Текст книги "Treasure of Khan"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler
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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

-45-

The last place in the world that Rudi Gunn wanted to be was back in the Russian-built truck bouncing over a rough dirt road. But that's exactly where he found himself. His back, rear, and legs all ached from the constant jarring. With every rut and pothole sending his teeth chattering, he was convinced that the truck manufacturer had neglected to install shocks and springs on the vehicle.

"The suspension on this thing must have been designed by the Marquis de Sade," he grimaced as they rolled over a harsh bump.

"Relax," Giordino grinned from behind the wheel. "This is the smooth section of the highway."

Gunn turned a lighter shade of pale, observing that the highway consisted of a weathered pair of dirt tracks through the high steppe grass. They had bounced across the open lands since midday, en route to Borjin's compound of Xanadu. They had to rely on Pitt and Giordino's collective memory to find their way there and several times were forced to guess which of the myriad of tracks to follow over the rolling hills. Familiar landmarks confirmed they were on the right route as they approached the small mountain range to the southeast that they knew housed the estate.

"Another two hours, Rudi," Pitt said, gauging the distance out the windshield, "and your troubles will be over."

Gunn silently shook his head, having the distinct feeling that his troubles were just beginning. A follow-up phone call from Hiram Yaeger before they departed Ulaanbaatar had added a new sense of urgency and gravity to their mission. The revelation that an odd series of earthquakes had been occurring in Mongolia was impossible to ignore.

"We're just scratching the surface on establishing a correlation, but this much we know," Yaeger said in a weary voice. "A series of earthquakes have rocked several areas in north-central Mongolia, as well as a dispersed area in and around the southern border of China. The earthquakes are unique from the norm in that their epicenters are relatively close to the surface. They mostly have been moderately sized quakes, as measured on the Richter scale, yet have produced high-intensity surface waves, which can be particularly destructive. Dr. McCammon has discovered that the foreshocks that preceded each quake are nearly uniform in intensity, which is inconsistent with a naturally occurring earthquake."

"So you think there is some sort of man-made activity that is inducing the earthquakes?" Pitt asked.

"As unlikely as it sounds, the seismological records seem to indicate as much."

"I know that oil drilling sometimes generates earthquakes, and underground nuclear testing has suspected links. I recall that when the old Rocky Flats Arsenal near Denver began injecting contaminated water deep into the ground, earthquakes shook the surrounding area. Have you determined if there is some sort of major drilling operation going on? Or perhaps some nuclear testing by Mongolia's neighbor to the south?"

"The epicenters in the northern part of the country have been located in a mountainous region east of Ulaanbaatar, a remote and rugged area, from what we've been able to determine. And a drilling-induced quake would not show the uniform preshock seismicity, according to Max. As far as the southern-area quakes, we would see it in the seismic profiles if a nuclear test blast had occurred."

"Then let me take a guess and say that brings us to the late Dr. von Wachter."

"Give that man a cookie," Yaeger said. "When Max told us that von Wachter had been killed in a landslide in the Khentii Mountains east of Ulaanbaatar, the light went on. The coincidence was too great.

We concluded that his acoustic seismic array, or an offshoot of the technology, must have something to do with the earthquakes."

"That doesn't seem possible," Gunn said. "You would need a tremendous shock wave to set things off."

"That's the general perception," Yaeger replied. "But Dr. McCammon, working with Max and some other seismologists, has a theory on that. We spoke to a colleague of von Wachter's, who had been told by the doctor of his success at reflection imagery. The secret of his detailed imaging, if you will, was the ability to condense and packet the acoustic waves emitted into the ground. Normally transmitted sound waves behave like a pebble thrown into a pond, rippling out in all directions. Von Wachter developed a means of packeting the waves so that they remained concentrated in a narrow band as they penetrate the earth. The resulting waves, as they reflect back to the surface, apparently produce a crisp, detailed image far beyond any existing technology. Or so the colleague stated."

"So how do you get from a seismic image to an earthquake?" Gunn persisted.

"By two leaps of faith. First, that von Wachter's system produces a detailed image that visibly identifies active subterranean faults and fault lines. That is hardly a stretch of the imagination for shallow faults, which existing technologies can already detect."

"Okay, so von Wachter's seismic array can accurately pinpoint active faults beneath the surface," Gunn said. "You would still need to disturb those pressure points in some manner, say by drilling or with explosives, in order to produce a rupture and subsequent earthquake."

"That's our second leap. You are correct, the fault would need to be disturbed in order to trigger an earthquake. But a seismic wave is a seismic wave. The fault doesn't care if it comes from an explosion ..."

"... or an acoustic blast," Pitt said, finishing Yaeger's sentence. "It makes sense. The ten-foot hanging tripod is a transducer array system that generates the acoustic blast. From the size of the transducers and the power supply that goes with it, it looked to me like they could generate a sonic boom."

"If the acoustic blast is pinpointed at a fault line, the resulting vibrations from the seismic waves could induce a fracture, then, bammo, instant earthquake. It's just a theory, but McCammon and Max both agree it could work. Perhaps von Wachter's imaging technology was never intended as such but was discovered as an inadvertent side effect."

"Either way, it is in the hands of Borjin now. We've got to assume he possesses the technology and the ability to use it," Pitt said.

"You've already seen the effects up close," Yaeger said. "One of the quakes that matched the profile was at Lake Baikal. Perhaps by accident, it set off the underwater landslide, which created the seiche wave that nearly killed you. We now suspect their real target was an oil pipeline at the northern end of the lake, which they succeeded in rupturing."

"That explains why they tried to sink the Vereshchaginand destroy our computers. We told Borjin's sister, Tatiana, of our seismic studies in the lake. She must have realized that our equipment would have detected the man-made signals that preceded the earthquake," Giordino said.

"Signals that we could have traced to a vessel on the lake ... the Primorski,"Pitt added.

"So they've already put the technology to destructive use," Gunn said.

"It's worse than you think. We don't know the purpose or motivation behind the earthquakes in Mongolia and China. But the characteristics of those quakes exactly match the two recent Persian Gulf earthquakes that have devastated oil exports from the region."

The men in the hotel room were shocked. That the technology existed to induce an earthquake was startling enough. More unbelievable was that it was being used to instigate a near-global economic collapse, and that the trail led to the enigmatic mogul who lived in the hinterlands of Mongolia. Borjin's games of deception and destruction were becoming clearer to Pitt now. With his apparent discovery of oil reserves in Inner Mongolia, he was positioning himself to become the de facto oil king of East Asia.

Pitt doubted his ambitions would end there.

"Has this been elevated?" Pitt asked.

"I've been in touch with Vice President Sandecker and have a briefing scheduled with him. The old bull wants to see something concrete. He promised he would have the president convene a National Security Council special session if the facts warrant immediate attention. I told him of your involvement, and he asked that you provide proof that the earthquakes can be specifically linked to Borjin." Admiral James Sandecker, now Vice President Sandecker, was Pitt's former boss at NUMA and still maintained a close relationship with Pitt and his staff at the marine agency.

"The proof," Pitt said, "is in the laboratory on Borjin's compound. He's got a seismic array sitting there, though I don't think it is the same one used at Baikal."

"Perhaps the Baikal device was flown to the Persian Gulf. We have to assume that there are at least two of the devices at large," Yaeger said.

"Three might be a safer bet. I guess you've proven by the Baikal and gulf quakes that they can trigger the device aboard a ship."

"Yes. The epicenters of both Persian Gulf quakes were located offshore."

"The ships might be the link," Pitt noted. "The vessel at Baikal had a moon pool and a derrick on the stern deck. You might start the hunt in the Persian Gulf for a similar utility or research vessel."

"It's a frightening prospect that they might be able to set off earthquakes all over the globe," Yaeger replied. "You boys be careful. I'm not even sure what the vice president can do to help you in Mongolia."

"Thanks, Hiram. You just track those ships down and we'll see about putting the finger on Borjin."

***

Pitt didn't wait to hear the results of Yaeger's briefing with Sandecker. He knew there was little that could be done in the short term. Though Mongolia and the U.S. had strong developing ties, it would take days, if not weeks, to generate government intervention. And the evidence against Borjin himself was circumstantial at best.

With the lives of Theresa and Wofford at stake, Pitt instead formulated a plan of infiltration with Giordino and Gunn, then set off for Xanadu. Borjin certainly wouldn't be expecting visitors, he knew. With a little stealth, and a large dose of luck, they just might be able to free Theresa and Wofford and escape with incriminating proof against Borjin.

The dust-caked truck crested a small hill, then Giordino applied the brakes as they approached a side road. The smoothly grated lane, fronted by a small gate, signaled the entryway to Borjin's retreat.

"The happy trail to Xanadu," Giordino stated.

"Let's hope the opposing traffic is light today," Pitt grimaced.

Dusk was drawing near, and Pitt figured it wasn't likely that anybody would be departing the compound late in the day, with Ulaanbaatar a four-hour drive away. There was still the risk that one of Borjin's horse-mounted patrols would be making the rounds beyond the gates, but there was little they could do about that.

Giordino turned onto the side trail and followed the empty road as it wound up and into the heart of the mountain range. After cresting a steep summit, Giordino slowed the truck as the river appeared alongside the road. An unusually strong summer rainstorm had just struck the mountaintop and the river raged with its powerful runoff. After days of encountering dry dust, Giordino was surprised to find the road turned muddy from the recent rains.

"If my memory serves, the compound is roughly two miles from the point here where the river first makes an appearance," Giordino said.

"It's the aqueduct we need to keep a sharp lookout for," Pitt replied.

Giordino drove on slowly, all eyes keeping a sharp lookout for both the aqueduct and wandering security patrols. Pitt finally spotted a large pipe sprouting from the river, which fed into the concrete-lined aqueduct. It was the landmark they were looking for that told them they were within a half mile of the compound.

Giordino found an opening off the road and pulled the truck into a strand of pine trees, then shut off the motor. The dust and mud-splattered truck blended well into the surroundings, and it would take an observant eye to spot them from the road.

Gunn looked nervously at his watch, noting it was a little before eight o'clock.

"What now?" he asked.

Pitt pulled out a thermos and poured a round of coffees.

"Relax and wait until dark," he replied, sipping at the steaming brew, "till it's time for the bogeymen to come out."

-46-

The steady tropical breeze blew briskly across the barge as Dirk and Dahlgren stripped off their wet suits, shook off their fatigue, and set about getting back to land.

"This tub's too unwieldy to try and sail, even if we had a mast and sailcloth," Dahlgren said.

"Which we don't," Dirk replied. "First things first. Let's see if we can at least slow our drift rate."

"A sea anchor?"

"That's what I was thinking," Dirk said, walking over to one of the air compressors.

"A rather expensive anchor," Dahlgren noted, gathering up sections of their mooring lines.

They fashioned a thirty-foot line to the compressor, tying the opposite end to a stern bollard. Together they muscled the compressor to the side rail and dumped it over the edge. Dangling under the surface, the compressor would act as a makeshift sea anchor, partially slowing the wind-borne portion of their drift.

"One bite into that baby ought to keep the sharks away, too," Dahlgren joked.

"That's the least of our problems," Dirk replied. He scanned the horizon, searching for another vessel that they might be able to attract. But the seas around the far southwest end of the Hawaiian Island chain were completely empty.

"Looks like we're on our own."

The two men turned to the equipment on board the barge. With the Zodiac gone, there was no apparent means of ditching the barge and sailing to shore. A remaining compressor and water pump, plenty of dive gear, and some food and clothing were all they had left aboard.

Dahlgren rapped a knuckle against the side of the shack. "We could build a raft out of this," he said.

"We've got some tools and plenty of rope."

Dirk considered the idea without enthusiasm. "It would take us a day to build, and we would have a pretty tough go running it against the wind and current. We're probably better off staying put and waiting for a passing vessel."

"Just trying to think of a way to get to Summer."

The same thought was on Dirk's mind. There was no question of their survival. They had plenty of food and water aboard. Once the Mariana Explorerreturned to the cove and found the barge missing, an all-out search-and-rescue operation would ensue. They would be found inside of a week, he was certain.

But how much time did Summer have?

The thought made him sick with dread, wondering what kind of people had abducted her. He cursed their predicament, sitting powerless as they drifted farther and farther away from shore. Pacing the deck, he caught sight of Summer's surfboard atop the shack and felt an added pang of helplessness. There had to be something they could do.

Then the light went on. It was right there in front of him. Or maybe Summer had willed him the answer.

A knowing beam crossed his face as he turned to Dahlgren.

"Not a raft, Jack," he said with a confident smile. "A catamaran."

***

The gray-and-white herring gull flapped off the water with a loud squawk, angry at nearly being run over. Circling overhead, the bird warily eyed the offending watercraft skimming along the surface, then flew down and settled in its wake. The bird had never seen a sailing craft quite like it before. Nor had many people, for that matter.

Dirk's brainchild had been to construct a catamaran from his and Summer's surfboards, and the two men turned the crackpot idea into a workable design. The buoyant fiberglass boards made for a perfect pair of pontoons. Dahlgren came up with the idea of using their sleeping cots to attach as cross-members.

Stripped of their fabric covering, two of the aluminum frames were laid crossways and secured to the boards with looped ropes, then sealed in duct tape for good measure.

"If we could drill or knock a small hole in the center of the boards, we could run a safety line through to ensure that the cross-members don't go dancing off in the first head wave," Dahlgren suggested.

"Are you crazy? These are vintage Greg Noll boards. Summer would kill us both if we damaged her board."

They took the third cot frame and rigged it into a mast supported by several guylines. Along with the fabric from the first two cots, they fashioned a sail from the bright blue material. In less than two hours, they had completed a miniaturized, bastardized version of a sailing cat.

"I wouldn't take her on the Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race, but I do believe she'll get us back to the Big Island," Dirk said, admiring the finished product.

"Yep," Dahlgren drawled. "Ugly as sin, yet perfectly functional. You have to love it."

The two men slipped back into their wet suits and attached a satchel of food and water to the mast, then launched the craft over the side. Cautiously climbing aboard, they checked its stability, then Dahlgren let loose a towline to the barge. The barge quickly floated away as the two men kicked their feet to angle the cat's sail against the wind. Dirk pulled the makeshift sail taut and tied it down to the rear cross-member. To his surprise, the tiny little craft nearly jumped ahead through the waves under the force of its rectangular blue sail.

The men each lay on one of the surfboards until they were satisfied that the cot frames would hold fast.

Their rope work had been effective and the two boards attacked the waves as one, while the cross-members showed very little movement. Rising to a sitting position on each board, the men still got doused by the head waves.

"Feels like I'm water-skiing in a lawn chair," Dahlgren grinned as a large wave rolled over them.

The little cat held steady and skimmed quickly along, held true in part with the aid of a paddle that Dirk had rigged to the stern member as a rudder. Steering was limited, however, so they held a steady line for an hour or two before tacking. Dirk would drop the sail and then the two men would kick the nose of the craft around ninety degrees, then pick up the breeze on the opposite side of the sail.

"You might want to rethink that Sydney-to-Hobart race, ol' buddy. She sails like a dream," Dahlgren chided.

"True enough. Though I think I might want to pack a dry suit for that run."

They were both amazed at the crude efficiency of the craft. It wasn't long before the barge had completely disappeared from sight, while the Big Island appeared to grow larger on the horizon. As they settled in for the ride, Dirk's thoughts returned to Summer. As fraternal twins, they shared a close-knit bond that most siblings couldn't grasp. He could almost feel her presence, and he knew with certainty that she was alive. Just hang on, he silently willed her. Help will soon be on the way.

***

The dark lava slopes of Mauna Loa shimmered purple in the setting sun as they drew near the southwest shoreline of Hawaii. The jagged section of coast was largely uninhabited, the lava cliffs too foreboding for sea access but for the occasional black sand beach. Dahlgren pointed to a rocky point a mile or two to their south that protruded into the Pacific like a balled fist.

"Isn't that Humuhumu Point?"

"It sure looks like it," Dirk agreed, trying to identify the landmark in the fading light. "Which means Keliuli Bay is not far around the other side. We nearly hit the coast at the point we departed."

"A fine bit of surfboard navigation," Dahlgren said. He then peered up the coastline in the other direction.

"That means that the nearest spot to pull in and contact the authorities would be Milolii."

"Which is roughly six miles away."

"A healthy ride. Unless one is of the mind to go the other direction and visit the boys that sent us on our merry ride."

Dahlgren knew the answer from the gleaming look in Dirk's eyes. Without saying a word, they tacked the catamaran to the southeast and headed down the coast toward Keliuli Bay.

-47-

Trapped inside the tiny storeroom, Summer languished as the afternoon crept by at a snail's pace. After scouring the room unsuccessfully for any tools or objects that might aid an escape, there was little to do but sit and wonder about the fate of Dirk and Jack. She finally pushed an empty crate beneath the porthole and fashioned a crude chair out of the rope coil, which allowed her to gaze out to sea in some comfort while capturing the ocean breeze on her face.

From her nook, she could detect a flurry of activity on the ship's stern deck. A rubber boat was lowered over the side, and she watched as several divers investigated the wreck site. Summer took small satisfaction in knowing they wouldn't procure any artifacts from the exposed portion of the wreck, which had already been picked clean during the survey and excavation.

After the divers returned to the ship, she saw and felt the drill ship be repositioned. Then around sundown the activity picked up again, as shouting voices and the whir of a crane drifted up from the deck below. She was startled when the door to the storeroom suddenly burst open and she was greeted by a bullnecked thug with crooked teeth. At his prodding, Summer followed him onto the bridge and over to a chart table, where Tong was examining a diagram under a bright swivel light. He looked up and gave her a condescending sneer as she approached.

"Miss Pitt. My divers have confirmed that your excavation was most thorough. And you did not lie.

Most of the ship lies under the lava. There is work ahead to confirm her true designs."

He waited for a response, but Summer just gave him a cold stare, then raised her hands, still tied together at the wrist.

"Ah, yes. Very well, I suppose there is no place for you to run now," he said, nodding at Bull Neck. The underling pulled out a knife and quickly sliced through the ropes. Rubbing her wrists, Summer casually looked around the bridge. A lone helmsman stood by the forward window, gazing at a radarscope. The rest of the bridge was empty, save for her two immediate companions. Tong motioned for her to take a seat next to him, which she did hesitantly.

"Yes," Summer spoke quietly. "As we told you aboard the Mariana Explorer,which is due back any minute now, we have removed all of the artifacts from the lava-free sections of the wreck, which were in fact a fairly small quantity."

Tong smiled at Summer, then leaned over and put his hand on her knee. She wanted to slap him and run from the table, but she did neither. Instead, she just gave him an icy glare, fighting her hardest to hide her fear and revulsion.

"My dear, we passed the Mariana Exploreroutside of Hilo," he leered. "She should be near her destination of Leleiwi Point by now, on the opposite side of the island," he added, laughing with a wicked grin.

"Why is this wreck so important to you?" she asked, hoping to steer his attention away from her.

"You really have no idea, do you?" he replied incredulously. Then he removed his hand from her knee and turned back to the chart of the table. It was a sonar image of the seabed, showing the site of the wreck excavation and the adjacent lava field. An X was marked on the chart near the center of the lava flow.

"Have you penetrated the lava field in your excavations?" he asked.

"No, of course not. I don't know what you are after, Dr. Tong. The artifacts have been removed and the rest of the wreck is sealed under lava. There is nothing you or anyone else can do about that."

"Oh but you see there is, my dear, there is."

Summer stared at Tong with fear and curiosity, wondering what these mercenary looters had up their sleeve.

Tong left Summer under the guard's eye and marched onto the bridge wing and down a flight of stairs.

Moving aft, he opened a side hatch and entered a large open bay. Racks of computers and electronic panels lined the walls, in a quantity that duplicated the test chamber at the family compound in Mongolia.

A short man with steely eyes stood next to a large desk lined with color monitors, gazing over the shoulder at the chief operator's display. He was the same man who had headed up the aborted search efforts in the Khentii Mountains after killing the Russian seismic survey team. He nodded as Tong approached.

"We have identified a minor fault and have the coordinates targeted," he said in a husky voice. "It is in close proximity, but may not be sufficient to create the desired fissure in the lava field. What you ask for is an impossible request, I'm afraid. We should not waste time here but proceed to Alaska as your brother requested."

Tong did not let the affront bother him. "A day or two's delay is worth the gamble. If we are successful and it is in fact the royal Yuan vessel, then the mission to Alaska will appear a mere trifle in comparison."

The short man nodded in deferral. "I recommend four or five incremental detonations, then send the dive team down to check the results. That should tell us if there is any hope of rupturing the lava."

"Very well, proceed with the acoustic bursts. We will work through the night. If there is no success, then we will abandon the site in the morning and proceed to Alaska."

Tong stood back and let the technicians take over. As in the Persian Gulf, a seismic acoustic array was lowered through the ship's moon pool to the lava field below, where the framed and weighted device stood upright on the seafloor. A nearby subterranean fault was pinpointed and targeted, then the computer processors and signal amplifiers activated. With a click of the computer, the first massive electrical pulse went shooting through the three transducer arrays five fathoms below. A second later, the muffled blast of the acoustic shock wave resonated up to the ship with a subtle vibration.

Tong stood watching the blast with an expectant grin, hoping the voyage would bring two successes.

***

A mile away, the low-riding catamaran skirted into the cove under a black nighttime sky. Dirk and Dahlgren resumed their prone positions on the surfboards and paddled their way along the high rocky shoreline. Spotting a shallow ledge just above the water level, they ground the boat beneath a nearly vertical wall of lava. Dirk stood and eyed the bright lights of the nearby drill ship, then dismantled the mast and sail to improve their stealth profile.

The two men sat and rested as they studied the ship, spent from their long day on the water. They were close enough to see a dozen or so men scurrying about the derrick on the illuminated stern deck. They watched as a tall tripod device was lowered through the deck into the water.

"Do you think they're actually trying to drill through the lava to get to the wreck?" Dahlgren postulated.

"Can't imagine what they would expect to recover that way."

The two men downed their supply of food and water and stretched their tired limbs. Slightly refortified, they were contemplating a plan of attack when a low-pitched rumble sounded near the ship. It was a muffled noise, as if emitted from deep within the ship or beneath it.

"What the Sam Hill was that?" Dahlgren drawled.

"Underwater explosion?" Dirk muttered. He looked at the water surface surrounding the ship, anticipating a rising burst of spray and bubbles, but nothing appeared. The surface water in the cove showed barely a ripple.

"Odd that it didn't affect the water. Must have come from within the ship," he said.

"Doesn't seem to be causing any excitement aboard," Dahlgren replied, noting that the deck crew had mostly disappeared and that the ship appeared calm. "How's about we take a closer look?"

They started to drag the catamaran back into the water when a second muffled boom erupted. Like the first, it made no impact to the waters in the middle of the cove. As the two men contemplated the strange detonation, a new, more thunderous noise began rumbling beneath their feet. The noise rose up as the ground began shaking violently, nearly knocking them off balance. Small chunks of loose lava and debris began raining down from the steep cliff face above them.

"Watch out!" Dirk shouted, spotting a nearby boulder break free and slide toward them. The two men barely dove out of the way as the rock rolled past them and over a corner of the catamaran before splashing into the water.

The ground vibrated for several more seconds before fading away. A few frothy waves stirred up by the earthquake slapped violently against the cliffside, then the waters of the cove fell calm.

"I thought the whole cliffside was going to drop on us," Dahlgren said.

"Might well yet," Dirk replied, eyeing the towering wall of lava warily. "Let's not hang around to find out."

Dahlgren stared toward the drill ship. "They created that earthquake," he said matter-of-factly. "It was triggered by the detonation."

"Let's hope it was accidental. They must be trying to rip up the lava field to get to the wreck."

"They can have it. Let's find Summer and get out of here before they bring the whole island down on our heads."

They quickly threw the catamaran in the water and shimmied aboard. quietly paddling away from the rocks, they moved cautiously toward the drill ship. Dahlgren eyed the board in front of him and noticed that the tip was flattened to the thickness of a pancake.

He didn't have the heart to tell Dirk it was his surfboard that was smashed by the falling rock.