Sea of Greed

Volke and several others rushed toward them. Kurt couldn’t punch his way through them all. He raced back up the stairs and along the catwalk, but two men appeared on the far end with oversized wrenches in their hands.

Both groups closed in and Kurt leapt over the railing, jumping down between the cylindrical tanks and rushing for the exit.

It was not to be.

Volke jumped from the catwalk and tackled Kurt with a flying leap.

The two men rolled to the ground, got up simultaneously and charged at each other. Grasping Volke’s arm with one hand, Kurt threw an uppercut toward Volke’s jaw. The punch connected but only with a glancing blow as Volke turned his face away.

A brief separation allowed Volke to throw a counterpunch. Kurt ducked but was forced on the defensive as Volke pulled out a hunting knife.

He slashed at Kurt once, cutting through the overalls Kurt had stolen, then lunged forward with a much more dangerous stabbing motion.

Kurt caught Volke’s arm and bent it back, but Volke spun free, turned and forced Kurt to retreat farther.

“Millard,” Volke shouted, “get some more crewmen down here.”

Kurt knew he was trapped, but he also knew that the more men who came to subdue him, the less remained out in the sphere to discover Joe. He planned on prolonging the fight for as long as his body could take it.

Another crewman moved into the maze of tanks. A third came in behind Volke.

Kurt feinted one way, got them moving to intercept him, then dove over a set of cross-feed pipes that led to the next tank. Hitting the ground, he rolled, sprang up and dashed forward, disappearing behind the next row.

Volke moved slowly. There was no need to rush. He had six men working with him surrounding the area.

“Spread out,” Volke said. “Push him toward the back wall.”

Kurt kept quiet, moving from one hiding place to the next. The acoustics of the sphere and the industrial lighting mixed with dark shadows made it easy to hide and change position. But he would run out of room in a moment.

In need of a weapon, he glanced around but saw nothing that could help him.

“Who are you?” Volke called out. “How did you get in here?”

Kurt said nothing.

“Don’t be shy,” Volke said. “Surely you want to boast about how you found us. If ever there’s a time to brag, this is it. You won’t be able to talk much after I’ve cut your throat.”

Kurt moved again but was now coming up on the back end of the sphere, with only one more row of cylinders between him and the wall.

Instead of going back, he climbed up onto one of the tanks and lay flat, squeezing between the first layer of tanks and the second. He began to sweat instantly. Both tanks were hot to the touch, a sure sign that they were overpressurized. The heat wasn’t scalding, but it was close enough to walking on blacktop in the Arizona sun that he didn’t look forward to remaining longer than necessary.

One of Volke’s men walked past him. Another passed by in the next row over. If they would just keep on moving…

The beam of a flashlight passed over Kurt. “Over there,” someone shouted. “Between the tanks.”

Kurt looked up to see a man on the catwalk. He’d been spotted from above.

Without delay, Kurt pushed out from between the tanks and dropped to the floor, where he was instantly surrounded.

One man swung a pipe wrench at Kurt’s head, but Kurt ducked and it clanged noisily off the tank beside him. Kurt kneed the man in the stomach and then clubbed his wrist. The man cried out and dropped the wrench to the floor, pulling back and clutching his hand protectively.

Kurt grasped at the wrench, but someone grabbed him and pulled him back. A second man joined in and Kurt’s arms were soon pinned.

With the two men restraining Kurt, a third crewman rushed forward. “Hold him up,” the new arrival shouted. “I’ll knock him out.”

The captors hoisted Kurt to his feet and a mighty punch was thrown, but it missed Kurt completely and coldcocked one of the crew.

The man fell to the ground like a sack of rice while his partner looked on in shock. His expression changed as Kurt pulled loose, gut punched him and slammed him headfirst into one of the storage tanks.

“Thanks for the assist,” Kurt said to Joe. “But I was keeping them busy so that you could escape.”

“And swim back all on my own?” Joe said. “I prefer the buddy system.”

“That’s not going to help us much now,” Kurt said.

He plucked the oversized pipe wrench off the floor, took a step forward and stopped. Two of the men who’d captured Kurt were out of the fight, but Volke and the rest of the crew had surrounded them. It was now six against two, with Millard and another crewman watching from the catwalk.

“You’ll never get out of here,” Volke said.

“Neither will you,” Kurt replied.

With a quick turn, he raised the heavy wrench and brought it down on one of the cross-feed pipes. It hit with a thunderous stroke, denting the pipe, bending it in the middle. Volke and his men froze in their tracks.

“Don’t!” Millard shouted, his shrill voice echoing around the room. “You’ll kill us all.”