting defeat without fighting back, while Boudicca kept bending his wrists slowly backward. Her silk robe had fallen away from her shoulders, and Maeve, who stared in awe at those massive shoulders and bulging muscles, having never seen her older sister unclothed, was stunned at the sight. Then her gaz
e drifted to the body of her father sprawled on the carpet. There was no sadness in her eyes, only shock at his unexpected death.
Then slowly, as if he'd been conserving his strength, Giordino pulled his wrists and hands upward as if curling a set of weights. Incomprehension followed on the heels of shock in Boudicca's face. Then came disbelief, and her body quivered as she exerted every trace of strength to stop the relentless force.
Suddenly, she could grip his wrists no more, and her hold was broken. She immediately went for Giordino's eyes, but he had expected the move and brushed her hands aside. Before Boudicca could recover, Giordino was across the desk and falling on her chest, his legs straddling her body, pressing her arms to the floor. Held immobile by strength she had never expected, Boudicca thrashed in frantic madness to escape. Desperately, she tried to reach the desk drawer containing the revolver, but Giordino's knees kept her arms effectively pinned against her sides.
Giordino flexed his arm muscles, and then his hands were around her throat. "Like father, like daughter," he snarled. "Join him in hell."
Boudicca realized with sickening certainty that there would be no release, no mercy. She was effectively imprisoned. Her body convulsed in terror as Giordino's massive hands squeezed the life from her. She tried to scream but only uttered a squawking cry. The crushing grip never relaxed as her face contorted, the eyes bulged and the skin began turning blue. Normally warm with a humorous smile, Giordino's face remained expressionless as he squeezed ever more tightly.
The agonized drama lasted until Boudicca's body jerked and stiffened, the strength drained out of her and she went limp. Without slackening his hold around her throat, Giordino pulled the giant woman off the floor and draped her body across the top of the desk.
Maeve watched in morbid fascination and shock as Giordino tore the silk robe from Boudicca's body.
Then she screamed and turned away, sickened at the sight.
"You called it, partner," said Pitt, his thoughts struggling to adjust fully to what he beheld.
Giordino made a slight tilt of his head, his eyes cold and remote. "I knew the minute she socked me in the jaw on the yacht."
"We've got to leave. The whole island is about to go up in smoke and cinders."
"Come again?" Giordino asked dumbly.
"I'll draw you a picture later." Pitt looked at Maeve. "What have you got for transportation around the house?"
"A garage on the side of the house holds a pair of minicars Daddy uses-used for driving between the mines."
Pitt swept one of the boys up in his arms. "Which one are you?"
Frightened of the blood streaming down Pitt's face, the youngster mumbled, "Michael." He pointed to his brother, who was now held by Giordino. "He's Sean."
"Ever flown in a helicopter, Michael?"
"No, but I always wanted to."
"Wishing will make it so," Pitt laughed.
As Maeve hurried from the study, she turned and took one last look at her father and Boudicca, whom she always thought of as her sister, an older sibling who remained distant and seldom displayed anything but animosity, but a sister nonetheless. Her father had kept the secret well, enduring the shame and hiding it from the world. It sickened her to discover after all these years that Boudicca was a man.
They found Dorsett's island vehicles, compact models of a car built in Australia called a Holden, in a garage adjoining the manor. The cars had been customized by having all the doors removed for easy entry and exit and were painted a bright shade of yellow. Pitt was eternally thankful to the late Arthur Dorsett for leaving the key in the ignition of the first car in line. Quickly, they all piled in, Pitt and Giordino in the front, Maeve and her boys in the back.
The engine turned over, and Pitt shoved the floor shift into first gear. He pressed the accelerator pedal as he released the clutch, and the car leaped forward.
Giordino leaped out at the archway and opened the gate. They had hardly shot onto the road when they passed a four-wheel-drive open van filled with security men traveling in the other direction.
Pitt thought, this would have to happen now. Somebody must have given the alarm. Then reality entered his mind when he realized it was the changing of the guard. The men bound and posed inside the archway office were about to be relieved in more ways than one.
"Everybody wave and smile," directed Pitt. "Make it look like we're all one big happy family."
The uniformed driver of the van slowed and stared curiously at the occupants of the Holden, then nodded and saluted, not sure he recognized anyone but assuming they were probably guests of the Dorsett family. The van was stopping at the archway as Pitt poured on the power' and raced the Holden toward the dock stretching out into the lagoon.
"They bought it," said Giordino.
Pitt smiled. "Only for the sixty seconds it takes them to figure out that the night-shift guards aren't dozing out of boredom."
He swerved off the main road serving the two mines' and headed toward the lagoon. They had a straight shot at the dock area now. No cars or trucks stood between them and the yacht. Pitt didn't take the time to look at his watch, but he knew they had less than four or five minutes before Sandecker's predicted cataclysm.
"They're coming after us," Maeve called out grimly,
Pitt didn't have to look in the rearview mirror to confirm, nor be told their run for freedom was in jeopardy because of the guards' quick reaction in taking up the chase. The only question running through his mind was whether he and Giordino could get the helicopter airborne before the guards came within range and shot them out of the sky.
Giordino pointed through the windshield at their only obstacle, the guard standing outside the security office, watching their rapid approach. "What about him?"
Pitt returned Merchant's automatic pistol to Giordino. "Take this and shoot him if I don't scare him to death."
"If you don't what--?"
Giordino got no further. Pitt hit the stoutly built wooden dock at better than 120 kilometers per hour, then jammed his foot on the brake pedal, sending the car into a long skid aimed directly toward the security office. The startled guard, unsure which way to jump, froze for an instant and then leaped off the side of the dock into the water to escape being crushed against the front grill of the car.
"Neatly done," Giordino said admiringly, as Pitt straightened out and braked sharply beside the yacht's gangway.
"Quickly!" Pitt shouted. "Al, run to the helicopter, remove the tiedown ropes and start the engine.
Maeve, you take your boys and wait out of sight in the salon. It will be safer there if the guards arrive before we can lift off. Wait until you see the rotor blades begin to turn on the aircraft. Then make a run for it."
"Where will you be?" asked Giordino, helping Maeve lift the boys out of the car and sending them dashing up the gangway.
"Casting off the mooring lines to keep boarders off the boat."
Pitt was sweating by the time he pulled the yacht's heavy mooring ropes from their bollards and heaved them over the side. He took one final look at the road leading to the Dorsett manor house. The driver of the van had misjudged his turn off the main road and skidded the vehicle crosswise into a muddy field. Precious seconds were lost by the security men before they regained the road toward the lagoon. Then, in almost the exact same instant, the helicopter's engine coughed into life followed by the crack of a gunshot from inside the yacht.
He sprinted up the gangway, fear exploding inside him, hating himself with the taste of venom for sending Maeve and her boys on board the boat without investigating. He reached for the nine millimeter, but then remembered he had given it to Giordino. He ran across the deck, muttered, "Please, God!" tore open the door to the salon and ran inside.
His mind reeled at the shock of hearing Maeve plead, "No, Deirdre, no, please, not them too!"
Pin's eyes took in the terrible scene. Maeve on the floor, her back against a bookcase, her boys clutched in her arms, both sobbing in fright. A blood-
red stain was spreading across her blouse from a small hole in her stomach at the navel.
Deirdre stood in the center of the salon, holding a small automatic pistol aimed at the twin boys, her face and bare arms like polished ivory. Dressed in an Emanuel Ungaro that enhanced her beauty, her eyes were cold and her lips pressed tightly together in a thin line. She stared at Pitt with an expression that would have frozen alcohol. When she spoke, Deirdre's voice took on a peculiarly deranged quality.
"I knew you didn't die," she said slowly.
"You're madder than your malignant father and degenerate brother," Pitt said coldly.
"I knew you'd come back to destroy my family."
Pitt moved slowly until his body shielded Maeve and the boys. "Call it a crusade to eradicate disease.
The Dorsetts make the Borgias look like apprentice amateurs," he said, stalling for time as he inched closer. "I killed your father. Did you know that?"
She nodded slowly, her gun hand white and as firm as marble. "The servants Maeve and your friend locked in' a closet knew I was sleeping on the boat and called me. Now you will die as my father died, but not before I've finished with Maeve."
Pitt turned slowly. "Maeve is already dead," he lied.
Deirdre leaned sideways and tried to examine her sister around Pitt's body. "Then you can watch as I shoot her precious twins."
"No!" Maeve cried out from behind Pitt. . . "Not my babies!"
Deirdre was beyond all reason as she lifted the gun and stepped around Pitt for a clear shot at Maeve and her sons.
White rage overcame any shred of common sense as Pitt leaped, hurling himself toward Deirdre. He came out fast, saw the muzzle of the automatic pointing at his chest. He did not fool himself into thinking he could make it. The distance separating them was too far to bridge in time. At two meters, Deirdre couldn't miss.
Pitt hardly felt the impact from the two bullets as they struck and penetrated into his flesh. There was enough loathing and malice inside him to deaden any pain, forestall any abrupt shock. He pounded Deirdre off her feet with a crushing impact that distorted her delicate features into an expression of abhorrent agony. It was like running into a sapling tree. Her back bowed as she toppled backward over a coffee table, pressed downward by Pitt's crushing weight. There was a horrible sound like a dried branch snapping as her spine fractured in three places.