Текст книги "Treasure of Khan"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

-40-

The tropical sun climbed slowly over the hills of lava and coconut palm trees until it bathed the anchored barge in rays of golden light. On board the craft, the rhythmic sounds of a Hawaiian steel guitar band bellowed from a boom box, masking the background hum of a portable generator.

Summer, Dirk, and Dahlgren had already risen from their cots in the small covered shack and were preparing for a long day's work underwater. As Dirk topped up the gas tanks on a pair of compressors, Summer finished eating her breakfast of fresh papaya and bananas, washed down with a glass of guava juice.

"Who's on first?" she asked, gazing at the calm morning seas surrounding the barge.

"I believe Captain Jack has assembled a work schedule," Dirk said, nodding toward Dahlgren.

Dressed in swim shorts, flip-flops, and a faded Hawaiian shirt, Dahlgren was bent over inspecting the regulators on a pair of lightweight dive helmets. The captain moniker derived from a tired blue hat he wore on his head. It was the classic captain's hat favored by rich yachtsmen, sporting crossed gold anchors on its prow. Dahlgren's hat, however, looked like it had been run over by an M-l tank. "Aye,"

Dahlgren barked in a gravelly voice. "We'll work ninety-minute shifts below, two divers at a time, then rotate after a break. Dirk and I will take the first shift, then you can join me below for the second shift while Dirk works on his tan," he said, nodding toward Summer.

"That reminds me, I didn't see a blender on board this plank," Dirk said with disappointment.

"I am sorry to report that the last of the rum rations disappeared last night anyway. For medicinal purposes," Dahlgren added.

As a panicked look crossed Dirk's face, Summer rolled her eyes with a "Why me?" look. "All right, my future AA recruits, let's get to work. If by luck we have found the rudder, then we have a lot of excavating to do. We still need to disassemble and stow away the grid markers, and I'd like to leave some time before the Mariana Explorerreturns to survey some additional areas."

Dahlgren stood up and took off his captain's hat and flung it across the deck. The hat spiraled perfectly, striking Summer square in the chest. Reacting with a start, she managed to catch the hat after a bobble.

"There," Dahlgren said. "You make a far better Bligh than I do."

As Dirk laughed, Summer blushed, then retorted, "Careful or I might accidentally cut your surface air while you are downstairs."

Dirk fired up the two air compressors then joined Dahlgren in slipping on a warm-water wet suit. They would dive sharing surface-supplied air from one of the compressors. Eliminating the cumbersome air tanks made it easier to work, while extending their bottom time. Since the water depth was only thirty feet at the wreck site, they could theoretically work all day underwater without fear of the bends.

Summer gathered up the airlift and lowered the big piece of PVC pipe over the side. A hose from the second compressor was attached to the business end of the airlift, which provided the air feed through a controllable valve. Summer slowly lowered the pipe via the air hose till it struck the bottom and the tension slacked on the line.

Dirk slipped on his fins, then glanced at his watch. "See you in ninety minutes," he said to Summer, then pulled his dive helmet over his head.

"I'll leave the lights on," Summer replied, shouting over the drone of the compressors. She moved to the rail and sorted a trio of air lines that would tail the underwater operation. Dirk threw her a wave then stepped off the side of the barge, followed by Dahlgren a second behind.

The bellow of the compressors evaporated as Dirk struck the surface and he submerged into the turquoise water. Clearing his ears, he thrust his head down and kicked to the bottom, quickly locating the airlift. Grabbing the pipe, he chased after Dahlgren, who was swimming toward deeper water. They stopped at a pair of small orange flags that poked up from the sandy bottom. Dirk lifted the airlift, standing it on end, then flipped the control lever to the air line. A rush of compressed air burst into the lower end of the pipe, then gurgled up toward the surface, drawing sand and water with it. Dirk swung the base of the airlift back and forth above the seabed, digging a small hole as he cleared away sand around the marker.

Dahlgren watched for a moment, then took up position a few feet away. In his hands, he carried a stainless steel shaft with a cross handle at one end. He began twisting the metal probe into the sand, driving it down nearly two feet until it struck something solid. His experienced hands could tell by the vibration that the probe had struck wood. Yanking the probe out, he moved over another foot and repeated the process. After a few more probes, he began marking the perimeter of the buried object with small orange flags.

The hole created by the airlift in Dirk's hands grew slowly. He had worked his way down to a flat surface that was heavily encrusted. Looking at the outline of marker flags Dahlgren had started laying down, he realized the object was of an immense size. If it was indeed a rudder, they might have to rethink the entire scale of the remaining ship.

On the deck of the barge, Summer checked the compressors once more, then took a seat in a beach chair across the deck but within sight of the air lines. A cool offshore gust blew across the barge, sending a shiver up her spine. She was thankful the morning sun was quickly warming up the deck.

She happily soaked in the surrounding environment, admiring the rugged Hawaiian coast and delicious smells of the nearby flora that wafted from the lush island. Gazing seaward, the rolling Pacific waters seemed to shine with an exotic intensity from its blue depths. Absently noting a black ship steaming in the distance, she took a deep breath of the fresh sea air and leaned back in her chair.

If this is work, she thought amusedly, then they can keep my vacation pay.

-41-

Pitt was already awake and dressed when an early-morning knock sounded on his hotel-room door. Opening it with some trepidation, he was relieved to find a smiling Al Giordino standing in the doorway.

"I found this vagrant panhandling in the lobby," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I thought you might know what to do with him."

A tired and disheveled Rudi Gunn peeked behind Giordino's thick frame with a look of relief on his face.

"Well, my long-lost deputy director," Pitt grinned. "We thought perhaps you had found yourself a nice babushka and taken up residence in the wilds of Siberia."

"I was only too happy to depart the wilds of Siberia. However, I would have stayed had I known that Mongolia was twice as uncivilized," Gunn harangued, entering the room and falling into a chair. "Nobody told me that there isn't a paved road in the entire country. Drove all night on something I'm not even sure was a road. I feel like I hopped on a pogo stick from New York to L.A."

Pitt handed him a cup of coffee from an in-room pot. "You were able to bring our search gear and dive equipment with you?" he asked.

"Yes, I got it all onto a truck that the institute was kind enough to loan me, or sell me, I'm still not sure. It cost me every ruble I had to grease the palms of the Russian border guards to let me into Mongolia. I'm sure they think I'm CIA."

"Your eyes aren't beady enough," Giordino muttered.

"I guess I can't complain," Gunn said, looking at Pitt. "Al told me about your traipse across the Gobi Desert. Didn't sound like any picnic."

"No, but a great way to see the countryside," Pitt smiled.

"This nutcase at Xanadu ... he's still holding the oil survey team?"

"We know Roy is dead. We can only presume the others are there and still alive."

A ring of the telephone interrupted the conversation. Pitt answered and spoke briefly, then slid the phone toward the center of the room and activated the speakerphone. Hiram Yaeger's easygoing voice boomed from the speaker.

"Greetings from Washington, where the local bureaucracy is beginning to wonder what has become of their favorite gurus of the deep," he said.

"Simply busy enjoying the delightful underwater treasures of greater Mongolia," Pitt replied.

"As I suspected. Of course, I'm sure you had a hand in the breaking political news coming from your part of the world."

The three men in the hotel room looked at each other blankly.

"We've been a little preoccupied," Pitt said. "What news?"

"China declared this morning that they are acceding the territorial lands of Inner Mongolia to the country of Mongolia."

"I noticed a gathering of people in the square down the street who looked like they were headed for a celebration," Gunn said. "I thought it might be a local holiday."

"China is playing it up as a friendly diplomatic gesture to their old neighbor, and has garnered all kinds of accolades from the United Nations and Western government leaders. Underground movements have been afoot for years to seek independence for Inner Mongolia, or reunification with Mongolia proper. It has been a point of embarrassment with the Chinese for years. Privately, analysts are saying it was less about politics and more about economics. Some have speculated that it involved a pipeline deal and trade agreement to provide oil or other resources needed to keep China's economy growing, though no one seems to think Mongolia actually holds much in the way of oil reserves."

"That's exactly what it is about. I guess you could say Al and I were indeed a part of the negotiations,"

Pitt said, glancing at Giordino with a knowing look.

"I knew you must have had something to do with it," Yaeger laughed.

"It has a lot more to do with the Avarga Oil Company and Tolgoi Borjin. Al and I saw some of his resources. He's got storage facilities already in place along the border."

"Pretty remarkable that he got hold of the keys to the castle so quickly," Giordino said. "He must have had some pretty good bargaining chips."

"Or misinformation. Hiram, were you able to track down any of the info that I faxed you?" Pitt asked.

"Max and I pulled an all-nighter, digging up what we could. This guy and his company are quite an enigma. Well funded, but operating in an almost clandestine fashion."

"A local Russian contact confirmed similar findings," Giordino said. "What did you make of his oil holdings?"

"There is no record of the Avarga Oil Company actually exporting any oil from Mongolia. But then, there isn't much to export. They are known to operate only a handful of active wells."

"So they are not pumping enough volume sufficient to make a dent in China's demand, or anybody else's, for that matter?"

"There is no evidence of it. Funny thing is, we uncovered a number of sizeable contracts with a couple of Western oil field equipment suppliers. With oil prices surging over one hundred fifty dollars a barrel, there has been a mad rush for new exploration and drilling. The oil equipment suppliers have huge backlogs.

Yet Avarga was already at the front of the line. They have apparently been purchasing a massive amount of specialized drilling and pipeline equipment for the last three years, all shipped to Mongolia."

"We found some of it here in Ulaanbaatar."

"The only item that was amiss was the tunnel-boring device. We found only one record of that model being shipped out of the country and it was exported to Malaysia."

"Perhaps a front company for our friends at Avarga Oil?" Pitt ventured.

"Probably. The particular model you saw is designated for shallow earth pipeline installations. Perfect, in other words, for burying an oil pipeline in the soft sands of the Gobi Desert. What I haven't been able to decipher is how this Borjin has obtained the resources to acquire all this equipment without any visible revenue stream," Yaeger said.

"Genghis Khan is picking up the tab," Pitt replied.

"I don't get the joke."

"It's true," Giordino said. "He's parked in the guy's backyard."

While Giordino told Gunn and Yaeger about the existence of the tomb in Borjin's sanctuary and the later discovery of Hunt's diary in the crashed trimotor, Pitt pulled out a ten-page fax he had received back from Perlmutter.

"St. Julien has confirmed as much," Pitt said. "Sotheby's and the other major auction houses have had a steady stream of consignments for the past eight years of major twelfth-and thirteenth-century mainland Asian art and artifacts."

"Loot buried with Genghis Khan?" Gunn asked.

"To the tune of over one hundred million dollars. Perlmutter verified that the artifacts have all been consistent with the geographic regions of Genghis Khan's conquests up to the date of his death. The pattern fits, as does the source. The artifacts have all been consigned from a shadowy Malaysian company named the Buryat Trading Company."

"That's the same firm that purchased the tunnel borer," Yaeger exclaimed.

"Small world, eh? Hiram, when we are finished perhaps you and Max can take a closer look at this Malaysian front company."

"Sure thing. I guess we should also talk about that bit of German strudel you sent me."

"Ah yes, the documents written in German. Did you and Max come up with anything?"

"Not much on the documents per se. Just as you noted, they read like the first pages of a technical operator's manual. You found them with a large electrical device?"

"A room full of computing equipment, powering a three-legged tubular device that stands ten feet high.

Any idea what it might be?"

"There wasn't enough data to determine its exact function. The pages were simply operator's instructions for an acoustic seismic array."

"Care to try that again in English?" Giordino asked.

"Mostly the stuff of lab experiments. Von Wachter evidently succeeded in taking the technology a leap forward."

"Who's von Wachter?" Pitt asked.

"Dr. Friedrich von Wachter. An eminent electrical engineering professor from the University of Heidelberg. Well known for his research in acoustics and seismic imagery. Max made the link between von Wachter and the acoustic seismic array. One of his last papers discussed the theoretical application of a parametric acoustic array for subsurface imagery."

Gunn helped himself to more coffee as the men in the hotel room listened attentively to Yaeger's voice on the speakerphone.

"Though the facts are murky, it appears that Dr. von Wachter developed a working model for acoustic seismic imagery," he said. "As you know, in the oil exploration business seismic imagery usually relies on a mechanical explosive, such as dynamite or a thumper truck, to send a shock wave into the earth. The refracted seismic waves are then recorded and processed by computer modeling to develop a subsurface image."

"Sure. The marine survey ships use an air gun to generate the shocks," Giordino said.

"Von Wachter apparently eliminated the explosives by developing an electronic means of producing the shock wave. The acoustic array, if I understand it correctly, transmits a high-frequency sound burst, which converts to seismic waves under the surface."

"Our experience with survey sonar systems is that high-frequency waves don't provide adequate penetration to 'see' very far beneath the surface," Giordino stated.

"That's true. Most of the waves are easily refracted near the surface. Apparently, von Wachter's concentrated burst allows a greater bombardment, if you will, of sound waves, ensuring that a useful percentage of waves penetrate deeply. From the preliminary data in the manual and your visual description of the device, it sounds as if von Wachter uses three rather large arrays to transmit the sound waves."

"I'll bet that is how they found Genghis," Pitt remarked. "His tomb was supposedly buried in a hidden location in the mountains, along with Kublai Khan and other related royalty."

"And they're obviously using it to hunt for oil," Gunn added.

"A valuable technology that the oil companies would pay dearly for. Dr. von Wachter must be a rich man," Giordino said.

"I'm afraid he's a dead man. He and his team of German engineers were killed in a landslide in Mongolia a little over a year ago."

"Why does that sound suspicious?" Giordino added.

"Need I add that they were working for the Avarga Oil Company at the time," Yaeger said.

"More blood on the hands of Borjin," Pitt said without surprise. The ruthlessness of the Avarga Oil empire and its head, Tolgoi Borjin, was becoming old news.

"None of it adds up," Giordino said. "A seismic survey team murdered, another abducted. A tunnel borer, specialized drilling equipment, a vast disguised storage facility in the middle of the desert. One of several, according to our camel herder friend, Tsengel. All tied in to a system of underground pipelines running hidden across an empty desert. Yet no visible sign of output. Why?"

The room fell silent for a moment, the turning gears in everyone's heads nearly audible. Then a knowing look spread across Pitt's face.

"Because," he said slowly, "they have been unable to drill where the oil is."

"Borjin has probably greased enough wallets to drill anywhere he wants to in Mongolia," Giordino countered.

"But suppose the oil isn't in Mongolia?"

"Of course," Gunn said, the answer suddenly apparent. "He's found oil in China, or Inner Mongolia to be precise. How he convinced the Chinese to turn the land over, that's what I'd like to know."

"They're in a bad way," Yaeger said. "Because of the earthquakes in the Persian Gulf and the fire at their main oil import terminal near Shanghai, China has lost more than half of its oil imports overnight. They're in a desperate situation and liable to act a little irrational in order to find a quick fix."

"It would explain the storage facilities located by the border. They might already have some secret wells in Inner Mongolia pumping to one of the other storage sites," Pitt speculated. "The Chinese would only see the end product shipped from Mongolia and not know the oil originated in their own yard."

"I wouldn't want to be on this side of the Great Wall when they figure that scam out," Gunn said.

"It might explain why Borjin abducted the oil survey team from Baikal," Giordino said. "He probably needs their expertise to pinpoint the drill sites and get the oil out of the ground quickly."

"Seems like he could have hired that expertise on the open market," Yaeger said.

"Perhaps. But he probably didn't want to risk leaking the secret of where the oil deposits are located."

"Maybe he'll release them, now that he's got his deal with the Chinese," Gunn said.

"Not likely," Pitt replied. "They already murdered Roy and tried to kill us. No, I'm afraid they are as good as dead once Borjin has the information he wants out of them."

"Have you contacted the local American embassy yet? We need to get the political forces working to save them," Gunn said.

Pitt and Giordino looked at each other in affirmation.

"Diplomacy ain't going to work in this case, Rudi," Giordino said. "Borjin is too well protected. Our Russian friends have been trying that route to no avail, and they've got a lot more clout in this part of the world than we do."

"We've got to do something," he countered.

"We are," Pitt said. "We're going in after them."

"You can't do that. Going in under the name of the U.S. government might create an international incident."

"Not if the U.S. government doesn't know anything about it. And by the way, it's not just Al and me going in. You're coming with us."

A sick feeling struck Gunn in the stomach and he could feel the color drain from his face.

"I knew I should have stayed in Siberia," he muttered.

-42-

Dr. McCammon entered the NUMA computer center just as Yaeger hung up the phone to Mongolia. On the opposite side of the console, the holographic image of Max turned toward the marine geologist and smiled.

"Good evening, Dr. McCammon," she said. "Working late?"

"Uh, good evening," McCammon replied, not sure if he should feel foolish for conversing with a computerized image. He nervously turned and greeted Yaeger.

"Hello, Hiram. Long day?" he asked, noting that Yaeger was dressed in the same clothes he wore the day before.

"Very," Yaeger replied, suppressing a yawn. "A late request from the boss yesterday kept us busy. We expected to see you hours ago."

"Some unexpected meetings managed to kill most of my day. I understand if you didn't get a chance to retrieve the data from the earthquake center," McCammon offered.

"Nonsense," Yaeger replied, as if insulted. "Max can multitask with the best of them."

"Yes," Max replied. "And at least some of us keep our demeanor in the process."

"We pulled in the data last night," Yaeger continued, ignoring the comment, "and ran your program early this morning. Max," he said, facing the image of his wife, "please print Dr. McCammon a copy of the program results. And while that is running, why don't you give us a verbal overview of your findings."

"Certainly," Max replied. A large laser printer at the side of the room immediately began humming with the printed output while Max chose her words.

"The data received from the National Earthquake Information Center reflected global seismic activity for the last five years, including the two large quakes that just recently struck the Persian Gulf. I ran your software program, which analyzed the two earthquakes, then filtered their key commonalties against the entire database. Interestingly, there were several unique characteristics associated with the two earthquakes."

Max paused for effect, then stepped closer to Yaeger and McCammon before continuing.

"Both events were classified as extremely shallow earthquakes, as their epicenters were less than three kilometers beneath the surface. This compares to most shallow-focus earthquakes, which are typically in the five-to fifteen-kilometer depth range."

"That's a meaningful difference," McCammon said.

"Of less significance, both were tectonic quakes rather than volcanic in origin. And, as you know, both were large quakes, measuring over 7.0 on the Richter scale."

"Isn't that quite rare to have a pair of quakes with that magnitude?" Yaeger asked.

"It's a little unusual but not unheard of," McCammon said. "An earthquake of that size in Los Angeles would capture plenty of attention, but the fact is there is a 7.0 magnitude or greater earthquake occurring on average once a month somewhere around the world. Since they mostly strike in nonpopulated areas or under the sea, we don't hear much about them."

"That is correct," Max said. "Though there is a statistically significant anomaly in that the two quakes of that magnitude struck in such close proximity."

"Any other similarities, Max?" Yaeger asked.

"Yes. Though difficult to quantify, it appears that the damage produced by these earthquakes was not commensurate with their size. Significant structural damage was recorded at both sites, which exceeded the norm for similarly sized earthquakes. The actual damage was more reflective of what an 8.0

magnitude quake would produce."

"The Richter scale is not always an accurate measure of an earthquake's destructive power,"

McCammon noted, "particularly for shallow-focus events. In this case, we had two shallow quakes that proved highly damaging. The intensity on the ground was likely much higher than the magnitude rating indicated."

Max frowned briefly as she rifled through her databases, then nodded at McCammon.

"You are absolutely correct, Doctor. The primary seismic waves were much smaller in magnitude than the surface waves for both quakes."

"Anything else, Max?" McCammon asked, finally finding a comfort level with the image.

"Yes, one final aspect. In both earthquakes, there was a record of low-magnitude P-waves registering before the actual quake-induced waves occurred."

"Foreshocks, I suppose," McCammon said. "Not at all unusual."

"Will somebody kindly explain all this surface wave and P-wave business?" Yaeger asked tiredly.

Max shook her head. "Must I teach you everything? Elementary seismology. The slippage from a common tectonic earthquake generates three types of seismic energy releases, or shock waves, if you will. The initial wave is called the primary, or P-type wave. It has similar properties to a sound wave, able to travel through solid rock and even the earth's core. A slower and hence secondary wave is called an S-wave. The S-waves are capable of shearing rock sideways to the direction of travel and produce the damaging vertical and horizontal movement of the ground when they reach the earth's surface. As both types of waves approach the surface, they refract to produce additional surface waves, which create the bulk of the shaking that is felt on the ground."

"I see," said Yaeger. "So they are essentially different frequencies sent out from an earthquake's epicenter."

"That's right," McCammon said.

"Is there a large fault line in the area where the two earthquakes struck?"

"The Persian Gulf actually lies near the boundary of two tectonic plates, called the Arabian and Eurasian.

Nearly all the seismic activity that takes place around the world is in narrow zones surrounding the plate boundaries. The large earthquakes we've seen historically in Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan would suggest that these two quakes in the gulf were not extraordinary but for their proximity."

"I guess your friend at Langley won't have too much to chew on," Yaeger said.

"I can't imagine," McCammon replied. "But thanks to Max, he'll have plenty of data to peruse."

As McCammon walked to the printer to retrieve the output, Yaeger threw one more question at the computer.

"Max, when you ran Phil's filter program did you match any other earthquakes to the same parameters?"

"Why, yes. It would be easier for me to show you graphically, so feast your eyes on the video board."

A large white screen behind Max was suddenly illuminated with a color map of the world. Two flashing red dots appeared in the Persian Gulf, marking the recent earthquakes. A few seconds later, a flurry of red dots erupted in several clusters, concentrated in an area of Northeast Asia. They were followed by a lone flashing dot slightly north of the others. McCammon set down his reports and approached the map in curiosity.

"A total of thirty-four seismic events were identified from the National Earthquake Information Center's data as matching the characteristics of the two sample earthquakes. The most recent occurred just over a week ago in Siberia," Max said, pointing to the lone red dot.

Yaeger's bleary eyes widened in shock. "And the locations of the other events?" he asked.

"Primarily Mongolia. Fifteen events occurred in the mountains east of the capital of Ulaanbaatar, ten in the southern Mongolian province of Dornogov, and another nine in an area just across the border in China. There was also one event in Siberia, at Lake Baikal."

"Mongolia," Yaeger muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Slowly rising to his feet and rubbing his tired eyes, he turned to McCammon.

"Phil," he said, "I think you, me, and Max are going to need some coffee."