Текст книги "Atlantis Found"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

The commander of the patrol boat had cut his speed and was drifting to a stop, since his gunners seemed to be enjoying close-up target practice. His satisfaction was premature, while Pitt's timing couldn't have been more perfect. The commander missed Pitt's intent until it was too late. Before he could steer his patrol boat out of the way, the Grand Banks had suddenly jerked forward, her engines pounding at full rpms.

There came a grinding sound of twisted and tortured fiberglass and wood. The Grand Banks' bow sliced through the starboard hull of the patrol boat and punched through to the keel. The patrol boat canted over on her port side, the crew grabbing at any solid object to keep from being pitched overboard, and began to settle almost immediately.

Pitt hauled himself to his feet, threw the gear lever into reverse, and backed the Grand Banks out of the gash in the hull of the patrol boat, allowing a rush of water to flood and gurgle into the cavity. For a moment, the patrol boat struggled back to an even keel, but then the black waters flowed over her deck and she slipped away, her searchlight still glaring as it plunged to the floor of the fjord, leaving her crew struggling to stay afloat in the frigid waters.

"Al," Pitt said in a conversational tone. "Check the forward compartment."

Giordino disappeared through a hatch and returned in seconds. "We're sucking in water like a giant douche bag. Another five minutes and we'll join our friends in the water, even faster if you don't stop this tub."

"Who said anything about going forward?" Pitt's eyes locked on the direction computer. The distance to shore and the mouth of the ravine was only fifty yards, but it was an impossible span for a fast-sinking boat. Trying to move ahead would only escalate the flood of water pouring in through the shattered bow. His mind raced with a strange clarity, as it always did during crisis, considering any and every option. He sent the Grand Banks barreling through the water in reverse, which lowered the stern and raised the bow. The flooding problem temporarily solved, he warned the others. "Go out on deck and brace yourselves for the shock when we strike the rocks."

"On deck?" Pat asked numbly.

"In case the boat rolls over when we ground, you're better off out in the open where you can jump in the water."

None too soon, Giordino herded the two females outside and made them sit down on the deck, backs against the cabin while reaching out and clutching the railing He sat in the middle with both strong arms encircling their waists. Pat was frozen in pure fright, but Megan, looking into Giordino's unperturbed face, took courage from it. He and the man at the helm had brought them this far. It was utterly incomprehensible to her that they wouldn't make good on their word and take her safely home.

The Grand Banks was settling lower from the water coming through the damaged hull below the waterline aft of the bow. The mouth of the ravine was very close now. Black heaps of rock that Pitt and Giordino had waded past, before commencing their underwater journey to the shipyard earlier that night, rose from the blackness, ominous and beckoning. Pitt did his best to dodge around the largest of the rocks, barely distinguishing their shapes, as they were outlined by the white foam of the fjord's two-foot waves that slapped against them.

And then one of the propellers struck with a loud metallic smack and sheared off, sending the engine racing out of control. More rocks swirled by Then came a heavier blow and the boat shuddered but kept going several more feet, before the port side of the transom crunched into a rock that smashed the yielding wood to pieces. As though a dam had burst, a gush of water flooded across the rear open deck, pulling down the stern. The next shock came with bone-jarring impact, as the boat struck hard on and split down the keel, the wooden-planked hull tearing itself to pieces. But then the terrible crunching and grinding sounds ceased as the battered Grand Banks finally came to a stop, with only ten feet separating her ruptured stern from the edge of the rocky shoreline.

Pitt snatched up the little directional computer and rushed out the bridge door. "Everybody ashore who's going ashore," he shouted. He snatched up Megan under one arm and smiled at her. "Sorry about this, young lady, but we can't hang around to find a ladder." Then he slid over the railing and lowered himself and Megan into the frigid water, his feet touching bottom in four feet. He knew Pat and Giordino were right behind him, as he struggled over the rocky bottom and slimecovered rocks toward dry land.

As soon as his feet cleared the water, he released Megan and checked his directional computer to make absolutely certain they had the right ravine. They did. The Skycar was only minutes away.

"You're hurt," said Pat, seeing the dark stream of blood on Pitt's hand under the light of the stars and falling crescent moon. "You've got a nasty gash."

"A glass cut," he said simply.

She inserted a hand under her red coveralls, ripped off her bra, and began using it to wrap Pitt's hand to stem the flow of blood. "Now, there's a bandage I've never seen before," he murmured with a grin.

"Under the circumstances," she said, tying the ends tightly in a knot, "it's the best I can do."

"Who's complaining?" He gave her a hug and then turned to the shadow that was Giordino. "All present and accounted for?"

Giordino had Megan by the hand. "Adrenaline still pumping."

"Then come on," said Pitt. "Our private plane awaits."

To Sandecker and Agent Little, the wait for the next contact from Pitt and Giordino seemed interminable. The fire had died to a few smoldering embers, and the admiral seemed to have no interest in rekindling it. He puffed on one of his big cigars, covering the ceiling with a haze of blue smoke. Both he and Little passed the time sitting spellbound, listening to the tales told by Admiral Hozafel, tales he had never told anyone in more than fifty-six years.

"You were saying, Admiral," said Sandecker, "that the Nazis sent expeditions to explore Antarctica several years before the war."

"Yes, Adolf Hitler was far more creative than people thought. I can't say what inspired him, but he acquired a fascination for Antarctica, primarily to populate and to use as a giant military establishment. He believed that if such a dream came true, his naval and air forces could control all the seas south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Captain Alfred Ritscher was put in command of a large expedition to explore the subcontinent. The Schwabenland, an early German aircraft carrier used to refuel seaplanes flying the Atlantic in the early 1930s, was converted for Antarctic exploration, and left Hamburg in December of 1938 under the pretense of studying the feasibility of setting up a whaling colony. After reaching their destination in the middle of the southern summer, Ritscher sent out aircraft with the newest and best German cameras. His flyers covered over two hundred and fifty thousand square miles and took more than eleven thousand aerial photographs."

"I've heard rumors of such an expedition," said Sandecker, "but until now I never learned the true facts."

"Ritscher returned with a larger expedition a year later, this time with improved aircraft with skis, so they could land on the ice. They also brought along a small zeppelin. This time they covered three hundred and fifty thousand square miles, landing at the South Pole and dropping flags with the swastika emblem every thirty miles as markers for their claim of Nazi territory."

"Did they discover anything of unusual interest?" asked Little.

"Indeed they did," replied Hozafel. "The aerial surveys recorded a number of ice-free areas, frozen lakes whose ice surface was less than four feet thick, and steam vents with signs of vegetation growing nearby. Their photographs also detected what looked like bits and pieces of roads under the ice."

Sandecker sat up straight and gazed at the old German U-boat commander. "The Germans found evidence of a civilization on Antarctica?"

Hozafel nodded. "Teams using motorized snow vehicles found natural ice caves. While exploring them, they stumbled onto the remains of an ancient civilization. This discovery inspired the Nazis to use their engineering and technical ingenuity to build a vast underground base in Antarctica. It was the best-kept secret of the war."

"To my knowledge," said Little, "Allied intelligence sources ignored rumors of a Nazi base in Antarctica. They considered them far-fetched propaganda."

Hozafel gave a crooked smile. "They were meant to. But once, Admiral Donitz nearly gave it away. During a speech to his U-boat commanders, he announced, `The German submarine fleet is proud of having built for the Fuhrer, in another part of the world, a Shangri-la on land, an impregnable fortress.' Fortunately for us, nobody paid attention. The U-boats I commanded earlier in the war were never sent to the Antarctic, so it wasn't until near the end, when I became commander of the U-699, that I learned of the secret base, whose code name was New Berlin."

"How was it built?" inquired Sandecker.

"After the war began, the first step the Nazis took was to send a pair of raiders into the southern waters to sink all hostile shipping and keep the Allies from obtaining any information concerning the project. Until they were eventually sunk by ships of the British navy, the raiders captured or destroyed entire fleets of Allied shipping and all fishing and whaling ships that strayed into the area. Next, an armada of cargo ships, disguised as Allied merchant vessels, and a fleet of huge U-boats, built not for warfare but to transport large cargoes, began moving men, equipment, and supplies to the area of the ancient civilization they thought might be Atlantis."

"Why build a base on ancient ruins?" said Little. "What military purpose did it serve?"

"The dead and lost city itself was not important. It was the vast ice cave they found under a field of ice that led from the city. The cave traveled twenty-five miles, before ending at a geothermal lake that covered a hundred and ten square miles. Scientists, engineers, construction teams, and every arm of the military– army, air force, navy– and, of course, a large contingent of SS to maintain security and oversee the operation, landed and began an immense excavation project. They also imported a large army of slave labor, mostly captured Russians from Siberia, who had built up a resistance to cold climates."

"What happened to the Russian prisoners after the base was completed?" asked Little, suspecting the answer.

Hozafel's face turned grim. "The Nazis could never allow them to be released and reveal Germany's best-kept secret. They were either worked to death or executed."

Sandecker studied the smoke spiraling from his cigar soberly. "So thousands of Russians lie under the ice, unknown and forgotten."

"Life was cheap to the Nazis," said Hozafel. "The sacrifice to build a fortress to launch the Fourth Reich was well worth the price to them."

"The Fourth Empire," Sandecker said darkly. "The last Nazi bastion and their final attempt at world domination."

"The Germans area very obstinate race."

"Did you see this base?" asked Little.

Again, Hozafel nodded. "After leaving Bergen, Captain Harger and the U-2015, followed by my crew in the U-699, sailed across the Atlantic without surfacing, to a deserted port in Patagonia."

"Where you off-loaded your passengers and treasures," added Sandecker.

"You're familiar with the operation?"

"Only the basics, not the details."

"Then you couldn't know that only the passengers and medical specimens went ashore. The art treasures, hoards of gold and other valuables, as well as the sacred Nazi relics, remained on board the U-2015 and U-699. Captain Harger and I then cast off for the base in Antarctica. After rendezvousing with a supply ship and refueling, we continued the voyage, arriving at our destination in early June of 1945. The product of German engineering was a marvel to behold. A pilot came out and took the helm of the U-2015. We followed in her wake and were led into a large cavern that was invisible from a quarter of a mile at sea. A large dock facility carved out of ice, capable of handling several submarines and large cargo vessels, greeted our amazed eyes. Captain Harger and I were ordered to moor behind a military transport that was unloading disassembled aircraft-"

"They flew aircraft from the base?" Little interrupted.

"The very latest in German aviation technology. Junkers 287 jet bombers converted to transports, fitted with skis, and specially modified for subarctic conditions. The slave labor had cut a large hangar in the ice, while heavy construction equipment had smoothed a mile-long runway. Over five years, an entire mountain of ice was hollowed out to form a small city supporting five thousand construction workers and slaves."

"Wouldn't the ice inside the caverns and tunnels begin to melt from the heat generated by that many men and their equipment?" asked Little.

"German scientists had developed a chemical coating that could be sprayed on the ice walls that insulated and prevented them from melting. The heat inside the complex was maintained at a constant sixty degrees Fahrenheit."

"If the war was over," Sandecker put to Hozafel, "what useful purpose could the base serve?"

"The plan, as I understood it, was for the remaining elite Nazis of the old regime to operate secretly from the base, infiltrate into South America, and buy great tracts of land and many technical and manufacturing corporations. They also invested heavily in the new Germany and in the Asian countries, using the gold from their old national treasury, some of the looted treasures that were sold in America, and counterfeit American currency printed with genuine U.S. Treasury printing plates that were obtained by the Russians and captured by the Germans. Finances were not a problem to launch the Fourth Reich."

"How long did you remain at the base?" asked Little.

"Two months. Then I took my U-boat and crew and sailed to the Rio de Plata River and surrendered to the local authorities. An officer of the Argentine Navy came on board and directed me to continue toward the Mar de Plata naval base. I gave the order, my last one as an officer in the Kriegsmarine before turning over a completely empty U-boat."

"How long after the war ended did this take place?"

"A week short of four months."

"Then what happened?"

"My crew and I were detained until British and American intelligence agents arrived and interrogated us. We were questioned for six solid weeks before we were finally released and allowed to return home."

"You and the crew, I assume, told Allied intelligence nothing."

Hozafel smiled. "We had three weeks during the voyage from Antarctica to Argentina to rehearse our stories. They were a bit melodramatic perhaps, but none of us broke and the interrogation teams learned nothing. They were highly skeptical. But who could blame them? A German naval vessel vanishes for four months and then turns up, its commander claiming that he believed that any radio contact stating that Germany had surrendered was an Allied scheme to make him reveal his position? Not a plausible story, but one they could not break." He paused and stared at the dying fire. "The U-699 was then turned over to the United States Navy and towed to their base at Norfolk, Virginia, where it was dismantled down to the last bolt and then scrapped."

"And the U-2015?" Sandecker probed.

"I don't know. I never heard what happened to her and never saw Harger again."

"You might be interested in knowing," said Sandecker, pleased, "that the U-2015 was sunk only a few days ago by a U.S. nuclear sub in the Antarctic."

Hozafel's eyes narrowed. "I've heard stories of German U-boat activity in the southern polar seas long after the war, but found no substance to them."

"Because many of the highly advanced XXI and XXII class of U-boats are still listed as missing," said Little. "We strongly suspect that a fleet of them was preserved by Nazi leadership for smuggling purposes during the years since the war."

"I would have to admit you're probably correct."

Sandecker was about to speak when the phone rang again. He engaged the speaker, almost afraid of what he might hear. "Yes?"

"Just to confirm," came Pitt's voice. "The pizza is on your doorstep and the delivery boy is on his way back to the store through heavy rush-hour traffic."

"Thank you for calling," said Sandecker. There was no sense of relief in his voice.

"I hope you call again when you get the urge for pizza."

"I prefer calzone." Sandecker closed the connection. "Well," he said wearily, "they reached the aircraft and are in the air."

"Then they're home free," said Little, suddenly buoyant.

Sandecker shook his head dejectedly. "When Dirk mentioned rush-hour traffic, he meant they were under attack by security force aircraft. I fear they have escaped the sharks only to encounter the barracuda."

Under its automatic guidance system, the Moller Skycar ascended into the night and skimmed across the black waters of the fjord, slowly increasing its altitude as it swept over the glacier flowing down from the mountains. If anyone on board thought that once they reached the Skycar, they had lifted off for a peaceful flight back to the NUMA ship waiting off Punta Entrada, they were sadly mistaken.

Not one but four helicopter gunships rose from the deck of the Ulrich Wolf and set a course to intercept the Skycar. One should have been enough, but the Wolfs sent out their entire fleet of security aircraft to stop the fleeing fugitives. There were no fancy formations, no tentative skirmishing– they came on abreast in a well-calculated deployment to cut off the Skycar before it could reach the sanctuary of the mountains.

Purchased by Destiny Enterprises from the Messerschmitt-Bolkow Corporation, the Bo 105LS-7 helicopter was designed and built for the Federal German Army primarily for ground support and paramilitary use. The aircraft chasing the Skycar carried a crew of two, and mounted twin engines that gave it a maximum speed of two hundred and eighty miles an hour. For firepower, it relied on a ventral-mounted, swiveling twenty-millimeter cannon.

Giordino sat in the pilot's seat this trip, with Pitt monitoring the instruments, while the women huddled in the cramped rear passenger seat. In a repeat performance of the incoming flight, there was little for Giordino to do but alter the throttle settings to maximum speed. Every other manipulation was computer-controlled and operated. Next to him, Pitt was studying the pursuing helicopters on the radar screen.

"Why, oh why, can't those big bullies leave us alone?" Giordino moaned.

"Looks like they sent the entire gang," said Pitt, eyeing the blips on the outer edge of the screen, which were closing in on the outline of the Skycar in the center as if it were a magnetic bull's-eye.

"If they have heat-seeking missiles that fly in and through canyons," said Giordino, "they may prove a nuisance."

"I don't think so. Civilian aircraft are rarely capable of carrying military missiles."

"Can we lose them in the mountains?"

"It will be a near thing," Pitt answered. "Their only hope is to take their best shot from half a mile before we're out of range. After that, we can outrun them. Their speed looks to be about thirty miles slower than ours."

Giordino peered through the canopy. "We're coming off the glacier and entering the mountains. Twisting through the canyons should make it awkward for them to get off a clean shot."

"Shouldn't you be concentrating on flying this thing?" said Pat, staring uneasily at the mountains silhouetted in the faint moonlight that were beginning to rise up on both sides of the Skycar. "Rather than chatting among yourselves?"

"How are you two getting on back there?" Pitt asked solicitously.

"This is like riding a roller coaster," said Megan excitedly.

Pat was more aware of the danger and not as enthusiastic as her daughter. "I think I'll keep my eyes closed, thank you."

"We'll be thrown around by turbulence, and the sudden shifts of direction through the mountains, because we'll be running at maximum speed," explained Pitt. "But not to worry. The computer is flying the aircraft."

"How comforting," Pat muttered uneasily.

"The bad guys are coming over the summit at nine o'clock," announced Giordino, warily staring at the glaring lights beamed by the helicopters that lit up the jagged mountain slopes.

The pilots of the assault helicopters played a smart game. They made no attempt to chase the faster Skycar through the hooks and crooks among the ravines that split the mountains. They realized they had one opportunity, and only one, to shoot down the strange-looking aircraft. They gained altitude as one and fired down into the ravine, their twenty-millimeter shells blasting through the dark in trajectories ahead of the Skycar.

Pitt instantly realized the tactic and elbowed Giordino's arm. "Take manual control!" he snapped. "Stop us in midair and back up!"

Giordino obeyed and completed the maneuver almost before the words were out of Pitt's mouth. He switched off the computer control and took command, bringing the Skycar to a gut-wrenching halt that threw them against their safety harnesses, then sending the aircraft back down the ravine in reverse.

"If we attempt to fly through that barrage," said Pitt, "we'll be shot t shreds."

"It's only a matter of seconds before they reposition and aim this way.

"That's the idea. I'm banking on them turning and deflecting their fire behind our path, expecting us to fly into it. But we shoot forward again, forcing them to realign– the same trick we pulled on the patrol boat. If things fall our way, we'll gain enough time to put a mountain between us before they can reconcentrate their fire again."

As they spoke, the gunships broke out of formation to converge their fire. In a few seconds, they had realigned and zeroed in, firing directly at the Skycar. It was the signal for Giordino to send the craft charging up the ravine again. The plan came within a hair of out-and-out success, but the seconds spent in reverse allowed the helicopters to move in closer. There was no concentrated barrage this time. The pilots reacted swiftly and began firing wildly at the rapidly fleeing Skycar.

Shells ripped into the vertical fins of the tail assembly. The landing wheels were shot off and the upper part of the canopy suddenly shattered and flew off into the darkness, allowing a rush of cold air to flood into the cockpit. The murderous but inaccurate fire sprayed all around the craft, but mercifully the engines remained unscathed. Unable to evade the salvo by twisting the Skycar obliquely– since the sides of the ravine were no more than fifty feet from the widest part of the aircraft– Giordino jerked it up and down instead.

The twenty-millimeter shells that missed chewed into the steep cliffs and threw up geysers of rocky fragments. Like a cat chased by a pack of dogs, Giordino hurled the Skycar up the canyon in a frenzied series of undulating maneuvers. Another two hundred yards, then a hundred, and suddenly, Giordino threw the aircraft into a sharp ninety-degree bank, skirting around a protruding rock-bound slope that blocked off the storm of shell fire.

By the time the Destiny Enterprises' gunships had reached the promontory and rounded it, the Skycar had vanished deep into the blackness of the mountains.