Текст книги "Flood Tide"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 35 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Directing the articulated joints of the Newtsuit, he leaned over and used the manipulator pincers to pick up a short length of pipe that was lying on the deck. Then he swung the pipe to ward off the deadly arms of the submersible. It was almost a laughable gesture. Qin Shang guided his claws toward Pitt from two sides. Almost as if he was snatching candy from a baby, he seized the pipe and tore it from the Newtsuit's pincers. If spectators could have seen the fight through the murk, it would have looked like a ballet between two huge animals in slow motion. All movement at that depth was hindered by the surrounding water pressure.

Then Pitt felt the Newtsuit come to an abrupt halt as he backed it against the forward bulkhead of the Princess Dou Wart's superstructure. Now there was no room to escape the onslaught. The uneven fight had only lasted eight or nine minutes. Pitt could see the satanic grin on Qin Shang's face as his sadistic opponent closed in for the kill.

Then, unexpectedly, without warning, a vague shape came gliding silently out of the gloom like a great incarnate vulture. Stretched prone inside a submersible with the configuration of a small airplane with stubby wings and a tail assembly, Giordino angled the Sappho TV from above and dropped behind the Sea Lotus. With grim concentration he operated the controls to a viselike talon that protruded from beneath the craft. Clutched in the talon was a small round ball less than three inches in diameter that was attached to a small suction device. Completely oblivious, Qin Shang's attention was focused on murdering Pitt. Then Giordino pressed the ball and suction device against the pressure hull of the Sea Lotus until it adhered. After that he tilted the Sappho TVs bow sharply upward and banked away, quickly disappearing into the watery void.

Twenty seconds later a sharp thump sounded through the water. At first Qin Shang was mystified as he felt the Sea Lotus shudder. Too late he realized that Pitt's brave defiance against overwhelming odds was a diversion for an attack from another source. And then he watched in growing horror as a spiderweb of tiny fractures spread across the upper wall of the pressure chamber. Suddenly water burst inside as if shot from a small cannon. The pressure chamber maintained its integrity and did not implode, but the incoming flood spelled its doom.

Qin Shang froze in cold fright as the water rose higher and higher, rapidly filling the small interior of the submersible. He frantically switched on the pumps to drain the ballast tanks and hit the lever to drop the heavy weights beneath the keel. The Sea Lotus sluggishly ascended for several feet and then hung there as the flooding water neutralized its buoyancy. Then it slowly began to fall, settling into the bottom and throwing up a thin cloud of silt.

Now in mindless panic, Qin Shang desperately tried to open the outer hatch in an insane attempt to reach the surface 430 feet above, an impossible gesture because of the immense water pressure outside.

Pitt moved the Newtsuit through the cloud of silt and gazed through the submersible's viewing window, remembering the sight of the bodies strewn in the depths of Orion Lake as the Chinese arch-criminal pulled himself up into a rapidly compressing air pocket for one last breath before the icy water of the lake filled his nose and open, screaming mouth. The screams were soon choked off until the only sound coming from the Sea Lotus was the gurgling of escaping bubbles. Then, as if set on a timer, the halogen lights blinked out, throwing the submersible into total darkness.

Pitt was sweating heavily inside the Newtsuit. He stood on the bottom, staring with grim satisfaction at the underwater tomb of Qin Shang. The billionaire shipping magnate, who had dominated and exploited and slain thousands of innocent people, would spend eternity in the deep next to the empty treasure ship that had obsessed most of his waking life. It was a fitting end, Pitt thought without the slightest sense of pity.

He glanced up as Giordino reappeared in the Sappho IV. “You took your sweet time. I might have been killed.”

Giordino hovered the sub until their faces behind the protective transparent shields were no more than two feet apart. “I can't tell you how much I enjoyed the show,” he laughed. “If you could have only seen yourself in that Pillsbury Doughboy suit playing Errol Flynn with a pipe as a sword.”

“Next time, you do the hard part.”

“Qin Shang?” asked Giordino.

Pitt pointed a pincer at the inert submersible. “Where he belongs.”

“How are you fixed for air?”

“Down to twenty minutes.”

“No time to waste. Stand still until I can connect up my cable to the lift ring on top of your helmet. Then I'll tow you to the surface.”

“Not just yet,” said Pitt. “I've got a little task to perform.”

He activated the little thrusters on the Newtsuit and moved up the sides of the superstructure until he came to the wheel-house. The bulkheads had been torched away for entry and for the removal of the treasures packed in the passageways and former passenger staterooms. He quickly studied a diagram of the ship's interior that he had taped to the globular view plate and began propelling the pressurized suit past the captain's cabin next to the wheelhouse to the next cabin beyond. Amazingly, the furnishings were still relatively intact and jumbled about the small compartment. After only a few minutes' search, Pitt found what he was looking for and removed a small pouch from the utility belt on the Newtsuit and filled it with objects from one corner of the cabin.

“You'd better get a move on,” came Giordmo's worried voice.

“On my way,” Pitt complied.

With three minutes to spare, the Sappho TV and the Newtsuit surfaced one behind the other and were lifted on board the Ocean Retriever. As the technicians worked to remove Pitt from the big dive suit, he looked across the water at Qin Shang's Jade Adventurer. A boarding party from the Coast Guard cutter was routinely examining the ship's papers before ordering it out of American waters.

When he was finally free of the ponderous suit, Pitt leaned wearily over the railing and gazed down into the water as Julia came up behind him and ran her arms around his waist, clasping her hands across his stomach. “I was worried about you,” she said softly.

“I put my trust in Al and Rudi, knowing they would never fail.”

“Is Qin Shang dead?” she asked, certain of the answer.

He held her head between his hands and looked down into her gray eyes. “He's only a bad memory it pays to forget.”

She pulled back, her face suddenly disturbed. “When word leaks out that you killed him, you're going to be in big trouble with the government.”

Despite the exhaustion, Pitt threw back his head and laughed. “Dearheart, I'm always in big trouble with the government.”

Dirk Pitt 14 – Flood Tide

EPILOGUE

Dirk Pitt 14 – Flood Tide

FRITZ

Dirk Pitt 14 – Flood Tide

July 31, 2000 Washington, D.C.

PRESIDENT DEAN COOPER WALLACE WORKED LATE HOURS IN his office in his secret living quarters at Fort McNair and thought nothing of inconveniencing his staff and visitors for meetings in the middle of the night. He did not rise from behind his desk as Commissioner Duncan Monroe, Admiral Sandecker and Peter Harper were escorted into the office by his newly appointed chief of staff, Harold Pecorelli. Nor did he invite his visitors to sit down.

Wallace was not a happy man.

The news media was crucifying him for his relations with Qin Shang, now accused of conspiracy for the destruction and deaths along the Mississippi River. To make matters worse, the Chinese leaders had thrown Qin Shang on their sacrificial altar and denied any association with him. The head of Qin Shang Maritime Limited had disappeared, and even the Chinese government was at a loss as to his whereabouts. The Jade Adventurer was still at sea on its way back to China. Throughout the voyage from Lake Michigan, Captain Chen Jiang had maintained radio silence, not wanting to be the one to announce Qin Shang's death at the hands of the Americans.

At the same time, Wallace took great delight in pretending

that he played a key role in the discovery and salvage of the Chinese art treasures. Negotiations were already under way for their return to mainland China. Photojournalists and television news cameras had a field day recording the incredible display of artifacts as they were removed from the original teak packing crates and prepared for preservation. The bones of Peking man by themselves caused an international sensation.

Advised that it was not in his best interests to interfere, Wallace remained quiet as the INS and FBI, working hand in hand, rounded up nearly three hundred Chinese gang leaders and members around the country and arraigned them for trial. Thousands of illegal immigrants working in virtual slavery were taken into custody for later deportation back to China. The flow of illegal aliens coming in from Asia may not have been plugged completely, but the smuggling operations were cut back drastically.

The President's closest advisers, having observed the recklessness of the previous chief executive in conducting cov-erups, strongly advised Wallace simply to admit that mistakes were made and make no excuses. Any errors of judgment were made for what he thought was the good of the country. Damage control was already in high gear to sidestep any criticism encountered along his way for election to a second term.

“You stepped far beyond the bounds of your office,” Wallace said, directing his wrath toward Monroe. “And you did it without briefing anyone in my office regarding your intent.”

“Sir, I did nothing but the job I was appointed to do,” Duncan replied resolutely.

“China is a magnificent stage for the future of the American economy, and you jeopardized the close relationship I have worked to build between our two countries. The future of the United States lies in a universal world-trading system, and China is a vital step toward that goal.”

“But not, Mr. President,” said Sandecker with his usual testiness, “if it means flooding the country with illegal immigrants.”

“You people are not foreign-policy experts, nor are you economists,” Wallace said coldly. “Your business, Duncan, is to properly conduct immigration procedures. And yours, Admiral, is to conduct ocean-science projects. Neither of you were appointed to run amok.”

Sandecker shrugged and then dropped his bomb. “I admit NUMA scientists and engineers are not in the business of executing criminals, but—”

“What was that you said?” Wallace demanded. “What are you insinuating?”

With feigned innocence Sandecker replied. “No one briefed you?”

“Briefed me on what?”

“The unfortunate accident that took the life of Qin Shang.”

“He's dead?” Wallace gasped.

Sandecker nodded solemnly. “Yes, he suffered a temporary fit of insanity and attacked my special projects director on the wreck of the Princess Dou Wan, who in self-defense was forced to kill Qin Shang.”

Wallace was stunned. “Do you have any idea of what you've done?”

“If ever a monster deserved to be terminated,” Sandecker came back caustically, “it was Qin Shang. And I might add that I'm proud it was my people who were responsible.”

Before the President could censure the admiral, Peter Harper jumped into the debate. “I received a report from the CIA revealing that certain members of the Chinese government were themselves plotting to assassinate Qin Shang. Their plan was to appropriate Qin Shang Maritime Limited and merge it with their government-owned shipping line, China Marine. There is no reason to believe they will curtail illegal smuggling operations, but without Qin Shang they won't be able to operate as efficiently or on the same scale. This is all to our advantage.”

“You must realize, gentlemen,” said Pecorelli diplomatically, “the President has policies to protect and interests to defend no matter how unpopular they might seem.”

Sandecker gave Pecorelli a stern look. “It's no longer a secret, Harold, that Qin Shang acted as a middleman between the White House and illegal Chinese interests.”

“Purely a misinformed judgment call,” Pecorelli said, shrugging indifferently.

Sandecker turned to President Wallace. “Rather than bring Duncan and me in here to chew our asses, we should be awarded medals for getting rid of a scourge to national security and laying one of the greatest treasures of all time in your lap.” “You will certainly score a vast number of points with the Chinese when you return it to them,” added Monroe.

“Yes, yes, an amazing feat,” Wallace acknowledged unre-sponsively. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket and dabbed his upper lip, and then blandly continued to defend his decisions. “You have to look at the international situation through my eyes. I am currently balancing a hundred different trade deals with China worth billions of dollars to the American economy and hundreds of thousands of jobs for American workers.”

“But why should American taxpayers help build China into a global power?” asked Harper.

“If nothing else,” said Monroe, changing the subject, "allow the INS more powers to halt illegal immigration. At last estimate over six million illegals are in the United States. We've established solid programs for reducing the flow over the border with Mexico, but the smuggling of Chinese across our shorelines is far more sophisticated and calls for stronger

measures."

“Maybe it's better to issue them all amnesty,” suggested Wallace, “and be done with it.”

“I don't think you realize the seriousness of the situation for our grandchildren, Mr. President,” said Monroe gravely. “By the year twenty fifty the American population will stand at over three hundred sixty million. Fifty years after that, with the present birth rate and flow of new immigrants, legal or illegal, the count will be half a billion. From there, the numbers become downright horrifying.”

“Short of a devastating war or plague,” argued Wallace, “nothing can stand in the way of the coming worldwide population explosion. As long as we have the capacity to feed ourselves, I fail to see the consequences.”

“Have you seen the predictions by CIA analysts and geographers?” asked Sandecker.

Wallace shook his head. “I'm not sure what predictions you're talking about.”

“The outlook for the future forecasts a breakup of the United States as we know it.”

“Ridiculous.”

“The Chinese in time will control the West Coast from San Francisco to Alaska and the Hispanics will govern the lands east from Los Angeles to Houston.”

“It's happening before our eyes,” said Harper. "Enough

Chinese have poured into British Columbia alone to take over its politics."

“I can't conceive of a divided America,” said Wallace.

Sandecker stared at him for a moment. “No nation or civilization lasts forever.”

The President's new chief of staff, who replaced Morton Laird, cleared his throat. “I'm sorry for interrupting, Mr. President, but you're late for the next appointment.”

Wallace shrugged. “That's it, then. I'm sorry I can't carry this discussion further, gentlemen. However, since you do not agree with my positions on policy, I have no choice but to ask for your resignations.”

Sandecker's eyes hardened. “You'll not get mine, Mr. President. I know where too many bodies are buried, literally. And if you fire me, I'll throw so much dirt on the White House your advisers will still be digging out by the next election.”

“My sentiments go with the admiral's,” said Monroe. “The INS and I have come too far together to hand it over to some bureaucratic stooge. My agents and I have worked closely together for the last six years to see light at the end of the tunnel. No, Mr. President, I'm sorry, but I won't resign without a fight either.”

Strangely, in the light of such mutinous opposition, Wallace did not become angry. He looked at both men and recognized their grim determination. He realized they were no ordinary officials afraid of their jobs, but dedicated patriots. They were not men he wished to engage in what would prove a messy fight, certainly not now when he needed all the good press and TV coverage he could get to weather the storm. Then he smiled disarmingly.

“It's a free country, gentlemen. You are entitled to express your dissatisfaction even to the president of the nation. I take back my request for your resignations and shall stand back and allow you to run your respective agencies with a free hand. But I warn you, if either of you cause me any political embarrassment in the future, you'll both be out on the street without a moment's hesitation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very,” said Sandecker.

“Quite clear,” Monroe conceded.

“Thank you for coming and clearing the air,” said Wallace. “I wish I could say I enjoyed the company, but it wouldn't be true.”

Sandecker paused in the doorway. “One question, Mr. President.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“The Chinese historical treasures we recovered out of Lake Michigan. When do you plan to turn them over to the Chinese?”

“After I've milked every political compensation out of them I can get.” Then Wallace smiled self-righteously. “But they won't receive any of the artifacts until they're displayed at the National Gallery of Art and then taken on the road throughout America and placed for a time on exhibit in every major city. I owe that much to the people.”

“Thank you, sir. My compliments on your astute judgment.”

“You see,” said Wallace, grinning, “I'm not the ogre you thought I was.”

After Sandecker, Monroe and Harper departed through the tunnel back to the White House, Wallace told his chief of staff he wanted a few moments alone. He sat there lost in his thoughts, wondering how history would treat him. If only he was clairvoyant and could read the future. No doubt a talent every president since Washington wished he'd possessed. Finally he sighed and called in Pecorelli.

“Who am I scheduled to see now?”

“Your speech writers would like a few minutes of your time to put the finishing touches on your speech to the Hispanic American College Association.”

“Yes, that is an important speech,” said the President, his thoughts coming back on line. “It's an excellent opportunity to announce my new plan for a cultural-arts agency.”

It was business as usual in the executive office.

How nice to see you again,“ said Katie, standing in the open front door. ”Please come in. lan is out on the porch, reading his morning newspaper."

“We can't stay long,” said Julia as she passed into the entry way. “Dirk and I have to be on a plane back to Washington by noon.”

Pitt followed the two women into the house. He carried a small wooden box under one arm. They passed into the kitchen and out onto the porch overlooking the lake. There was a brisk breeze and a good chop on the waves. A sailboat was running with the wind about a mile offshore. Gallagher rose to his feet, his newspaper in one hand.

“Dirk, Julia, thank you for stopping by,” he boomed.

“Let me bring you some tea,” said Katie.

Pitt would have preferred coffee this early in the morning, but he simply smiled and said, “I'd love some.”

“I hope you've come to tell us about the salvage project,” said Gallagher.

Pitt nodded. “The very purpose of our visit.”

Gallagher motioned for them to sit around a picnic table set up on the porch. “Take a load off your feet.”

As they gathered around the table, Pitt placed the box at his feet. After Katie returned with a pot of tea, Pitt and Julia talked about the salvage project and described some of the art treasures they had actually seen because of broken packing crates. Their only omission was any reference to Qin Shang, whom lan and Katie were not aware of anyway. Pitt told of Giordino's discovery of the bones of Peking man.

“Peking man,” Katie repeated slowly. “The Chinese people revere him as an honored ancestor.”

“Are we keeping any of the treasure?” asked Gallagher.

Pitt shook his head. “I don't think so. I've been told that President Wallace intends on turning the entire treasure over to the Chinese people after it has gone on exhibit around the United States. Peking man's bones are already on their way home.”

“Just think, lan,” said Katie, gazing fondly at her husband, “it might have been all ours.”

Gallagher patted her on one knee and gave a hearty laugh. “Where would we have put it? We've got enough Chinese junk sitting around the house to start a museum as it is.”

Katie rolled her eyes and gave Gallagher a hard slap on the shoulder. “You big mick, you love those objects as much as I do.” She turned to Julia. “You have to excuse lan. Once a roughneck always a roughneck.”

“We really should be moving along,” said Julia, reluctant to leave.

Pitt leaned down, picked up the box from the floor and presented it to Katie. “A gift from the Princess Dou Wan that I thought you should have.”

“I hope it's not a piece of the treasure,” she said, surprised. “That would be stealing.”

“Oh, but it belongs to you,” Julia assured her.

Katie slowly, somewhat apprehensively, opened the lid on the box. “I don't understand,” she said, bewildered. “It looks like the bones of some kind of animal.” Then she saw the little golden dragon that was attached to a faded red leather collar, “lan! lan!” she cried in sudden comprehension. “Look, they've brought me Fritz.”

“He's come back to his mistress,” said Gallagher, his eyes beginning to mist.

Tears instantly formed in Katie's eyes as she came around the table and embraced Pitt. “Thank you, thank you. You don't know how much this means to me.”

“If he didn't,” said Julia, gazing at Pitt tenderly, “he does now.”

Gallagher put an arm around his wife's shoulders. “I'll bury him with the others.” He looked at Pitt and Julia. “We have a little cemetery that holds the pets we've owned over the years who've died.”

As they drove away, lan “Hong Kong” Gallagher stood next to Katie, who smiled and smiled and smiled as she waved goodbye. Pitt found himself envying the big Irishman. Gallagher had been right, he had found riches without salvaging the Princess Dou Wan's treasure.

“They're a wonderful couple,” said Julia, waving back.

“It must be nice to grow old with someone you love.”

Julia stared at Pitt, her eyes narrowing in wonder. “I didn't know you were a sentimental guy.”

“I have my dark moments,” he answered, smiling.

She sat back in the seat and stared out the windshield at the passing trees pensively. “I wish we could keep right on going and not fly back to Washington.”

“What's to stop us?”

“Are you mad? I have my job at INS. You have yours at NUMA. Our superiors are waiting for lengthy reports on the treasure recovery and all the other harrowing experiences we've had cutting the flow of illegal immigrants. They'll keep us so busy for the next few weeks, we'll be lucky if we get to see each other for a few hours on Sundays. And Lord only knows what the Justice Department will do to you when they learn you entombed Qin Shang on the wreck of the Princess Dou Wan.”

Pitt said nothing. He took one hand off the wheel, reached in the inside pocket of his jacket and passed two envelopes to Julia.

“What's this?” she asked.

“Two airline tickets to Mexico. I forgot to tell you, we're not going back to Washington.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You get crazier by the minute.”

“Sometimes I scare myself.” Then he grinned. “Don't worry your little head. I cleared it with both Commissioner Monroe and Admiral Sandecker. We have their blessings for a ten-day vacation. They admitted it was the least they could do. The reports can wait. The federal government isn't going anywhere.”

“But 1 didn't bring any proper clothes.”

“I'll buy you an entire new wardrobe.”

“But where are we going in Mexico?” she asked, suddenly becoming excited. “What are we going to do?”

“We,” he said with emphasis, “are going to lie on the beach at Mazatlan, drink margaritas and watch the sunset over the Sea of Cortez.”

“I think I'm going to love that,” she said, nestling against him. He looked down and smiled. “Somehow, I thought you would.”