Текст книги "Poseidon's Arrow"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

20

I’M THINKING WE REALLY SHOULDN’T LOLLYGAG TO chat with the authorities,” Giordino said. He tilted his head toward a bullring official who was making his way across the stadium with two security guards.

“Lead on,” Pitt said, and cinched his arm tight around Ann’s waist.

She took a hesitant step with her injured leg, then grasped Pitt’s shoulder for support as a burst of pain bolted through her ankle.

“Just put your weight on the good leg, and we’ll get there,” Pitt said. He easily supported her one-hundred-and-ten-pound frame.

Giordino charged through the crowd like a snowplow, clearing a path for the hobbling duo following close behind. They found the rear exit ramp and hustled out of the stadium, to the crowd’s fading cheers. Unable to draw close, the bullring authorities could only watch in puzzlement as the three Americans jumped into a taxi and roared off into the night.

Ann begged to be taken to the American consulate but was outvoted by the NUMA men, who had already negotiated a supplemental fuel purchase from the taxi driver. As the cab zipped across Tijuana, the exhaustion of the chase caught up with them and the conversation fell silent. Pitt had plenty of questions for Ann, but now was not the time to ask.

She had kept her emotions bottled up since leaving the ship, refusing to allow her fears to overcome her. Now that she was free from Pablo’s death threats and safe in the company of Pitt and Giordino, the fright seeped out. She shivered in the warm night air and fought back her emotions. Pitt gently tucked an arm around her and gave her a light squeeze, which seemed to purge her stressful feelings. Within a few minutes, she had drifted off to sleep.

The drive to the coast took over an hour at legal speeds, pushing the clock to almost ten when they arrived at the small sandy beach. Pitt was relieved to spot the barge’s inflatable sitting where they had left it. He dragged it down to the surf and helped Ann climb aboard. Giordino retrieved the inflatable’s fuel can and passed it to the cabby, who siphoned a few gallons of gas from his car with an old hose he kept in the trunk.

“Gracias, amigo,”Giordino said as he parted with the balance of his poker winnings. Then he hauled the fuel can down to the beach.

Counting his cash windfall, the cabby beamed and shouted, “¡Buen viaje!”

Pitt attached the engine’s fuel line to the gas can and then with Giordino’s assistance shoved the inflatable past the surf line and climbed aboard. The outboard fired up with little trouble, and they were soon racing past the rocky breakwater.

“You sure you can find the Drake?” Ann asked, scanning the black horizon. Her eyes were again alert but tinged with apprehension.

Pitt nodded. “I think Rudi will leave the lights on for us.”

Once clear of the jetty, he turned the inflatable north and followed the coast. After a mile or so, he veered out to sea to retrace their original course. Gazing over his shoulder, he found a bearing, the lights of a lone house high on a hill that lined up vertically with a pale yellow streetlamp near the shoreline. Steering to keep the two lights in alignment, he guided the inflatable offshore until the beacons vanished. They motored on for several minutes in complete darkness, Ann fighting her fears that they would become lost at sea. Just as the waters around them became blackest, a faint glow appeared a few points off the bow. A single white light emerged from the distant sea, gradually morphing into several lights. As they bore closer, they could see they belonged to three vessels grouped together.

The Drakeand the barge were stationed alongside each other, while a larger ship waited nearby. Pitt observed its white-and-orange-banded hull, signifying a U.S. Coast Guard vessel. A pair of lookouts on its deck monitored the inflatable as Pitt eased it alongside the Drakeand killed the engine.

When he saw Ann, a visibly relieved Rudi Gunn leaned over the rail above them. “Thank heavens, you’re safe.”

“Careful, she’s got a bad wheel,” Giordino said. He lifted her to the rail, where Gunn helped her aboard the ship.

“I’ll call for the Edisto’s medic to come aboard,” Gunn said.

Ann shook her head. “All I really need is some ice.”

“Me, too,” Giordino said, pulling himself onto the deck. “In a glass with a shot of Jack Daniel’s.”

Pitt remained in the inflatable, acting as taxi driver to shuttle over the Coast Guard medic. Ann was quickly settled into her cabin with her ankle iced and a dose of painkillers in her stomach. Pitt returned the medic to his ship, tied off the inflatable, and climbed aboard the Drake.

When he met up with Gunn and Giordino on the bridge, Al had already explained their chase through Tijuana.

“ El MatadorPitt, eh?” Gunn smiled.

“I must have some Spanish blood in me.” Pitt sighed and gazed out the bridge window toward the Edisto.

“Nice work, getting the Coast Guard out here, but why aren’t they pursuing the Mexican boat?”

“Absent a lifesaving emergency, they weren’t prepared to encroach on Mexican territorial waters without authorization. They’ve called in the Mexican Navy, who will take the lead.” Gunn took off his glasses and wiped the lenses. “Unfortunately, they don’t seem to have a vessel in the area, so the outlook isn’t good. I thought it best if the Edistostood by until we heard back from you.”

“A prudent call.”

“It seems the thieves were standing by, waiting for us to salvage the Cuttlefish,” Gunn said. “What was in that crate that was so valuable?”

Pitt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a question I’d like an answer for.”

“Whatever it was,” Giordino said, “nobody’s going to be too happy about its demise. Now it’s nothing but a worthless bundle of mashed wires.”

“Speaking of which,” Gunn said, “we replaced the bridge radio with a spare unit from belowdecks. I guess I should let the Edistoknow we can all head back to San Diego now.”

“Rudi, aren’t you forgetting some unfinished business downstairs?” Giordino said, pointing toward the sea.

He looked down his angular nose at Giordino. “Do you think we’ve been sitting around playing tiddlywinks while you were gone?”

He stepped to the rear of the bridge and pointed out the window at the barge. Bathed in the glow of a dim deck light sat the Cuttlefish, supported on a pair of wooden cradles.

“You landed her without us!” Giordino turned to Pitt. “Now, how did we miss that?”

“Guess we were too focused on the Coast Guard cutter. Nice work, Rudi. Did she give you any trouble coming up?”

“None at all. We just ran the sling cables from the submersible to the barge crane and hoisted away. She came up clean as a whistle, but I think you’ll want to take a look at her hull.”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Pitt said.

Gunn gathered some flashlights, and they motored in the inflatable to the bow of the barge. The vessel was ghostly quiet, its pilot asleep in his bunk with the dachshund curled at his feet.

The Cuttlefishstood tall above them. The hull’s sides were clean and dry, and the boat’s chrome sparkled bright under their lights, showing little indication it had been submerged for nearly a week.

Giordino let out a low whistle as they viewed a gaping hole ripped in the base of the hull. “She must have sunk in a heartbeat.”

“I guess the DARPA folks had reason to be suspicious,” Gunn said. “By the looks of it, this was no accident.”

“Our buddies in the cabin cruiser probably attached some explosives to the hull,” Giordino said. “Must have detonated prematurely, before they could lay their hands on the crate.”

“Actually, they planted the explosives inside the boat.” Pitt studied the damage with his flashlight. “The blast marks seem to indicate an internal explosion.”

Gunn put his hand on a serrated section next to the hole; it flared outward. “You’re right. The explosives must have been placed inside the cabin.”

Pitt knelt beneath the opening and shined his flashlight into the dark interior. The remnants of the boat’s galley were visible above him, with black-stained bulkheads and a crater-sized blast hole through the ceiling. Still, the interior damage was less severe than the breach in the hull.

Examining the damage, Pitt noticed a pair of frayed orange wires trailing from the hole. He traced the wires’ path across the galley to an aft corner bulkhead, where they rose through a drilled hole. Squeezing through the blast hole, Pitt climbed into the galley and stepped aft past the cramped dining area to a flight of steps. He followed them up to the wheelhouse, where he stopped and studied the helm. In front of the pilot’s seat, he pulled open a kick panel, which contained a rat’s maze of colored wires that powered the boat’s electronics. He soon found the orange wires. One was spliced to a power lead, while the other ran up to the throttle housing. A minute later, he found its terminus—a hidden toggle switch mounted beneath the helm panel.

Giordino and Gunn had walked around the Cuttlefishand climbed up its stern. Finding Pitt standing at the helm, lost in thought, Gunn asked what he had discovered.

“A slight twist in my theory,” Pitt said. “It wasn’t the Mexicans who blew up the Cuttlefish. It was Heiland himself.”

21

STEPPING INTO THE DRAKE’S MESS JUST AFTER SUNUP, Pitt was surprised to find Ann seated across from Gunn, finishing her breakfast. Grabbing a cup of coffee, he headed to their table.

“Good morning. Mind if I join you?”

Gunn waved him to a seat next to Ann. “Always interrupting my fun.”

Pitt looked to Ann. “Sleep well?”

“Just fine,” she said, softly averting his gaze.

Pitt smiled at her sudden sheepishness. Returning from the barge the night before, he had gone straight to his cabin to go to bed. He’d answered a light knock at his door to find Ann in the doorway, an expectant look on her face. She’d worn a loose-fitting ship’s bathrobe that failed to conceal the straps of her lingerie. Barefoot, she stood on her good leg, relieving the pressure on her wrapped and swollen left ankle.

“I was hoping you would stop by to say good night,” she whispered.

Pitt quelled an uneasy desire as he gazed into her needy eyes. “Negligence on my part,” he said with a smile.

He bent down and plucked her off her feet, holding her tight. She buried her head in his neck as he carried her down the narrow corridor and into her cabin. Setting her gently on the bunk, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Good night, my dear,” he said softly. Before she could respond, he’d backed out of her cabin and closed the door behind him.

“Your cook is excellent,” Ann said to Gunn, now pushing away her empty plate while trying to change the subject.

“Food is a key element of shipboard morale, particularly on long voyages. We insist on highly trained chefs for all our vessels.” Gunn took a bite of toast and turned to Pitt. “Ann was just telling me how she put her college springboard experience to good use by diving from the bridge wing last evening.”

“I’d give her a 9.0.” Pitt winked. “Though I might raise my marks if she would dive into what this expedition was really all about.”

Ann gave a nervous cough into her napkin. “What do you mean?”

“We were searching for much more than just a missing boat, weren’t we?”

“It was important that we find the boat, and any equipment that was still aboard.”

“We succeeded on both counts,” Pitt said, “so how about you tell us something about that equipment?”

“I can’t disclose that.”

Pitt’s eyes narrowed. “Aside from nearly getting yourself killed, you also placed this ship and crew in danger. I think we’re entitled to some answers.”

Ann looked Pitt in the eye for the first time—and realized she couldn’t sidestep the issue. She gazed around the room to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

“As you know, Dr. Heiland’s company was engaged in a high-level research-and-development project for DARPA. His work was in support of a secret Navy submarine program called Sea Arrow. Heiland was specifically involved in the development of an advanced propulsion system. I really can’t tell you more than that except that he was doing some final prototype testing on a breakthrough development when his boat was lost at sea.”

“That was the item in the crate?”

“A scale model,” Ann said. “While there was a suspicion of foul play in the loss of the Cuttlefish, no one anticipated any interference with our search-and-recovery project. I’m truly sorry your crew was placed in danger. It was thought that the fewer people aware of Heiland’s research, the better. I know the Vice President wasn’t happy about keeping you in the dark, but he was forced to go along at the request of Tom Cerny.”

“So who were those guys who tried to steal it?” Gunn asked.

Ann shrugged. “A mystery, at the moment. By their looks, I don’t believe the men were from Mexico, but possibly Central or South America. I’ve already spoken to Washington and been assured we’ll have the Mexican authorities’ assistance in examining the two bodies and tracing the pickup truck.”

“We’ve provided a pretty good description of their boat to the Mexican Navy,” Gunn said.

“They don’t seem like the usual suspects for a defense-related theft,” Pitt noted. “Did you think they had already absconded with Heiland’s magic box?”

“Yes,” Ann said. “When the bodies of Heiland and his assistant were found, we presumed they had been hijacked at sea and the prototype stolen. That’s why I was so shocked to see the crate still secured aboard the Cuttlefish.”

“I guess you have Heiland to thank for that,” Pitt said. He described his discovery of the orange wires and hidden toggle switch. “I’m guessing that Heiland realized he was under attack and blew up his own boat.”

“The two bodies showed severe trauma consistent with a fire or explosion,” Ann said. “We never considered it was of their own doing, but that may need to be reevaluated now.”

“I think Heiland beat them to the punch,” Pitt said. “And, to make matters worse for the bad guys, the Cuttlefishsank in water too deep for conventional diving. They were probably scrambling to locate their own salvage ship when we showed up. So they let us raise it for them.”

Gunn turned to Ann. “Your high diving saved the day.”

“No, it was Dirk and Al who recaptured the crate. Though its destruction saved it from falling into the wrong hands, the loss of the model has magnified some other problems.”

“Namely?” Pitt asked.

“I’ve been told that neither DARPA nor the Navy have any detailed plans or design specs for Heiland’s work. Carl Heiland was a highly respected engineer—a genius, really—and because of that he was given free rein. Over the years he’s made many brilliant modifications in submarine design and torpedo development. As a result, he wasn’t required to submit the usual mountain of documentation demanded by most defense contracts.”

“So no one else knows how to complete the Sea Arrow?” Pitt asked.

“Exactly,” Ann replied with a tight-lipped grimace.

“With Heiland dead and his model destroyed,” Gunn said, “those plans would be extremely valuable.”

“Fowler tells me that is now our top priority.” She looked at her watch and then at Pitt. “The Vice President’s office has arranged a return jet for us to Washington. It leaves San Diego at one o’clock. I’d like to visit Heiland’s headquarters in Del Mar before we go. Could you drive me there on the way to the airport?”

Pitt rose from the table and offered Ann her crutches. “I never fail to heed the call of small children, little old ladies, or pretty girls with wrenched ankles.” He gave a slight bow. “Just show me the way.”

An hour later, they pulled into the headquarters of Heiland Research and Associates. The office occupied a shared building on a rise overlooking the beach town of Del Mar, just north of San Diego. The site offered a clear view of the ocean to the west, as well as Del Mar’s famed racetrack in the valley below. Ann flashed her credentials at the front desk and signed them in.

“Welcome, Miss Bennett,” the receptionist said. “Mrs. Marsdale is expecting you.”

A minute later, a stylish woman with short dark hair entered the lobby and introduced herself as Carl Heiland’s operations manager. As she led them to a nearby conference room, Ann followed awkwardly on her crutches.

“We won’t take much of your time, Mrs. Marsdale,” Ann said. “I’m on the team investigating the death of Mr. Heiland, and I am concerned about securing his working papers related to the Sea Arrowproject.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.” The shock of Heiland’s death still marked her face. “I assume his death was no accident?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Carl and Manfred were just too competent to die in a boating accident. Carl was a safe and prudent man. I know he always had concerns about maintaining the secrecy of his work.”

“We don’t think it was an accident,” Ann said, “but the investigation is still ongoing. We do believe that someone was trying to acquire his test model.”

Marsdale nodded. “The FBI was here a few days ago, and we gave them what we could. But as I told them, this is Dr. Heiland’s business headquarters. We handle the government contracts and related admin support, and that’s about it. The entire firm employs only twelve people.”

“Where is your research facility?” Pitt asked.

“We don’t really have one. There’s a small shop out back, where we employ a few interns for ongoing research topics, but Carl and Manfred seldom worked here. They traveled frequently but actually conducted most of their research in Idaho.”

“Idaho?” Ann asked.

“Yes, there’s a Navy research facility in Bayview. Dr. Heiland has a cabin nearby, where he and Manfred would escape to problem-solve.”

“That would be Manfred Ortega, Dr. Heiland’s assistant?”

“Yes. Carl called him Manny. A brilliant engineer in his own right. The two of them together created magical work. They were the brains of the whole company. I don’t know what we’ll do now.”

There was a long silence as they all realized the deaths of Carl and Manny meant the likely demise of Heiland Research and Associates.

“Did the FBI gather all of the materials here on site?” Ann asked.

“They took all of our admin files—and even our computers, for a time. We had sent the technical files to DARPA headquarters, which was just as well. The FBI agents were like a bull in a china shop, so I didn’t let them in Carl’s office, but they had the run of the rest of the place.”

“Would you mind if I had a look around his office?” Ann said. “I’m sure you can understand the national security ramifications of securing all of his work.”

“Sure. He never left much here, but his office is just down the hall.” Marsdale grabbed some keys from her desk and led them to a corner office. Of modest size, Heiland’s office looked seldom used. Like the man, it was frugal in décor, sporting a few submarine models and a painting of a mahogany rumrunner under sail. The only incongruous item was a stuffed moose head, with an assortment of fishing caps dangling from its antlers, mounted just above the desk.

Marsdale gave a puzzled look when she saw several desk drawers had been left open. “That’s odd.” She suddenly stiffened. “Someone’s been in here and searched his desk. I remember leaving a contract in his in-box for signature and now it’s gone.”

She turned to Ann with a worried expression. “I’m the only one in the building with keys to his office.”

“Were there any other important documents in here?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so. Like I said, he was seldom here for very long.”

She looked at the desk and then glanced up at the moose. “There was a picture of his boat and cabin on his desk—it’s gone, too. And Carl used to hang the keys to his cabin on the moose antler when he was here and they’re also missing.”

“Do you have security cameras in the building?” Pitt asked.

“We do. I’ll contact our security firm immediately.” Her voice cracked in distress. “I’m very sorry.”

“If you don’t mind,” Ann said, “I’d like to call the FBI back in to scour the office. Combined with your security video, that should allow us to develop some potential leads.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever it takes to find out who is behind all this.”

As Ann and Pitt returned to the car, she stopped and stared out at the ocean. “They were here, weren’t they?”

“I’d bet on it,” Pitt said.

“I’ve got a favor to ask.” She turned and locked eyes with him. “Would you mind delaying our return to Washington a day? I’d like to redirect our flight to Idaho. If Marsdale is right, all of Heiland’s plans may be safe in Bayview without us even knowing it.”

“I’m game,” Pitt said. “Fact is, I’ve always been curious to see where all those famous potatoes come from.”