Текст книги "Treasure of Khan"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

-5-

Pitt had been asleep for four hours when suddenly he sprang awake, bolting upright in his bunk. Though all was quiet, his senses told him something was wrong. Flicking on a reading light, he swung his feet to the floor and stood up but nearly fell over in the process. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he realized that the ship was listing at the stern, at an angle of almost ten degrees.

Dressing quickly, he climbed a stairwell to the main deck, then moved along its exterior passageway. The passageway and open deck before it were completely deserted, the whole ship strangely quiet as he walked uphill toward the bow. The silence finally registered. The ship's engines were shut down and only the muted hum of the auxiliary generator in the engine room throbbed through the late night air.

Climbing another set of stairs to the bridge, he walked in the doorway and gazed around the compartment. To his chagrin, the bridge was entirely deserted. Wondering if he was the only man aboard the ship, he scanned the bridge console before finding a red toggle switch marked TREVOGA. Flicking the toggle, the entire ship suddenly erupted in a clamor of warning bells that shattered the night silence.

Seconds later, the Vereshchagin'ssinewy captain charged onto the bridge like an angry bull from his cabin below.

"What is going on here?" the captain stammered, fighting to recollect his English in the middle of the night. "Where is the watch, Anatoly?"

"The ship is sinking," Pitt said calmly. "There was no watch aboard the bridge when I entered just a minute ago."

A wide-eyed grimace appeared on the captain's face as he noticed the ship's list for the first time.

"We need power!" he cried, reaching for a phone to the engine room. But as his hand gripped the receiver, the bridge suddenly fell black. Mast lights, cabin lights, console displays – everything – went dark throughout the ship as the electrical power vanished in an instant. Even the alarm bells began dying with a wounded bellow.

Cursing in the dark, the captain fumbled with his hands along the bridge console until finding the emergency battery switch, which bathed the bridge in low-level lighting. As the lights flickered on, the Vereshchagin'schief engineer burst onto the bridge, gasping for air. A heavyset man with a neatly trimmed beard, he gazed through sky-blue eyes that were tinged with panic.

"Captain, the hatches to the engine room have been chained shut. There's no way to gain entry. I fear she may well be half flooded already."

"Someone has locked the hatches? What has happened ... Why are we sinking while moored at anchor?" the captain asked, shaking away the cobwebs in search of an answer.

"It appears that the bilges have flooded and the lower deck is taking on water quickly at the stern," the engineer reported, his breath finally slowing.

"You better prepare to abandon ship," Pitt advised in a logical tone.

The words still cut the captain to the bone. For a ship's captain, the order to abandon ship is like volunteering to give away one's own child. There is no order more searing on the soul. The pain of answering to the shipowners, the insurance companies, and the maritime inquiry boards after the fact would be difficult enough to face. But harder still was seeing the crew scramble off in fear, then watching as that inanimate mass of wood and steel actually vanishes before one's eyes. Like a favorite family car, most ships take on a persona of their own for the captain and crew, with nuances, quirks, and personality traits unique to that vessel. Many a captain has been accused of having a love affair with the vessel he commanded, and so it was with Captain Kharitonov.

The tired captain knew the truth but still couldn't utter the words. With a grim look, he simply nodded at the chief engineer to pass the order.

Pitt was already out the door, his mind churning over solutions to keep the ship afloat. Retrieving his dive gear and accessing the engine room was his first temptation, but he would have to defeat the chained hatch first and then what? If the flooding was from a gash to the hull beneath the engine room, there would be little he could do to stem the tide anyway.

The answer struck him when he ran into Giordino and Gunn on the suddenly bustling middeck.

"Looks like we're about to get wet," Giordino said without alarm.

"The engine room is locked and flooding. She's not going to stay afloat a whole lot longer," Pitt replied, then gazed down the sloping aft deck. "How quickly can you get that whirlybird warmed up?"

"Consider it done," Giordino replied, then sprinted aft, not waiting for Pitt's reply.

"Rudi, see that the survey team we picked up is safely on deck and near a lifeboat. Then see if you can convince the captain to release the anchor line," Pitt said while Gunn stood shivering in a light jacket.

"What's up your sleeve?"

"An ace, I hope," Pitt mused, then disappeared aft.

***

The Kamov bounded into the night sky, hovering momentarily above the stricken research vessel.

"Aren't we forgetting 'Women and children first'?" Giordino asked from the pilot's seat.

"I sent Rudi to round up the oil survey team," Pitt replied, reading Giordino's real concern about Theresa. "Besides, we'll be back before anyone gets their feet wet."

Gazing out the cockpit, they observed the full outline of the ship illuminated more from the shore lights than the emergency deck lights, and Pitt silently hoped his words would hold true. The research ship was clearly going down at the stern and sinking fast. The waterline had already crept over the lower deck and would shortly begin washing over the open stern deck. Giordino instinctively flew toward Listvyanka, while Pitt turned his gaze from the foundering Vereshchaginto the scattered fleet of vessels moored off the village.

"Looking for anything in particular?" Giordino asked.

"A high-powered tug, preferably," Pitt replied, knowing no such vessel existed on the lake. The boats whisking by beneath them were almost exclusively small fishing vessels of the kind that the oil survey team had leased. Several were capsized or washed ashore from the force of the seiche wave.

"How about that big boy?" Giordino asked, nodding toward a concentration of lights in the bay two miles away.

"She wasn't around when we came in last night, maybe she's on her way in. Let's go take a look."

Giordino banked the helicopter toward the lights, which quickly materialized into the outline of a ship. As the chopper zoomed closer, Pitt could see that the ship was a cargo ship of roughly two hundred feet.

The hull was painted black creased with brown patches of rust that dripped to the waterline. A faded blue funnel rose amidships, garnished with the logo of a gold sword. The old ship had obviously plied the lake for decades, transporting coal and lumber from Listvyanka to remote villages on the northern shores of Baikal. As Giordino swung down the ship's starboard side, Pitt noted a large black derrick mounted on the stern deck. His eyes returned to the funnel, then he shook his head.

"No good. She's moored here, and I see no smoke from her stacks, so her engines are probably cold.

Take too long to get her in play." Pitt tilted his head back toward the village. "Guess we'll have to go for speed over power."

"Speed?" Giordino asked as he followed Pitt's nod and aimed the helicopter back toward the village.

"Speed," Pitt confirmed, pointing to a mass of brightly colored lights bobbing in the distance.

***

Aboard the Vereshchagin,an orderly evacuation was already under way. Two lifeboats had been loaded with half the crew and were in the process of being lowered to the water. Gunn threaded his way past the remaining crowd of scientists and ship's crewmen toward the rear quarters, then dropped down a deck. Incoming water had risen above the deckhead at the far end of the passageway but sloshed only to ankle depth at the higher point where Gunn stood. The guest cabins were closest to him, where, to his relief, the water had yet to rise much higher.

Gunn shuddered as he approached the first cabin shared by Theresa and Tatiana, the icy water swirling about his calves. Shouting and pounding loudly on the door, he turned the unlocked handle and pressed against it. Inside, the cabin was bare. There were no personal effects about, which was to be expected, since the women had come aboard with little more than the clothes on their back. Only the ruffled blankets on the twin bunks indicated their earlier presence.

He closed the door and quickly moved aft to the next cabin, grimacing as the cold water sloshed around his thighs. Again he shouted and knocked on the door before forcing it open against the resistance of the water. Roy and Wofford were sharing this cabin, he recalled as he stepped in. Under a dim emergency light he could see that the cabin was empty like the first, though both beds looked as if they had been slept in.

As the frigid water stung his legs with the pain of a thousand needles, Gunn satisfied himself that the survey crew had made it above decks. Only the cabin of the fishing boat's captain was unchecked, but the water was chest high to reach it. Foregoing the opportunity to acquire hypothermia, Gunn turned and made his way up to the main deck as a third lifeboat was lowered into the water. Scanning what was now just a handful of crewmen left on deck, he saw no sign of the oil survey team. There was only one conclusion to make, he thought with relief. They must have made it off on the first two lifeboats.

***

Ivan Popovich was asleep, buried in his bunk, lost in a dream that he was fly-fishing on the Lena River when a deep thumping noise jolted him awake. The ruddy-faced pilot of the Listvyanka hydrofoil ferry Voskhodslithered into a heavy fur coat, then staggered half asleep out his tiny cabin and climbed up onto the ferry's stern deck.

He immediately came face-to-face with a pair of bright floodlights that seared his eyes, while a loud thumping from the blinding force sent a blast of cold air swirling about his body. The lights rose slowly off the deck, hovered for a moment, then turned and vanished. As the echo of the helicopter's rotors quickly receded into the night air, Popovich rubbed his eyes to vanquish the parade of spots dancing before his retinas. Reopening his eyes, he was surprised to see a man standing before him. He was tall and dark-haired, with white teeth that were exposed in a friendly smile. In a calm voice, the stranger said,

"Good evening. Mind if I borrow your boat?"

***

The high-speed ferry screamed across the bay, riding up on its twin forward hydrofoil blades for the brief journey to the Vereshchagin.Popovich charged the ferry directly toward the bow of the sinking ship, then deftly spun about as he killed the throttle, idling just a few feet off the research vessel's prow.

Pitt stood at the stern rail of the ferry, looking up at the foundering gray ship. The vessel was grotesquely tilted back on its stern, her bow pointing toward the sky at a twenty-degree angle. The flooded ship was in a precarious state, liable to slip under the surface or turn turtle at any moment.

A metallic clanking suddenly erupted from overhead as the ship's anchor chain was played out through the hawsehole. A thirty-foot length of the heavy chain rattled across the deck and over the side, followed by a rope line and float to mark where the anchor line had been cut. As the last link dropped beneath the surface, Pitt could detect the ship's bow rise up several feet from the reduced tension and weight of the released anchor line.

"Towline away," came a shout from above.

Looking up, Pitt saw the reassuring sight of Giordino and Gunn standing near the bow rail. A second later, they heaved a heavy rope line over the side and played it out to the water's edge.

Popovich was on it instantly. The veteran ferry pilot promptly backed his boat toward the dangling line until Pitt could manhandle the looped end aboard. Quickly securing the line around a capstan, Pitt jumped to his feet and gave Popovich the thumbs-up sign.

"Towline secured. Take us away, Ivan," he yelled.

Popovich threw the diesel engines in gear and idled forward until the towline became taut, then he gently applied more throttle. As the ferry's propellers thrashed at the water, Popovich wasted no time being cautious and smoothly pushed the throttles to FULL.

Standing on the stern, Pitt heard the twin engines whine as their revolutions peaked. The water churned in a froth as the props dug into the water, but no sense of forward momentum could be felt. It was akin to a gnat pulling an elephant, Pitt knew, but this gnat had a nasty bite. The ferry was capable of cruising at thirty-two knots, and its twin 1,000-horsepower motors produced a blasting force of torque.

Nobody felt the first movement, but inch by inch, then foot by foot, the Vereshchaginbegan to creep forward. Giordino and Gunn watched from the bridge with the captain and a handful of crewmen, holding their breath as they edged toward the village. Popovich wasted no effort, taking the shortest path to shore, which led to the heart of Listvyanka.

The two vessels had crept a half mile when a succession of creaks and groans began echoing from the bowels of the Vereshchagin.A battle waged between the flooded aft and the buoyant bow of the ship for control of the vessel, a fight that tested the structural integrity of the aged ship. Pitt stood tensely near the towline watching the gray ship shudder, knowing he would have to quickly release the rope if the Vereshchaginplunged beneath the waves, lest the ferryboat be dragged along with her.

The minutes seemed to slow to hours as the Vereshchagincrawled closer to shore, its stern sinking lower and lower under the lake surface. Another metallic groan rumbled from deep within the ship and the whole vessel shuddered. With agonizing slowness, the vessel inched closer, a warm yellow glow now bathing it from the village lights. Popovich ran the shallow-draft ferry directly toward a small rocky beach beside the damaged marina docks. To those watching, it looked as if he was trying to drive his ferry aground, yet everybody prayed he would keep coming. With the roar of his motors echoing off the town's buildings, Popovich kept charging forward until, just a few yards from shore, a muffled grinding sound affirmed that the Vereshchagin'shull had finally run aground.

In the hydrofoil ferry's cabin, Popovich felt rather than heard the grounding of the research vessel and quickly shut down his boat's overheated engines. A deathly still enveloped both vessels as the echo from the dying motors fell away. Then a loud cheer burst forth, first from the ship's crew who had landed the lifeboats ashore nearby, then from a crowded throng of villagers watching along the beachfront, and, finally, from the remaining men aboard the Vereshchagin,all applauding the heroic efforts of Pitt and Popovich. Popovich let go two blasts from an air horn in acknowledgment, then walked to the ferry's stern and waved toward the men in the Vereshchagin'sbridge.

"My compliments, Captain. Your skill at the helm was as artistic as Rachmaninoff on the piano," Pitt said.

"I couldn't bear the thought of seeing my old ship go down," Popovich replied, staring at the Vereshchaginnostalgically. "I started out scrubbing decks on that babushka," he grinned. "Captain Kharitonov is also an old friend. I would hate to see him get in trouble with the state."

"Thanks to you, the Vereshchaginwill sail the waters of Baikal again. I trust that Captain Kharitonov will be in command when she does."

"I pray so as well. He told me over the radio that it was an act of sabotage. Perhaps it was one of these environmental groups. They act like they own Baikal."

For the first time, Pitt considered the thought. Sabotage it appeared to be, but by whom? And for what purpose? Perhaps Sarghov would know the answer.

In Listvyanka, a flurry of activity roused the town in the late hour as the locals rushed to offer assistance following the near tragedy. Several small fishing boats acted as shuttles, running crew members to shore and back, while others assisted in tying up the grounded ship for safety. An adjacent fish-packing plant, its floors still damp from minor flooding only hours earlier, was opened up for the crew and scientists to gather and rest. Coffee and vodka were served with zeal by the local fishing wives, accompanied by fresh smoked omulto those with a late-night appetite.

Pitt and Popovich were welcomed with a cheer and applause as they entered the warehouse. Captain Kharitonov gratefully thanked both men, then, with uncharacteristic emotion, threw a bear hug around his old friend Popovich in appreciation.

"You saved the Vereshchagin.I am most grateful, comrade."

"I am glad to have been of help. It was Mr. Pitt who wisely recognized the worth of utilizing my ferry, however."

"I just hope next time I won't need to call on you in the middle of the night, Ivan." Pitt smiled, glancing down at the bedroom slippers Popovich still wore on his feet. Turning to Captain Kharitonov, Pitt asked,

"Has all the crew been accounted for?"

An unsettled look crossed the captain's face. "The bridge watchman Anatoly has not been seen. And Dr.

Sarghov is also missing. I had hoped he might be with you."

"Alexander? No, he was not with us. I haven't seen him since we turned in after dinner."

"He was not aboard any of the lifeboats," Kharitonov replied.

A subdued-looking Giordino and Gunn approached Pitt with their heads hung down.

"That's not all who's missing," Giordino said, overhearing the conversation. "The entire oil survey team that we rescued has vanished. Not a one made it into any of the lifeboats, and they were not in their cabins."

"I was able to check all of their cabins but the fisherman's," Gunn added with a nod.

"No one saw them leave the ship?" Pitt asked.

"No," Giordino said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gone without a trace. It's as if they never existed."

-6-

When the sun crawled up the southeast horizon several hours later, the precarious state of the Vereshchaginbecame clearly apparent in the dawn's light. The engine room, stern hold, and lower-berth cabins were completely submerged, while water sloshed over nearly a third of the main deck. Just how many more minutes the ship would have stayed afloat had she not been towed ashore was a game of pure conjecture, but the answer was obvious to all: Not very long.

Standing near the remains of a tourist kiosk that was leveled by the seiche wave, Pitt and Captain Kharitonov surveyed the grounded research ship. Off her stern, Pitt watched as a pair of shiny black nerpa popped to the surface and swam over the stern rail. Small doe-eyed seals that inhabit the lake, they floated lazily about the flooded stern deck before vanishing under the water in search of food. As Pitt waited for the nerpa to resurface, he gazed at the ship's waterline, noting a small smudge of red paint amidships that had rubbed off a dock or small boat.

"A salvage repair crew from Irkutsk will not arrive until tomorrow," Kharitonov said with a grim expression. "I will have the crew activate the portable pumps, though I suppose there is little purpose until we can determine the exact cause of the damage."

"More pressing is the disappearance of Alexander and the oil survey team," Pitt replied. "Since they have not been found ashore, we must assume they didn't make it out alive. The flooded portion of the ship must be searched for their remains."

The captain nodded with reluctant acceptance. "Yes, we must locate my friend Alexander. I am afraid we will have to wait for a police dive team to give us the answer."

"I don't think you'll have to wait that long, Captain," Pitt said, nodding toward an approaching figure.

Fifty yards away, Al Giordino marched along the waterfront toward the two men, toting a red-handled pair of bolt cutters over his shoulder.

"Found these at a garage sale in town," Giordino said, hoisting the bolt cutters off his shoulder. The long handles stretched half his height from the ground to his waist.

"Should allow us access to the verboten portions of the ship," Pitt said.

"You? You will investigate the damage?" Kharitonov asked, surprised at the Americans' initiative.

"We need to find out if Alexander and the others are still aboard," Giordino said with a stern look.

"Whoever tried to sink your vessel may have had an interest in halting our research project," Pitt added.

"If so, I'd like to find out why. Our dive gear is stowed in the forward hold, so we have access to all of our equipment."

"It may not be safe," Kharitonov cautioned.

"The only difficult part will be to convince Al to dive before breakfast," Pitt said, trying to lighten the morbid task at hand.

"I have it on good authority that the local IHOP is having an all-you-can-eat special on sturgeon pancakes," Giordino replied with a raised brow.

"We'll just have to hope they don't run out."

Gunn joined Pitt and Giordino as they motored up to the grounded ship in a borrowed Zodiac. Climbing the sloped deck to the forward hold, Gunn lent a hand as the two men pulled on black dry suits and weight belts, then hooked up the lightweight rebreather systems. Before they pulled on their faceplates, Gunn pointed a finger up toward the deckhead.

"I'm going to check the computers up in the bridge and get an update on regional seismic activity. Don't run off with any mermaids without me," he said.

"They'd be too blue to swim in this frigid water anyway," Giordino grunted.

Foregoing fins, the two men trudged down the deck in the rubber-soled feet of their dry suits and waded into the water. When the water level reached his shoulders, Pitt reached up and flicked on a small light strapped to his head, then ducked underwater. A starboard side stairwell was just a few feet ahead and Pitt walked toward it like Frankenstein's monster, plodding slowly against the water's resistance. A bouncing beam of light to his rear told him Giordino was following just a few feet behind.

Dropping down the stairs in a series of hops, Pitt passed the lower cabin level and continued down to the poop deck and engine room. Distancing himself from the surface daylight, a cloud of darkness quickly enshrouded him. The water itself was as clear as a swimming pool, though, and Pitt's small headlight cut a bright white path through the gloom. With negative buoyancy, it was easier to walk than swim and he moon-hopped his way to the starboard engine-room hatchway. As the chief engineer had reported, the heavy steel door was sealed closed. An old, rusty chain was wrapped around the latch and fastened to the bulkhead, locking the hatch shut. Pitt noted that a gold-colored padlock, which secured the chain, appeared to be new.

Pitt watched the glow from Giordino's light illuminate the hatch, then the snips from the bolt cutter slipped in front of him and grasped a link of chain near the padlock. Pitt turned and watched as Giordino cut the link as if cracking a walnut, the Italian's thick arms easily brandishing the cutter. As it sliced through the second half of the link, Pitt unwound the chain and pulled open the hatch, then stepped inside.

Though the Vereshchaginwas more than thirty years old, the engine room was neat and spotless, the hallmark of a meticulous chief engineer. The ship's large diesel generator occupied most of the room, centered in the middle of the bay. Pitt slowly circled the bay, searching for obvious signs of damage to the deck and bulkheads, as well as the engine itself, but none was evident. Only a large steel-grated footplate was out of place, pulled up from the rear deck and left leaning against a tool bin. Peering inside, Pitt recognized it as an opening to the bilge. A four-foot drop led to a crawl space that ran under the enclosed deck. At its base was the curved steel plate of the ship's hull.

Lowering himself into the hole, Pitt dropped to the hull plate and knelt down, examining the compartment toward the stern. As far as his light would shine, the hull plates appeared smooth and intact. Spinning slowly around, he backed into a metal object as Giordino's light-dispensing head poked into the compartment. Under the beam of Giordino's spotlight, Pitt noticed a thick pipe running forward from the object at his back. Turning to examine the protrusion, he noted Giordino was nodding his head up and down in affirmation.

The object was a squat valve that rose a foot above the trailing pipe. Adjacent to it was a small red placard that proclaimed in bold white letters PREDOSTEREZHENIYE!, which Pitt could only assume meant "Caution!" Pitt placed his gloved hands on the valve and twisted it counterclockwise. The valve wouldn't budge. He then reversed pressure and tried turning it clockwise. The valve turned freely under a light touch until Pitt pushed it to its stops. He glanced at Giordino, who nodded back with a knowing look. It was as simple as that. The valve opened the ship's sea cock, which would flood the bilge—and, ultimately, the entire ship—when opened at sea. Somebody had entered the engine room, opened the sea cock, disabled the bilge pumps, and then sealed off access to the bay. A quick and easy way to sink a ship in the middle of the night.

Pitt swam out of the bilge compartment and crossed the engine room. On the opposite side, he found an identical grated floor plate, this one properly positioned in the deck. Yanking the grate off, he climbed down and inspected the portside sea cock, finding it too had been turned to the open position. Closing the valve, he reached for the open hand of Giordino, who helped yank him out of the compartment and onto the engine-room deck.

Half of their objective was complete. They had accessed the engine room and determined the cause of the flooding. But there was still the question of Sarghov, Anatoly, and the missing oil survey team.

Glancing at his watch, Pitt noted that they had been submerged for nearly thirty minutes. Though they had plenty of air and bottom time left, the cold water was beginning to sap at his bones, despite the insulating dry suit. In his younger days, he would dive nearly oblivious to the cold, but Father Time was offering yet another reminder that he was no longer a kid.

Shaking off the thought, he led Giordino out of the room, then quickly checked the other flooded compartments around the engine bay. Finding nothing out of sorts, they ascended the stairwell a level to the lower cabin berths. The passageway led amidships then turned fore and aft, with cabins on either side of the hall that extended to the ship's beam.

With hand gestures, Pitt directed Giordino to check the portside cabins while he searched the starboard berths. Moving aft, he felt like a prowler as he entered the first cabin, which he knew to be Sarghov's.

Despite being completely submerged, Pitt was surprised to find that the contents of the room had remained largely in place. Only a few sheaves of typewritten papers and sections of a local newspaper drifted lazily about the flooded cabin. Pitt saw a laptop computer sitting open on a desk, its screen long since shorted out from the immersion. A foul-weather jacket, which Sarghov had with him at dinner, was draped over the desk chair. Peeking into the small cabin closet, Pitt found an assortment of Sarghov's shirts and pants hanging neatly on a rack. It was not the reflection of a man who had planned to depart the ship, Pitt observed.

Exiting Sarghov's cabin, he quickly searched the next three cabins before reaching the final starboard berth. It was the one cabin Gunn had been unable to reach when he searched for the oil survey team.

Across the passageway, Pitt saw the flickering light from Giordino, who had moved ahead of him and was searching the last port cabin.

Pitt turned the latch and leaned his body against the door to force it open against the invisible force of the water. Like the other cabins he searched, its interior appeared orderly, with no obvious disruptions from the flooding. Only, from the doorway, Pitt could see that there was something different about this cabin.

It still contained its occupant.

In the restrictive light, it might have been a duffel bag or a couple of pillows lying on the bunk, but Pitt had a feeling otherwise. Taking a step closer, he could see it was a man lying on the bunk, a pale and very dead man at that.

Pitt slowly approached the prone figure and cautiously leaned over the body, illuminating the corpse with the beam from his spotlight. The open eyes of the surly fishing boat captain stared up at him without blinking, a confused look permanently etched upon the dead man's face. The old fisherman was clad in a T-shirt, and his legs were tucked snugly under the covers. The tight blanket had kept him from floating off the bunk until the air in his lungs had slowly purged.

Shining his light closely at the fisherman's head, Pitt rubbed a finger across the man's hairline. Two inches above his ear, a slight indentation creased the side of his head. Though the skin had not broken, it was obvious that a heavy blow had cracked the man's skull. Pitt morbidly wondered whether the old fisherman had been done in by the blow itself or had drowned while unconscious when the cabin flooded.

As Giordino's light suddenly appeared in the doorway, Pitt took a careful look around the floor of the bunk. The carpeted deck was bare. He saw no porcelain pitchers, lead paperweights, or bottles of vodka that could have fallen off a shelf and struck the man by accident. The entire room was bare, a spare cabin given to the fisherman who brought no belongings of his own.

Pitt took another look at the old man and knew his initial instincts were right. From the first the minute he saw him, Pitt knew the old fisherman had not died by accident. He had been murdered.