Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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team.

Hollis did not like being left in the dark, and he was in an intensely testy mood.

The man who hailed him was still standing on the bridge wing. Hollis looked into mesmeric green eyes-very opaque green indeed. They belonged to a lean, broad-shouldered man whose uncovered black hair was speckled with white flakes of ice. He stared at the two officers for all of five seconds, time enough to complete a survey. Then he removed his right hand slowly from a coat pocket and stuck it out.

"Colonel Hollis, Major Dillenger, my name is Dirk Pitt."

"Seems you know more about us than we do you, Mr. Pitt.

"A situation that will be quickly rectified," Pitt said cheerfully.

"Please follow me to the Captain's cabin. The coffee's on, and we can talk where it's warm and private."

They gratefully stepped out of the cold and trailed Pitt down one deck to Stewart's quarters. Once inside, Pitt introduced Gunn, Giordino and Captain Stewart. The SOF officers shook hands all around and gratefully accepted the coffee.

"Please sit down," said Stewart, offering chairs.

Dillenger sank into a chair, but Hollis shook his head.

"Thank you, I'd rather stand." He cast a questioning look at the four men from NUMA. "If I can speak frankly, would you mind telling me what in hell is going on?"

"Obviously it concerns the Lady Flamborough, " said Pitt.

"What's there to discuss? The terrorists have destroyed her. "

"She's still very much afloat," Pitt assured him.

"I've received no word to that effect," said Hollis. "The last satellite photo shows no trace of her."

"Take my word for it."

"Show me your evidence."

"You don't screw around, do you?"

"My men and I flew here to save lives," Hollis said roughly. "No one, not even my superiors, has demonstrated to me that people on board that ship can still be saved."

"You have to understand, Colonel," said Pitt, his voice abruptly cutting like a whip, "we're not dealing with your usual gun-happy terrorists.

Their leader is extremely resourceful. Until now he's outwitted the best security brains in the business. And he keeps right on doing it."

saw through the disguise," said Hollis, throwing a left-handed compliment.

"We were lucky. If the Sounder hadn't been surveying in that part of the sea, our discovery of the General Bravo might have taken a month. As it is, we've cut the hijackers' lead time down to one or two days."

Hollis's pessimism began to melt away. This man wasn't giving an inch.

He wondered if the rescue operation might take place after all.

"Where is the proof?" he asked bluntly.

"We don't know," answered Gunn.

"Not so much as an approximate position?"

"The best we can offer is an educated guess," said Giordino.

"Based on what?"

Gunn looked expectantly at Pitt, who smiled and carried the ball again.

"Intuition.

Hollis's hopes began to crumble. "Are you using tarot cards or a crystal ball?" he asked sardonically.

"Actually, I favor tea leaves," replied Pitt, tit for tat.

There was a brief silence, long and cold. Hollis rightly figured aggression wasn't going to get him anywhere. He finished his coffee and turned the cup round and round,

"All right, gentlemen. I regret coming on a little too strong. I'm not used to dealing with civilians."

There was no malice in Pitts face, just a look of amusement. "If it will make you feel more comfortable, I carry the rank of Major in the Air Force."

Hollis frowned. "May I ask what you're doing on a NUMA vessel?"

"Call it a permanent assignment-a long story we don't have time to get into."

Dillenger caught it first. Hollis should have caught it the minute they were introduced, but his mind was saturated with questions.

"Are you by chance related to Senator George Pitt?" asked Dillenger.

"Father and son,"

A small piece of the curtain lifted atld the two officers saw a shaft of light beneath. Hollis pulled up a chair and settled in. "Okay, Mr.

Pitt, please tell me what you've got."

Dillenger cut in, "The last report showed The Lady Flamborough heading for the Antarctic. You say she's still on the surface. New photos will easily pick her out amid the ice floes. "

"If you're betting on the SR-ninety Casper," said Pitt, "save your money."

Dillenger gave Hollis a bleak look. They were outdistanced. This oddball group of ocean engineers had as much information in hand as they did.

"from a hundred thousand kilometers an SR-ninety can reveal three-dimensional images so sharp that you can distinguish the stitching on a soccer ball," stated Hollis.

"No question. But suppose the ball is camouflaged to look like a rock."

"I still don't know-"

"You'd see more clearly if we showed you," said Pitt. "The crew has set up a demonstration on deck."

The open deck on the stern had been covered over with a large, opaque blanket of white plastic, firmly secured to keep it taut and prevent it from billowing under the constant breeze. Captain Stewart stood by with two crew members who manned a fire hose.

"During our survey of the area around the General Bravo we recovered a roll of this plastic," Pitt lectured. "I believe it accidentally fell off the Lady Flamborough when the two vessels rendezvoused. It was sitting on the seabed among empty barrels of paint the hijackers used to remodel the cruise liner to resemble the Mexican container ship.

Granted, the evidence is inconclusive. You'll have to take my word for that. But it all points to another makeup job. Nothing showed on the last satellite photo because all eyes were searching for a ship. The Lady Flamborough no longer looks like one. The hijack leader must be into art appreciation. He took a page from the controversial sculptor Christo, who's famous for his outdoor sculptures in plastic. He wraps the stuff around buildings, coastlines and islands. He hung a monstrous curtain in Rifle Gap, Colorado, and made a fence running for miles in Mwill County, California. The chief hijacker went one better and wrapped the entire cruise liner. The liner is not a huge ship. The basic outline of her hull could have been altered by props and scaffolding. With the sheets all cut and numbered as to position, a hundred hostages and hijackers might have done the job in ten hours flat. They were working at it when the Landsat orbited overhead. The enhanced blowup was not clear enough to reveal details of the activity.

When the Seasat followed half a day later there was nothing to identify, no features conforming to a ship, any ship. Am I going too fast?"

"No . . ." Hollis said slowly. "But none of it makes a hell of a lot of sense."

"He must be from Missouri," Giordino said wryly. "Shall we show him?"

Pitt gave a brief nod to Captain Stewart.

"Okay, boys," said Stewart to his crewmen. "Once over lightly. "

One man turned the valve while the other aimed the nozzle.

A fine spray was turned on the plastic sheeting. At first the wind carried half the mist over the side. The crewman had ajusted the angle, and soon the plastic was coated with a watery film.

Before a full minute passed, the frigid atmosphere turned the water to ice.

Hollis observed the transformation pensively Then he walked up to Pitt and held out his hand. "My respects, sir. You made a sound call."

Dillenger stared like a rube who'd been suckered at a traveling carnival. "An iceberg," he muttered angrily. ,The sons of bitches made the ship into an iceberg."

Hala awoke cold and stiff. It was midmorning, yet there was still a level of darkness. The cargo container facade, combined with the ice-coated plastic shrouding the cruise liner, shut out most of the light. What little penetrated into the VIP suites was just sufficient to reveal the figures of Presidents Hasan and De Lorenzo on the bed next to her. Under one pitifully inadequate blanket, they huddled against one another for warmth, their frozen breaths hanging in vaporlike clouds above their heads before condensing and freezing on the walls.

The cold itself might have been tolerated, no matter how miserable, but the high humidity made the freezing temperatures unbearable. Their condition was further aggravated by not having had anything to eat since leaving Punta del Este. The hijackers made no effort to provide food for the passengers and crew. Ammar's inhuman callousness took its toll as and fear of the unknown the cold sapped their strength, drugged their minds.

for the first part of the voyage, the prisoners had survived on nothing but water out of the faucets in the bathroom showers and washbasins. But the pipes had frozen, and the torment of thirst was added to the ache of hunger.

The Lady Flamborough had been refitted to sail tropical seas and carried only a minimum supply of blankets. Everyone who came on board in Puerto Rico or Punta del Este had packed for a temperate climate and had left all winter clothing in closets at home. The prisoners bundled up as best they could, wearing several layers of lightweight shirts, pants and socks. They wrapped their heads in towels to retain body heat. The cold-weather gear they sorely missed most was gloves.

There was no warmth anywhere. Animar had refused all pleas to circulate heat throughout the ship. He could not afford the luxury. Interior heat would have melted the ice film on the plastic sheeting and sabotaged the deception.

Hala was not the only prisoner awake. Most had found it impossible to drop off into a sound sleep. They lay as if in a hypnotic trance, aware of their surroundings but unable to make any kind of physical effort.

any thoughts of resistance had rapidly drained away under the onslaught.

Instead of fighting the hijackers, Captain Collins and his crew were reduced to stru gling to stay alive against the numbing cold.

Hala raised to her elbows as Senator Pitt came into the room.

He made a strange appearance, wearing a gray business suit over a blue pinstripe. He gave Hala a smile of encouragement, but it was a pathetic effort. The fatigue of the past five days had taken away his youthful look, and he looked closer to his true age.

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"I'd give my right arm for a cup of hot tea," she said gamely.

"for my part, I'd give more than that."

President De Lorenzo sat up and dropped his feet on the deck. "Did someone say hot tea?"

"Just fantasizing, Mr. President," replied the Senator. "I never thought I'd find myself starving and freezing to death on a luxurious cruise ship."

"Nor I," said Hala.

President Hasan gave a slight moan as he changed position and lifted his head.

"Is your back bothering you?" asked President De Lorenzo, his face reflecting concern.

"I'm too cold to hurt," Hasan said with a tight smile.

"Can I help you up?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll just remain here in bed and conserve whatever strength I have left." Hasan looked at De Lorenzo and smiled thinly. "I wish we had met and become friends under more comfortable circumstances."

"I've heard the Americans say, 'Politics makes strange bedfellows." We seem to be a literal example."

"When we get out of this, you must be my guest in Egypt."

De Lorenzo nodded. "A reciprocal agreement. You must also visit Mexico."

"An honor I gladly accept.

The two Presidents solemnly shook hands on it-no longer pampered heads of state but two men whose lives shared a fate they could not control and were determined to end with dignity.

"The engines have stopped," said Hala suddenly.

Senator Pitt nodded. "The anchors were just dropped. We're moored, and they've shut down the engines."

"We must be near land."

"No way of telling with the port windows hidden."

"Too bad we're blind," said Hasan.

"If one of you will guard the door, I'll make a try at forcing the window," said Pitt. "Once I make a break in the glass without alerting a guard, I'll carve a hole in the fiberboard. With luck we might be able to see where we are."

"I'll listen at the door," Hala volunteered.

"The cold is bad enough without letting more in," said De Lorenzo dispiritedly.

"The temperature is the same outside as in here," the Senator replied bluntly.

He was not about to waste time in debate. He went immediately to the large glass viewing window in the sitting room. The port measured two meters high by one wide. There was no promenade deck running along outside. The staterooms and suite entrances faced the center of the ship. The windowed outer walls rose flush from the hull.

The only open areas patrolled by the hijackers were the pool and lounge decks above and the observation decks fore and aft.

The Senator rapped the glass with his knuckles. The return sound came like a dull thump. The glass was thick. It had to be to withstand the crushing impact of huge waves and hurricane-force winds.

"Anyone wear a diamond ring?" he asked.

Hala slipped her hands out of the pockets of a light raincoat, held them up and wiggled her fingers, displaying two small rings mounted with opals and turquoise. "Muslim suitors are not in the habit of spoiling their women with lavish gifts."

"I could use a full carat."

President Hasan pulled a large ring from one of his pinky fingers. "Here is a three-carat.

The Senator eyeballed the stone in the dim light. "This should do nicely. Thank you."

He worked quickly but carefully, making little noise, cutting an opening just large enough to slip a finger through. He stopped every so often to blow on his hands. When his fingers began to go numb, he held them under his armpits until they limbered up again.

He did not care to contemplate what the hijackers would do to him if they caught him. He could almost envision his bullet-riddled corpse floating in the current.

He cut a circular line around the small center hole, retracing the line until the gouge went deeper and deeper. The tricky thing was to prevent a piece of the glass from falling down the side of the steel hull and tinkling as it fell.

He curled a finger into the hole and pulled. The circle of glass gave way. He slowly eased it backward and set it on the carpet. Not a bad job. Now he had an opening large enough to stick his head through.

The fiberboard making up the false cargo containers stood half an arm's length from the window and covered the entire length of the midship's superstructure. The Senator cautiously slipped his head past the opening, careful not to slice his ears on its razor-sharp edges. He peered from side to side, but saw only the narrow slot between the fake containers and the steel sides of the ship. Upward, he viewed the crack of light that was the sky, but it appeared dimmed as if socked in by fog. He should have seen a thin band of moving water below. Instead his eyes took in an immense sheet of plastic that was attached by bracing along the waterline. He stared at it in amazement, not having the faintest idea of its purpose.

The Senator felt secure. If he couldn't see the hijackers guarding the decks, they couldn't see him. He returned to the bedroom and rummaged through his suitcase.

"What do you need?" asked Hala.

He held up a Swiss Army knife. "I always carry one of these in my shaving kit." He grinned. "The corkscrew comes in handy for impromptu parties."

Senator Pitt took his time and warmed his hands before going back to work. He grasped the red handle, eased his arm through the opening in the glass and began to twist, using the small blade as a drill, and then the large blade to carve away the sides and increase the circumference.

The process went agonizingly slowly. He dared not run the blade more than a scant millimeter past the outer wau of the fiberboard. There was the nagging fear an alert guard might peer over the side and glimpse the tiny metallic movement. He carved very carefully, removing each layer of the fiberboard before attacking the next.

All feeling went out of his hand, but he did not warm it. His fist was frozen stiffly around the red handle. The small knife felt like an extension of his hand.

At last the Senator scraped away enough wood shavings for a hole large enough to observe a fairly large area of sea. He leaned his head through the glass and pressed his cheek against the cold surface of the board.

Something shut off his view. He poked his finger in the eyehole and felt it touch the plastic sheeting. He was more confounded than ever to learn it covered the hollow containers as well as the lower hull.

He cursed under his breath. He needn't have been so afraid of penetrating the wood. No one would have seen his knife blade under the plastic anyway. He threw off caution and quickly cut a slot in the opaque material. Then the Senator looked again.

He did not see the open sea, nor did he find himself viewing a shoreline.

What he saw was a towering cliff of ice that extended far beyond his limited line of sight. The glistening wall was so close he could have touched it with an extended umbrella.

As he stared he heard a deadened bass drumlike sound. It reminded the Senator of the rumble from a minor earthquake.

He stepped back abruptly, reeling at the implication of what he'd discovered.

Hala saw him stiffen. "What is it?" she asked anxiously.

What did you see?"

He turned and looked at her blankly, his mouth working until words finally formed ' "They've anchored us against a huge glacier," he said finally. "The ice wall can break away at any time and crush the ship like paper."

Twenty thousand meters above the Antarctic peninsula, the delta-wing reconnaissance plane slipped through the rarefied air at 3,200

kilometers per hour. She was designed to fly twice that altitude at twice the speed, but her pilot held her at 40 percent throttle to conserve fuel and give the cameras a chance to sharpen earth images under the slower speed.

Unlike her ancestor, the SR-71 "blackbird," whose natural titanium wings and fuselage wore the color of deep indigo, the ,,stealth" technology of the more advanced SR-90 created an incredibly tough, lightweight plastic skin that was tinted graywhite. Nicknamed "the Casper" after the cartoon ghost, she was almost as impossible to detect by eye as she was by radar.

Her five cameras could capture half the length of the United States in one hour with only one pass. Her photographic package filmed in black-and-white, color, infrared, three-dimensional, and a few imagery techniques that were highly classified and totally unknown to commercial photographers Lieutenant Colonel James Slade had little to do. It was a long, boring reconnaissance from his base in California's Mojave Desert.

The only time he took manual control in flight was during refueling operations. The Casper's engines had a heavy thirst. She had to be refueled twice on each leg of the flight by aerial tankers.

Slade examined the instruments with a critical eye. The Casper was a new plane, and she had yet to reveal all her bugs. Thankful to find normal readings across the board, he sighed and pulled a miniature electronic game from a pocket of his flight suit. He began pressing the buttons below a small viewing window, trying to get a tiny diver past a giant octopus to reach a treasure chest.

After a few minutes he tired of the game and gazed ahead and down at the frozen isolation that was Antarctica. Far below, the curved, beckoning finger of the northern peninsula and its adjoining islands sparkled under a diamond-clear sky.

The ice and rock and sea created a beautiful vastness, awesome to the eye, intimidating to the soul. The sight may have looked appealing from twenty kilometers overhead, but Slade knew better. He'd once flown supplies to a scientific station at the South Pole and quickly learned the beauty and the hostility in the permanent domain of cold went hand in hand.

He well remembered the chilling temperatures. He didn't believe it possible to spit and see the saliva freeze before it hit the ground. And he never forgot the ferocious winds that scourge the coldest of all continents. The 160-kilometer gusts were unimaginable until he experienced them for the first time.

Slade could never fathom why some men were so attracted to that frozen hell. He had a facetious urge to call a travel agent after he returned to base and inquire about reservations at a good resort hotel close to the polar center.

Suddenly a female voice spoke over one of the three cockpit speakers.

"Attention, please. You are about to cross the outer limit of your flight path where seventy degrees longitude and seventy degrees latitude intersect. Disengage auto pilot and come around a hundred and eighty degrees beginning . . . now. The new heading for your return is programmed into the computer. Please enter the appropriate code. Have a good trip home."

Slade followed the instructions and made a lazy Turn. As soon as the computer locked on the return heading he went back on auto pilot and shifted to a more comfortable position in his cramped seat.

Like so many other men who flew reconnaissance missions, he fantasized about the face and body that went with the embodied voice. Rumor had it she weighed two-hundred pounds, was sixty years old and a grandmother twelve times. No pilot with a sound imagination could believe such a myt."shattering thought. She had to look like Sigourney Weaver. Maybe it was Sigoumey Weaver. He decided to explore the tantalizing possibility on his return home.

That delicate problem solved, Slade re-checked his instrument panel and then relaxed while the icebound land drifted away behind his tail. Over the sea again, he returned to his little electronic treasure game.

He saw little purpose in continuing to watch the world roll by, especially since Tierra del Fuego was covered by thick blankets of charcoal clouds. He'd studied enough geography to know it was a wretched land of constant wind, rain and snow.

Slade was almost thankful he couldn't see the monotonous landscape. He left it to Casper's infrared camera to penetrate the dark overcast and record the desolate, dead end of the continent.

Captain Collins stared into Ammar's mask and had to force himself not to avert his gaze. There was something evil, something inhuman in the eyes of the urbane leader of the hijackers. Collins could sense a chilling unconcern for mere human life about the man.

"I demand to know when you're going to release my ship," said Collins in a precise tone.

Arnmar set a cup of tea on a saucer, patted his lips with a table napkin and looked at Collins detachedly.

"Can I offer you some tea?"

"Not unless you offer it to my passengers and crew as well," Collins replied dryily. He stood erect in his summer white uniform, bitterly cold and shivering.

"The very answer I expected." Ammar turned the empty cup upside down and leaned back. "You'll be happy to know my men and I expect to leave sometime tomorrow evening. If you give me your word there will be no foolish attempt to retake the ship or escape to the nearby shore before we depart, no one will be harmed and you can resume command."

"I'd rather you heat the ship and feed everyone now. We're desperately short of warm clothing and blankets to ward off the cold. No one has eaten in days. The pipes have frozen, blocking all water. And I don't have to mention the sanitation problems. "

"Suffering is good for the soul," Animar said philosophically.

Collins glared at him. ")"at utter tripe."

Ammar shrugged wearily. "If you say so."

"Good God, man, there are people sick and dying on this ship."

"I doubt seriously whether any of your crew and passengers will die of exposure or from starvation before my departure," said Ammar curtly.

"They'll simply have to survive some discomfort for the next hours or so until you can restart the engines and heat the ship."

"That may be too late for any of us if the wall of the glacier breaks off."

"It looks solid enough."

"You don't realize the danger. A massive ice slab might fall any moment. The weight could smash the Flamborough like a ten-story building collapsing on an automobile. You must move the ship."

"A risk I cannot avoid. The ice film on the plastic would melt, giving away our location, and satellite infrared cameras could detect our radiated heat."

Collins's face was ed with helpless rage. "You're either a fool or you're insane. What good has any of this proven? What profit will you get out of it? Are we being held for ransom or as hostages in return for freeing your fellow terrorists behind bars somewhere? If you're simply walking off and leaving us, I fail to see the purpose."

"You have an irritating degree of curiosity, Captain, but a dedication of purpose after my own heart. You will learn the reasons behind our capture of your ship soon enough."

Ammar rose and nodded at the guard who stood behind Collins. "Return the Captain to confinement."

Collins refused to move. "Why can't you provide hot tea, coffee, soup, anything that will alleviate the suffering?"

Ammar did not bother to Turn as he walked from the dining salon.

"Goodbye, Captain. We won't meet again."

Animar went directly to the communications room. Ibn was standing, watching a teletype hum out the latest wire-service news. His electronics man was seated at the radio, listening to an incoming transmission while a voice recorder copied it on paper. The radio and teletype were powered by a portable generator.

Ibn turned at Ammar's approach, gave a brief nod in recognition and tore a long sheet of paper from the teletype.

"The international news media are still reporting the Lady Flamborough as lost," he reported. "Salvage ships are only now arriving off Uruguay to conduct an underwater search. My compliments, Suleiman; you fooled the world. We'll be safely back in Cairo before the West learns the truth."

"What news of Egypt?" asked Ammar.

"Nothing worth celebrating yet. Hasan's cabinet ministers still control the government. They stubbornly hold on to power. They've played it smart by not sending in security forces to smash the demonstrations. The only bloodshed was caused by our fundamentalist brothers who mistakenly blew up a busload of Algerian firemen attending a convention in Cairo.

it was thought the bus was part of a government police convoy. The Cairo news network is claiming Akhmad Yazid's movement is a front for Iranian fanatics. Many supporters are wavering in their loyalty and there has been no mass demand for Hasan's cabinet to dissolve the government."

"That idiot Khaled Fawzy was behind the bus explosion," snarled Ammar.

"The military, where do the armed forces stand?"

"Defense Minister Abu Han-iid will not commit himself until he views the bodies of President Hasan and Hala Kamil to confirm their deaths."