Текст книги "Trojan Odyssey"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

40

The Air Canada jet bumped through a thick cloud whose soft white curves showed the first orange tint from the setting sun. As the plane began its slow descent toward Guadeloupe, Summer gazed through her window and watched the deep, dark blue-purple water below turn to light blue and then turquoise as the aircraft flew over the reefs and lagoons. Sitting next to her in the aisle seat, Dirk studied a chart of the waters around the Isles des Saintes, a group of islands to the south of Guadeloupe.

She stared with growing curiosity as the two main islands of Basse-Terre and Grande-Terre merged together in the shape of a butterfly. Basse-Terre formed the western wing and was blanketed with thickly forested hills and mountains. Surrounded by lush ferns, its rain forest contains some of the Caribbean's highest waterfalls, which flow down from the island's loftiest peak, La Soufriere, a smoldering volcano that rises above forty-eight hundred feet. Both islands, with a total land area the size of Luxembourg, were separated by a narrow channel filled with mangroves called the Riviere Salee.

The eastern wing of the butterfly, Grande-Terre was a contrast to Basse-Terre. The island is mostly dominated by flat terrain and rolling hills, much of which is cultivated in sugarcane, the major source for the three distilleries that produce Guadeloupe's fine rums.

Summer's heart rose in anticipation of enjoying some of the island's many black and white sand beaches that were romantically edged with swaying palms. Deep down, she knew it was probably wishful thinking. Once she and Dirk had finished their survey for Odysseus' lost fleet, Admiral Sandecker would no doubt order them home without allowing a few days of rest and enjoyment. She made up her mind to stay, regardless of the consequences of incurring the admiral's wrath.

The plane made a wide circle that took it over Pointe-a-Pitre, the commercial capital of Guadeloupe. She looked down at the red tile roofs mingled with those of corrugated metal. The pleasant town was embellished by a picturesque square in its center surrounded by outdoor shops and cafes. The narrow streets seemed busy and lively, with people heading home for dinner. Few drove cars. Many of them walked while most rode motorcycles and motor scooters. Lights were already beginning to flicker on in the little houses around the port city. Ships were tied to docks, with little fishing boats coming into harbor after a day's catch.

The pilot settled the plane on the landing approach to Guadeloupe's Pole Caraibes Airport. The landing gear thumped as the wheels dropped and locked, and the wing flaps hummed into a downward position. For a brief instant, the last of the setting sun flashed into the windows before the plane settled onto the runway with the usual bounce, protest of tires and shrill whine of the reverse thrust of the turbines as the plane braked before taxiing to the terminal.

Summer always loved early evenings in the tropics. The offshore breezes usually came up and blew away the worst of the day's heat and humidity. She loved the smell of wet vegetation after a rain and the aroma of the ever-present tropical flowers.

"How's your French?" Dirk asked Summer as they descended the boarding stairs from their aircraft at the Guadeloupe airport.

"About as good as your Swahili," she said, looking radiant in a vibrant flowered skirt and matching blouse. "Why do you ask?"

"Only the tourists speak English. The locals speak French or a French-Creole dialect."

"Since neither of us majored in languages in school, we'll just have to use sign language."

Dirk gave his sister a long look and then laughed. He handed her a small book. "Here's an English-French dictionary. I'll lean on you for any translations."

They walked into the terminal and followed the first passengers off the plane to Health and Immigration. The immigration agent looked up at them before he stamped their passports. "In Guadeloupe for business or pleasure?" he asked in fluent English.

Summer wrinkled her pert nose at Dirk. "Pleasure," she replied, flashing what appeared to be a large diamond ring on her left hand. "We're on our honeymoon."

The agent coolly eyed her breasts, nodded and smiled approvingly as he pounded the stamp on blank passport pages. "Enjoy your stay." He said it in a tone that bordered on the unvirtuous.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Dirk asked, "What is this stuff about our being on a honeymoon? And where did you get that ring?"

"I thought acting as newlyweds was a good cover," she answered. "The ring is glass. It cost me all of eight dollars."

"I hope no one takes a close look at it or they'll think I'm the cheapest husband in the world."

They walked into the luggage area, where they had to wait twenty minutes for their bags to arrive. After loading them onto a cart, they cleared customs and moved into the lobby of the terminal. A small crowd of thirty or so people stood waiting to greet friends and relatives. One little man in a white suit with the medium-dark skin of a Creole held a little sign that read: pitt.

"That's us," said Dirk. "This is Summer and I'm Dirk Pitt."

"Charles Moreau." The little man held out his hand. His eyes were as black as ink and he had a nose that looked sharp enough to fight a duel. He came up to Summer's shoulders in a body that was as slim as a sapling. "Your flight was only ten minutes late. That has to be some kind of record." Then he bowed, took Summer's hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles in true continental fashion. "Admiral Sandecker said you were a handsome couple."

"I assume he also told you we are brother and sister."

"He did. Is there a problem?"

Dirk glanced at Summer, who smiled in mock innocence. "Just wanted to be clear on that point."

Summer and Moreau moved through the exit doors while Dirk followed with the baggage cart. An attractive raven-haired woman wearing the traditional Creole dress – a full vividly colored skirt in a madras plaid of orange and yellow, matching headdress and a white lace blouse with petticoat and scarf draped over one shoulder – walked squarely into Dirk from the side. Wise in the ways of travel, he immediately patted the pocket that held his wallet, but it was still in place.

She stood there, massaging her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. It was my fault."

"Are you hurt?" Dirk asked solicitously.

"Now I know what it feels like to run into a tree." Then she looked up at him and smiled openly. "I'm Simone Raizet. Perhaps I'll see you around town."

"Perhaps," Pitt replied, without offering his name.

The woman nodded at Summer. "You have a handsome and charming man."

"He can be on occasion," Summer said with a trace of sarcasm.

The woman then turned and walked into the terminal.

"What do you make of that?" said Pitt, bemused.

"You can't say she wasn't brazen," muttered Summer.

"Most strange," said Moreau. "She gives the impression she lives here. I was born on this island, and I've never laid eyes on her before."

Summer looked vaguely concerned. "If you ask me, the collision was preplanned."

"I agree," said Dirk. "She was after something. I don't know what. But our encounter didn't look accidental."

Moreau led them across the street to the parking lot and stopped at a BMW 525 sedan. He pushed the security lock on his key ring and opened the trunk. Dirk deposited the luggage and they settled into the seats. Moreau pulled out onto the road leading to Pointe-a-Pitre.

"I've reserved a small suite with two rooms for you at the Canella Beach Hotel, one of our most popular hotels, and one where a young couple on a budget might stay. Admiral Sandecker's instructions stated that you were to keep a low profile during your search for treasure."

"Historical treasure," Summer corrected him.

"He's right," said Dirk. "If word leaked that NUMA was on a treasure hunt, we'd be mobbed."

"And thrown off the islands," added Moreau. "Our government has strict laws protecting our underwater heritage."

"If we're successful," said Summer, "your people will inherit an epoch-making discovery."

"All the more reason to keep your expedition secret."

"Are you an old friend of the admiral?"

"I met James many years ago when I was the Guadeloupe consul in New York. Since I've retired, he hires me on occasion for NUMA business in and around this part of the Caribbean."

Moreau drove through the lush green hills down to the harbor and around the city along the southeast shore of Grande-Terre, until he reached the outskirts of the town of Gosier. Then he took a small dirt road that wound around back to the main thoroughfare.

Summer gazed through her window and admired the houses that sat amid lush, beautifully maintained gardens. "Giving us a tour of the country?"

"A taxicab has been hanging on us rather closely since we left the airport," said Moreau. "I wanted to see if he was following us."

Dirk turned in his seat and peered through the rear window. "The green Ford?"

"The same."

Moreau left the residential section and skirted around a steady stream of buses, tourists on motor scooters and the city's fleet of taxis. The driver of the green Ford taxi struggled to keep up, but was hindered by the slow-moving traffic. Moreau expertly threaded his way around two buses that blocked both sides of the road. He made a sharp right turn onto a narrow street that ran between rows of homes whose quaint architectural style was French Colonial. He made another left-hand turn and then another at the next block until he was on the main road again. The taxi swung over a path beside the road around the buses, gained the lost distance and stuck to Moreau's rear bumper like glue.

"It's interested in us, all right," said Dirk.

"Let us see if I can lose him," said Moreau.

He waited until there was a break in the traffic. Then, instead of turning, he shot straight ahead and darted through the traffic onto the street across the main road. The taxi driver was impeded by the stream of motor scooters, cars and buses a good thirty seconds before he could break through and take up the chase.

Turning a corner and temporarily losing sight of the taxi, Moreau swung into the driveway of a house and parked behind a large oleander bush. A few moments later the green taxi swept past the driveway at high speed and was soon lost in a dust cloud. They remained waiting for a few minutes before Moreau backed out of the driveway and joined the traffic rush again on the main road.

"We've lost him, but I'm afraid it may be only temporary."

"Having missed us," mused Dirk, "he may pull the same trick and wait for us."

"I doubt it," said Summer confidently. "My money says he's still on a wild-goose chase."

"You lose." Dirk laughed, pointing through the windshield toward the green Ford that was parked along the side of the road, its driver talking excitedly over a cell phone. "Pull over next to him, Charles."

Coming up behind the taxi slowly, Moreau suddenly pulled around and stopped inches away. Dirk leaned out the window and knocked on the door of the taxi.

"Are you looking for us?"

The startled driver took one look at Dirk's grinning face, dropped the cell phone, jammed his foot on the accelerator and tore off down the palm-lined road toward the town of Sainte-Anne, his wheels spinning in the gravel of the shoulder until they struck the asphalt and shrieked in protest. Moreau pulled the car over and stopped, watching the taxi disappear in the traffic ahead.

"The lady at the airport and now this," Moreau said quietly. "Who can be interested in a pair of representatives from NUMA on a diving expedition?"

"The word treasureis a powerful aphrodisiac and spreads like an epidemic," said Summer. "Somehow, word of our intent arrived ahead of us."

Dirk stared thoughtfully into the distance at the point in the road where the taxi had vanished. "We'll know for certain tomorrow who's following in our wake when we sail over to Branwyn Island."

"Are you familiar with Branwyn Island?" Summer asked Moreau.

"Enough to know that it's dangerous to go near it," Moreau said quietly. "It used to be called Isle de Rouge, French for red, because of its reddish volcanic soil. The new owner renamed it. I'm told Branwyn was a Celtic goddess known as the Venus of the Northern Seas and the deity of love and beauty. Conversely, among the more superstitious natives it lives up to its reputation as the island of death."

Dirk was enjoying the warm, scented breeze through his open window. "Because of treacherous reefs or heavy surf?"

"No," answered Moreau, braking so two children in colorful dresses could cross the road. "The person who owns the island does not like trespassers."

"According to our computer department's data search," said Summer, "the owner is a woman by the name of Epona Eliade."

"A very mysterious lady. As far as we know she has never set foot on Basse-Terre or Grande-Terre."

Summer brushed her hair that was becoming stringy from the dampness. "Ms. Eliade must have caretakers if she maintains an elegant home on Branwyn Island."

"Satellite photos show an airfield, a few buildings and an odd circle of tall columns and an elegant house," said Moreau. "It's claimed that fishermen or tourists who tried to land on the island were later found dead. They usually washed up at a beach on Basse-Terre many miles away."

"What about police investigations?"

Moreau slowly shook his head as he switched on his headlights in the growing dusk. "They found no evidence of foul play and could never prove the victims had actually set foot on the island."

"Couldn't local forensic experts determine how the victims died?"

Moreau gave a quick laugh. "The bodies were usually examined by a local doctor, or even a dentist, who happened to be available when and where they came ashore. Due to decomposition any results were speculation. Most all were written off as drownings." Then he added, "And yet, rumors circulated that the victims' hearts had been cut out."

"Sounds morbid," muttered Summer.

"More like distorted rumors," said Dirk.

"All the more reason to stay a safe distance offshore."

"Not possible if we intend to do a subbottom survey of the harbor."

"Just keep a sharp eye out," said Moreau. "I'll give you my cell phone number. If you spot trouble, call me immediately. I'll have a police patrol boat on its way within ten minutes."

Moreau continued down the road for another two miles before turning into the driveway leading to the hotel, and stopped at the entrance. A porter hurried out and opened the car door for Summer.

Dirk came around to the rear of the car and opened the trunk so the porter could take their luggage and bags of dive gear into the hotel and up to their suites.

"You're within walking distance of a variety of restaurants, shops and entertainment clubs," said Moreau. "I'll pick you up at nine o'clock tomorrow morning and take you to the dock, where I've chartered a boat for your search. The subbottom profiler, underwater metal detecter and jet probe that Commander Rudi Gunn airfreighted from Florida is on board and ready for operation. I also had a small compressor mounted on the deck to run your excavation dredge and jet probe."

"You were very thorough," Dirk complimented him.

"We're grateful for your help and courtesy," said Summer as he gallantly kissed her hand.

"And thank you for the interesting ride from the airport," added Dirk, shaking Moreau's hand.

"Not entirely of my doing," Moreau said with a little smile. Then his face clouded. "Please be cautious. There is something going on here that is beyond our grasp. I don't want you to end up like the others."

Dirk and Summer stood in the entrance to the hotel lobby and watched Moreau drive through the front gate. "What do you think of all this?" asked Summer.

"I don't have the vaguest idea," Dirk said slowly. "But I'd give my right arm if Dad and Al were here."

41

The reception committee was far different than before when Pitt and Giordino exited the jet. No beautiful congress-woman and no elegant classic car. The plane was surrounded by a uniformed security force from a nearby Army base. The cars involved were one black Lincoln Town Car, a turquoise NUMA Navigator and a white unmarked van.

Rudi Gunn was standing beside the Navigator as Pitt and Giordino dropped down the steps and touched the ground. "I wonder if I'm ever going to see a shower and a steak dinner," moaned Giordino, thinking Sandecker had sent Gunn to transport them to NUMA headquarters.

"We have nobody to blame but ourselves for getting into this mess," Pitt sighed.

"Spare me the pitiful groans," said Gunn, smiling. "You'll be glad to know the admiral doesn't want you guys around until tomorrow afternoon. A meeting is set up at the White House at two. You'll be debriefed by the president's advisors."

The Lowenhardts deplaned and came over to Pitt and Giordino. Hilda stood on her toes and kissed Pitt on both cheeks, as Claus pumped Giordino's hand. "How can we ever thank you?" she said, her voice choking with emotion.

"We owe you more than we can ever repay," Claus said, beaming, as he caught sight of the buildings of Washington.

Pitt put an arm around his shoulder. "You'll be well looked after and I've been assured that your children will be protected and flown here as soon as possible."

"I promise that your people will have our wholehearted cooperation. We'll gladly share our total knowledge of nitrogen fuel cell technology with your scientists." He turned. "Right, Hilda?"

"Yes, Claus," she said, smiling. "Our discovery will be a gift to the entire world."

They said their goodbyes as the Lowenhardts were escorted to the Lincoln by an FBI agent for the trip to a safe house in Washington.

Pitt, Giordino and Gunn then watched as Flidais was hustled from the plane by two burly FBI agents, handcuffed to a stretcher and shoved into the van. She glanced at Pitt with a look of absolute loathing. He grinned and waved before the doors were closed. "I'll send cookies to your cell."

Then he and Giordino climbed into the NUMA Navigator, with Gunn acting as chauffeur. Gunn drove across the tarmac to a guard gate, showed his pass and was waved through. He made a left turn onto a tree-lined street and headed for the nearest bridge over the Potomac.

"Now maybe we can settle down and be left alone for a while," Giordino said wistfully, slouching down in the rear seat and half closing his eyes, ignoring the scenic green, fully leafed trees as they marched past. "I could have been home four days ago, wining and dining a lovely lady, but no, you insisted we stay and infiltrate Specter's sanctum sanctorum."

"I don't recall having to beg you," Pitt said without apology.

"You caught me in a moment of madness."

"Don't kid yourself. If our information is acted upon quickly, we will have helped save the U.S. and Europe from some very nasty weather."

"Who's to stop Odyssey from opening the tunnels?" said Giordino. "The Nicaraguan government, a U.S. Special Forces team, an empty appeal from the United Nations? The European diplomats will talk themselves into a coma while their countries turn into ice cubes. None will have the guts to bring down the curtain on Odyssey before it's too late to act."

Pitt knew Giordino wasn't far off the mark. "You're probably right, but it's out of our hands now. We gave the warning. We can do no more."

Gunn swung over the bridge toward Alexandria, where Giordino had his condominium. "You certainly made the admiral a happy man. He's the man of the hour at the White House. Your discovery is still under wraps for obvious reasons, but as soon as the president's security advisors come up with a plan to stop Specter and Odyssey's rotten operation, all hell will break loose. Once they get wind of it, the news media will go wild and NUMA will reap the harvest."

"All well and good," muttered Giordino indifferently. "You taking me home first?"

"Since you're the closest," said Gunn. "Then I'll head up the Mount Vernon Highway and drop Dirk off at his hangar."

A few minutes later, a weary Giordino pulled his bags from the rear of the Navigator and trudged up the stairs to his building that had once been a warehouse built during the Civil War and later remodeled into luxury condos. He turned and gave a slight wave before disappearing inside.

After a short drive along the Potomac River, Gunn passed through the gate of Ronald Reagan National Airport and drove along a dirt road to Pitt's old hangar that stood several hundred yards off the end of the runways. Built in the early nineteen thirties to house the aircraft of a long-vanished airline, Pitt had managed to have it declared a historic landmark after buying and refurbishing it as a place to store and maintain his classic car and aircraft collection.

"You picking me up for the meeting?" Pitt asked as he exited the car.

Gunn shook his head and cracked a smile. "I'm not on the guest list. The Secret Service will send a car for you."

Pitt turned and pressed a series of codes into his exotic security system as the Navigator drove up the road, trailing a wisp of dust behind the rear bumper. He opened the door that looked weatherworn with cracked and peeling paint and stepped inside.

The sight never failed to excite him. It was something out of a luxury car dealer's elegant showroom. The entire interior walls, rounded roof and floor were painted a bright white, which enhanced the dazzling display of vivid colors on a fleet of thirty classic automobiles. Besides the Marmon V-16, there was a 1929 Duesenberg, a 1932 Stutz, a 1929 L-29 Cord and a 1936 Pierce-Arrow with a matching factory trailer. Parked together in a row were a 1936 Ford hot rod, Dirk's Meteor sports car and a bright red 1953 J2X Allard. Two aircraft sat in the back of the hangar, an early-nineteen-thirties Ford Trimotor and a World War II Messerschmitt 262 jet. Along one wall stretched a long Pullman car emblazoned with the words Manhattan limited across its side. The only objects that seemed out of place were the upper cabin of a sailboat mounted on a rubber raft and a bathtub with an outboard motor mounted on one end.

He climbed up the circular iron steps to his apartment that ran along the north end of the hangar, tiredly carrying his gear bag and suitcase on his shoulders. The interior of the apartment looked like the sales floor of a nautical antique shop. Furniture from old sailing ships, paintings of seascapes and models of ships on shelves built into the walls filled the living room. The floor was from the teak deck of a steamship that ran aground off the island of Kauai in Hawaii.

He unpacked his bag and threw the old clothes in a hamper next to his washer/dryer, took off what he was wearing and dropped them in as well. Thankfully, he stepped into the teakwood shower, turned the water as warm as he could take it and soaped down, vigorously scrubbing his skin until it tingled. When he was through, he toweled off and walked to his bed, settled across the bedspread and instantly fell asleep.

Darkness had fallen when Loren Smith let herself into the hangar with her own key. She came up and looked around the apartment for Pitt, having been alerted to his arrival by Rudi Gunn. She found him lying naked across the bed, deep asleep. Her lips spread into a sensual smile as she leaned over and pulled a bedspread over him.

When Pitt awoke six hours after he dropped off, he could see stars through the overhead skylights. His nostrils also detected the aroma of steak on the stove's grill. He saw the bedspread over his body and smiled to himself, knowing Loren had put it there. He rose and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a flowered silk shirt, then slipped into a pair of sandals.

Loren looked lovely in a snug pair of white shorts and a striped silk blouse, her arms and legs tanned from sunning on the deck of her apartment. She gave out a small sigh when Pitt reached around her waist with his arms and squeezed as he nuzzled her neck.

"Not now," she said in mock irritation, "I'm busy."

"How did you know I was dreaming about a steak for the last five days?"

"I don't have to be a psychic to know that's all you ever eat. Now sit down and mash the potatoes."

Pitt did as he was told and sat down at his dining table that was cut, stained and polished from an old ship's cargo hatch. He mashed the potatoes in a bowl and spooned them onto two plates as Loren delivered a porterhouse steak sliced in two. Then she set a Caesar salad on the table and sat down to eat while Pitt opened a cold bottle of Martin Ray Chardonnay.

"I hear you and Al had a rough time of it," she said, cutting her steak.

"A few close scrapes, but nothing that called for medical attention."

She looked into his eyes, violet meeting green. Her face was soft but her manner was intent. "You're getting too old to get into trouble. It's time you slowed down."

"Retire and play golf five days a week at a club? I don't think so."

"You don't have to retire but there are research expeditions you could direct that wouldn't be half as dangerous as some you've been involved with."

He poured her a glass and sat back and watched as she sipped it down. He studied her glamorous features and hair, her delicate ears, her gracefully sculptured nose, the firm chin and high cheekbones. She could have had any man in Washington, from the president's cabinet members to the senators to the congressmen, the wealthy lobbyists and attorneys, the visiting business moguls and foreign dignitaries, but for twenty years, despite several short affairs, she had never loved anyone but Pitt. She'd stray and return to him time after time. She was older now, there were tiny lines around her eyes, and her figure, though firm from exercise, was less accented by rounded curves. Yet, put her in a room with a bevy of beautiful young women, and every male eye would have locked on Loren. She never had to vie with competition.

"Yes, I could stay at home more," he said slowly, never taking his eyes away from her face. "But I would have to have a reason."

As if she hadn't heard, she said, "My term in Congress will be up soon, and you know I've announced that I'm not going to run again."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do when you're on the beach?"

She shook her head slowly. "I've had several offers to head up various organizations, and at least four lobbyists and three legal firms have asked me to join their ranks. But I'd rather retire, do some traveling, write that book on the inside dealings of Congress I've always wanted to write, and spend more time painting."

"You missed your calling," Pitt said, touching her hand from across the table. "Your landscapes are very professional."

"What about you?" she asked, thinking she knew the answer. "Will you and Al be chasing off again, flirting with death and trying to save the oceans of the world?"

"I can't speak for Al, but for me the wars are over. I'm going to grow a white beard and play with my old cars until they push my wheelchair into the nursing home."

She laughed. "Somehow I can't picture that."

"I washoping you might come with me."

She tensed and stared at him through widening eyes. "What are you saying?"

He took her hand and gripped it tightly. "What I'm saying, Loren Smith, is that I think the time has come for me to beg for your hand in marriage."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You wouldn't… you couldn't be joking," she said, her voice choking.

"I'm deadly serious," he said, seeing the tears form in her violet eyes. "I love you, I loved you for what seems an eternity, and I want you to be my wife."

She sat there trembling, the iron maiden of the House of Representatives, the lady who never backed down despite the political pressure, the woman who was as strong as or stronger than any man in Washington. Then she took back her hand and held it with the other over her eyes as she sobbed uncontrollably.

He came around the table and embraced her around the shoulders. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

She looked up, tears flooding her eyes. "You fool, don't you know how long I've waited to hear those words?"

Pitt was bewildered. "When the subject came up before, you always said marriage was out of the question because we were already married to our work."

"Do you always believe everything a woman tells you?"

Pitt gently raised her to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Forgive me for being late as well as stupid. But the question still stands. Will you marry me?"

Loren threw her arms around his neck and flooded his face with kisses. "Yes, you fool," she said in the throes of ecstasy. "Yes, yes, yes!"