Текст книги "Treasure of Khan"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

-9-

Under the glow from the dock lights, a man emerged from the shadows and walked to within five feet of Pitt. He was slightly built, with oily black hair that matched the color of his work overalls. He nervously swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet, but there was nothing nervous in the way he held a Yarygin PYa 9mm automatic pistol aimed rock steady at Pitt's chest. The gunman had been sitting quietly in the forecastle behind the capstan, Pitt now realized, where he had a clear view of the gangplank. From that forward position, he had caught sight of Pitt's penlight and had crept over to investigate.

The guard was barely past his teens, and stared at Pitt through darting brown eyes. Professional guard was not his first duty, Pitt surmised, noting the grease-stained fingers of a mechanic wrapped around the handgun. Yet he held the gun perfectly trained on Pitt and there was little doubt he would pull the trigger if pressed.

Pitt found himself in an awkward position, squeezed between the tender and the side rail, with open deck between him and the guard. As the guard pulled a handheld radio to his lips with his left hand, Pitt decided to act. It was either lunge at the guard and risk getting shot in the face or slip over the rail and take a chance in the cold lake water below. Or he could hope that Giordino would appear. But Giordino was fifty feet away and would be in immediate sight of the guard the second he stepped on the forward deck.

As the guard spoke briefly into the transmitter, his eyes remained locked on Pitt. Pitt stood perfectly still, contemplating the penalty for trespassing in Russia and dryly noting that an exile to Siberia wouldn't require any traveling. He then thought of the dead fisherman aboard the Vereshchaginand wondered if a Siberian gulag wasn't too rosy an assumption.

He subtly bent his knees while waiting for the radio to squawk back, which would create a slight distraction to the guard. When a deep voice blared back through the handset, Pitt inched his left hand to the side rail and tightened his legs for a springing vault over the side. But that's as far as he got.

The muzzle flash flared with a simultaneous bark from the Yarygin as the gun bucked slightly in the guard's hand. Pitt froze as a baseball-sized chunk of teak splintered off the wood rail inches from his hand and splashed into the water below a moment later.

Pitt made no further movements as a series of shouts erupted on the dock, inspired more from the gunshot than the radio call. Two men stormed up the gangway, each brandishing the same type Yarygin pistol carried by the Russian military that had nearly blown away Pitt's left hand. Pitt immediately recognized the second man as the missing helmsman from the Vereshchagin,a humorless icicle named Anatoly. A third man soon emerged from the bridge companionway and approached with an authoritative air. He had long ebony hair and surveyed the scene through a pair of callous brown eyes.

Under the dock lights, Pitt could see a long scar running down his left cheek, the tattoo from a youthful knife fight.

"I found this intruder hiding behind the tender," the guard reported.

The man eyed Pitt briefly, then turned to the other two crewmen. "Search the area for accomplices. And no more gunfire. We do not need to attract attention."

The two men from the dock jumped at his words and quickly fanned through the forward deck, searching the shadows. Pitt was led to the center of the deck, where an overhead light illuminated the scene.

"Where is Alexander?" Pitt asked calmly. "He told me to meet him here."

Pitt didn't expect the bluff to work but studied the man in charge for a reaction. A slight arch of the brow was all he offered.

"English?" he finally said without interest. "You would be from the Vereshchagin.A pity you have lost your way."

"But I have found those responsible for trying to sink her," Pitt responded.

Under the dim lights, Pitt could see the man's face flush. He checked his anger as Anatoly and the other crewman approached, shaking their heads.

"No companions? Then put him with the other and quietly deposit them over the side where no one will find them," the man hissed.

The guard stepped forward and thrust the barrel of his pistol into Pitt's ribs and nodded toward the portside passageway. Pitt grudgingly walked toward the shadows where he had left Giordino and turned down the passageway, followed by the guard and two crewmen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the scar-faced boss return to the bridge via a side stairwell.

Marching past the crossways, he half expected to see Giordino lunge out of the shadows at his assailants, but his partner was nowhere to be seen. Reaching the stern deck, he was prodded toward one of the rusty cargo containers lining the rail. Acting calm and non-resistant, he waited until one of the crewmen fumbled with a padlock on the container before taking the offensive. The guard still poked him in the ribs with a pistol, standing off balance in the process. In a lightning-quick move, Pitt bumped the muzzle away from his body with a flick of his left elbow. Before the guard realized what was happening, Pitt had swung at him, carrying the full weight of his right fist with the momentum. The roundhouse hammered the guard's chin, coming within a hair of knocking him unconscious. Instead, he staggered backward into the arms of Anatoly as the gun clanked to the deck.

The other crewman was still occupied holding the padlock in his hands, so Pitt gambled and dove for the loose gun. As he hit the deck, his outstretched right hand just snared the Yarygin's polymer grip when a one-hundred-seventy-pound mass landed on his back. With calm callousness, Anatoly had wisely pushed the punch-drunk guard back at Pitt, the dazed man landing in a heap on Pitt's back. As Pitt tried to roll the guard off, he felt the cold steel muzzle of an automatic pistol suddenly pressed into the side of his neck. Pitt knew the order not to shoot would only go so far and dropped his gun to the deck.

Pitt was held at gunpoint on his knees until the padlock was freed and the double doors of the twenty-foot-long container were flung open. Shoved roughly in the back, Pitt staggered into the container, falling against a soft object. Under the dim light he realized that he had fallen against a human form, lying crumpled on the container floor. The body moved, the torso pulling up on an elbow as its hidden face turned to Pitt.

"Dirk ... it's good of you to drop in," rasped the weary voice of Alexander Sarghov.

***

When Pitt was apprehended on the bow, Giordino silently cursed from the shadows. Without a weapon at hand, his options were limited. He considered charging the gunman from afar, but there was just too much open deck to cross in plain view. Watching the guard fire a warning shot at Pitt dispelled the thought of conspicuous heroics altogether. Then hearing the men from the dock running aboard, he decided to backtrack and skirt through the cross-passageway to the starboard side. Perhaps he could fall in place behind the men boarding the gangplank and make a move on the guard with the approach of the other men.

Moving silently along the bulkhead, he quickstepped down the port deck and turned into the cross-passageway. Just as he turned the corner, a black-clad figure running from the opposite direction collided head-on with him. In a scene out of a Keystone Kops silent movie, both men bounced off each other like rubber balls and fell flat on their backs. Agile as a cat and quickly shaking off the blow, Giordino sprang to his feet first and lunged at the other man as he scrambled to stand up. Grabbing him by the torso, Giordino slammed the other man headfirst into the bulkhead. A soft clang echoed as the man's skull met the steel wall and his body instantly fell limp in Giordino's arms.

No sooner was the man out cold than the sound of footsteps resonated down the port deck. A glance to the lighted forward deck revealed Pitt being escorted aft. Quickly dragging the unconscious man down the cross-passageway, Giordino ducked back into the conference room. Hoisting the limp body onto the conference table, he noticed that the crewman was his same height and dressed in the same black overalls that the deck guard wore. A quick search turned up no weapons on the man, who was actually the ship's radio operator. Giordino stripped off the overalls and slipped them over his own pants, then pulled on a dark wool fishing cap that the man had been wearing. Satisfied he could in the dark pass as a crewman, he stepped back into the corridor and moved aft, completely unsure of his next move.

***

Sarghov's clothes were rumpled, his hair askew, and his left brow glistened a midnight blue. Though his face was weary, his eyes sparkled with life as he recognized Pitt.

"Alexander, how bad are you hurt?" Pitt asked, helping Sarghov to a sitting position.

"I'm all right," he replied in a stronger voice. "They just roughed me up a little after I laid one of their men down." A slight smile of satisfaction creased his lips.

Behind them, the double doors of the container slammed shut, casting the interior into complete darkness. The hum of a diesel generator kicked to life as one of the crewmen took the controls of a nearby shipboard crane. The operator swung the boom across the deck, jerking it to a stop above the container as its dangling steel hook swung wildly about. Releasing the cable, he let the hook drop until it landed on the container with a metallic clang, then killed the controls.

Inside, Pitt turned on his penlight for illumination as Sarghov regained his strength.

"They tried to sink the Vereshchagin,"the Russian said. "Pray tell, your presence here indicates they failed?"

"Not by much," Pitt replied. "We were able to tow the ship ashore before she sank in the bay. The oil survey team is missing. Did they come aboard with you?"

"Yes, but we were separated when we came aboard the freighter. I heard a commotion in the passageway outside my cabin and was met with the muzzle of a pistol when I went to investigate. It was the deck officer, Anatoly. He and the woman Tatiana marched us to a waiting tender at gunpoint and brought us here. Their purpose for doing so is a complete mystery," he added, shaking his head.

"That's less important at the moment than how we get out of here," Pitt said, climbing to his feet.

Scanning the container, he found it was empty but for a few scattered rags on the floor.

Outside its steel walls, Anatoly collected a pair of looped cable strands and wrapped them around the base of the container. The other crew member, a thin man with greasy hair, climbed atop the container and pulled the cables together, then slid them over the crane hook. The guard who had taken the punch from Pitt staggered back to his feet, retrieving his gun while watching the spectacle from a distance.

Jumping from the container roof, the thin crewman returned to the crane controls in a darkened corner a few yards away. Tapping his fingers on the lift lever, he elevated the boom until the cables went taut, then slowly raised the container off the deck until it swung loosely in the air. With his eyes focused on the dangling container, he failed to notice a figure creep silently across the deck and approach from the side.

He additionally failed to see the balled fist that suddenly materialized out of the darkness and struck him below his ear with the kinetic energy of a wrecking ball. Had he not immediately blacked out from the blow to his carotid artery, he would have looked into the face of Al Giordino as he was dragged from the controls like a wet noodle and dumped on the deck.

Giordino had no time to study the controls as he took the man's place. Pulling at a lever with his right hand, he guessed right, and watched as the boom rose, elevating the container a few more inches. Testing the lateral controls with his left hand, he swung the boom amidships a foot or two before reversing directions and swinging the container out over the port side of the ship, the metal box just barely clearing the railing. Giordino held the crane steady for a minute, the container twisting back and forth perilously over the water. As he had hoped, Anatoly and the guard followed the path of the container and stood at the port rail to watch the impending drowning. Though the night temperature was cool, a bead of sweat trickled down Giordino's brow as he calmly waited with his hands on the controls until Anatoly waved at him to drop the boom. Giordino slowly swung the crane a few more feet away from the ship, then waited until the container had swayed to its farthest point in the pendulum, then reversed the controls and jammed the boom back over the stern deck as hard as he could.

The two men at the rail watched with a confused look as the boom swung overhead while the container hung in midair for a split second, then its momentum shifted and the two-ton steel box suddenly came barreling right toward them.

The unsteady guard managed to teeter back on his heels, cursing as the flying container skimmed by just inches from his face. Anatoly was not so lucky. Rather than duck, he tried to sidestep the hurling box in the other direction. But he had too far to jump and took only a short step before the swinging container was on top of him. A gurgled cry from his crushed lungs was the only sound he made as his body was tossed across the deck like a rag doll.

The dazed guard at the rail peered at the crane controls and cursed like a madman, then fell silent as he realized the man operating the boom was not his colleague. As he reached for his gun, Giordino whipped the lateral boom controls back to the right and the crane mechanism began marching again toward the port rail. Giordino ducked as the guard aimed and fired a shot, the bullet whizzing close over his head.

Even crouching low, he still kept his hands on the crane controls.

The swinging container had reached its shipside apex and now arced toward the port rail. Stepping into its path to fire his gun, the guard ducked low to let it pass over him. But as the flying container approached the gunman, Giordino yanked down on the elevation controls, lowering the boom to the deck. The container followed suit, plunging the short distance to the deck just ahead of the gunman.

A piercing shriek wailed across the stern as the container struck the deck, then rolled onto one side from the momentum. Careening over, the container clipped the left leg of the guard as he scrambled to get clear. Pinned under the massive container with a smashed leg, the guard howled in agony. Giordino sprinted over and stepped on the man's wrist, grabbing the pistol that fell out of his clenched grip. He then yanked off his borrowed wool cap and jammed it in the man's mouth, temporarily stemming the guard's cries.

"Beware of flying objects," Giordino grunted at the man, who stared back through glassy eyes that cringed with pain.

Taking aim at the padlock, Giordino ripped off two point-blank shots, then tore away the demolished device. Grasping the release lever, he threw open one of the doors, which fell flat to the deck from the tilted container. Pitt and Sarghov tumbled out like a pair of rolled dice, staggering to their feet, rubbing aching body parts.

"Don't tell me, you spent a previous life as a carnival ride operator?" Pitt said with a crooked smile.

"Naw, just practicing my bowling," Giordino replied. "If you boys are able, I suggest we vacate the premises posthaste."

On the forward part of the ship, a thunder of footfalls mixed with loud shouts could be heard storming up the gangplank. Pitt scanned the stern deck, noting the unconscious bodies lying there, before turning his gaze to Sarghov. The beat-up Russian scientist was moving slowly and appeared in no condition to be outrunning anyone that night.

"I'll get the boat. Take Alexander and get off down the stern line," Pitt directed.

Giordino barely nodded a reply when Pitt took off at a sprint toward the starboard rail. Climbing over the rail, he bent his knees and sprang toward the dock. Without a running start, he nearly missed the pier, managing to catch a foot and propel himself forward, landing in a self-cushioning ball on the dock.

More voices yelling aboard the ship, now moving closer following a spray of flashlight beams. Pitt abandoned any attempt at stealth and sprinted back to the Zodiac as a drumbeat of footsteps tailed him down the dock. When he leaped into the small boat, his prayers were answered when the worn outboard motor fired on the first pull of the rope. Gunning the motor, he aimed the Zodiac toward the freighter's stern, charging ahead until the rubber boat's bow bounced off the steel transom.

Pitt cut the throttle and looked up. Directly overhead, Sarghov plunged into view, clinging to the stern rope line with a tenuous grip.

"Let go, Alexander," he urged.

Pitt stood and half caught the heavy Russian as he dropped into the boat with all the finesse of a sack of flour. Above their heads, an automatic handgun suddenly barked, spraying a half dozen shots about the ship and dock. A second later, Giordino appeared on the stern line, quickly lowering himself hand over hand until he dangled a few feet above the boat. As the shout of voices resumed on the deck above them, Giordino dropped silently into the boat.

"Exit stage left," he urged.

Pitt was already gunning the throttle, steering under the ship's stern and around to the port beam before turning into the lake. The small boat quickly planed up on its fiberglass hull, raising the buoyancy tubes above the waterline, which provided an added surge of acceleration. For several seconds, they remained in clear view of the ship and dock and the three men ducked low in the boat to avoid gunfire.

Yet no one fired. Pitt glanced back to see nearly a half dozen men surge to the ship's port rail, but they just stood and watched as the little boat disappeared into the darkness.

"Odd, they went pacifist on us at the last minute," Giordino noted, observing the sight.

"Especially since you already woke up the neighborhood with your exhibition of quick-draw shooting,"

Pitt agreed.

He made no effort to disguise their course, running a direct path to the Vereshchagin.Approaching the research vessel a few minutes later, Pitt motored alongside a lowered stairwell on the starboard beam.

On shore, the police rookie suddenly noticed their arrival and shouted for them to stop. Sarghov stood up in the boat and yelled back in Russian. The policeman visibly shrank, then quickly turned and hightailed it into the village.

"I told him to go wake the chief," Sarghov explained. "We're going to need some muscle to search that freighter."

Rudi Gunn, who had nervously paced the deck during their absence, heard the shouts and ran from the bridge as the three men staggered aboard.

"Dr. Sarghov ... are you all right?" Gunn asked, staring at his swollen face and bloodied clothes.

"I am fine. Please find the captain for me, if you would be so kind."

Pitt shepherded Sarghov to the Vereshchagin'ssick bay while Gunn roused the ship's doctor and Captain Kharitonov. Giordino located a bottle of vodka and poured a round of shots while the doctor examined Sarghov.

"That was a close call," the Russian scientist declared, regaining color and strength once the vodka surged through his bloodstream. "I am indebted to my friends from NUMA," he said, hoisting a second shot of vodka toward the Americans before downing it in a casual gulp.

"To your health," Pitt replied before kicking back his shot.

"Vashe zdorovie!"Sarghov replied before downing his drink.

"Do you know what became of Theresa and the others?" Giordino asked, concern evident on his heavy brow.

"No, we were separated once we boarded the ship. Since it was apparent they were going to kill me, they must have wanted them alive for some reason. I would presume they are still aboard the ship."

"Alexander, you are safe!" bellowed Captain Kharitonov as he barged into the cramped sick bay.

"He has a sprained wrist and a number of contusions," the doctor reported, applying a bandage to a cut on Sarghov's face.

"It is nothing," Sarghov said, waving away the doctor. "Listen, Ian. The Avarga Oil Consortium freighter

... there is no doubt that they were responsible for attempting to sink your ship. Your crewman Anatoly was working for them, and possibly the woman Tatiana as well."

"Anatoly? I had just hired him on at the beginning of the project when my regular first officer fell ill with severe food poisoning. What treachery!" the captain cursed. "I will call the authorities at once. These hoodlums will not get away with this."

The authorities, in the form of the chief of police and his young assistant, arrived nearly an hour later, accompanied by the two Irkutsk detectives. It had taken that long for the impertinent chief to rise, dress, and enjoy an early breakfast of sausages and coffee before casually making his way to the Vereshchagin,retrieving the two detectives from a local inn along the way.

Sarghov retold his tale of abduction, while Pitt and Giordino added their search for the missing derrick and their escape from the freighter. The two Irkutsk men gradually took over the interrogation, asking more probing and intelligent questions. Pitt noted that the two detectives seemed to show an odd deference to the Russian scientist, as well as a hint of familiarity.

"It will be prudent to investigate the freighter with our full security force," the police chief announced with bluster. "Sergei, please round up the Listvyanka auxiliary security forces and have them report immediately to police headquarters."

Nearly another hour passed before the small contingent of local security forces marched toward the freighter's berth, the pompous chief leading the way. The first light of dawn was just breaking, casting a gray pall over a damp mist that floated just above the ground. Pitt and Giordino, with Gunn and Sarghov at their sides, followed the police force through the dock gate, which was now open and unguarded. The dock was completely deserted, and Pitt began to get a sick feeling in his stomach when he realized that all three trucks parked by the ship had now vanished.

The bossy police chief charged up the freighter's gangplank, calling out for the captain, but was met by only the sound of a humming generator. Pitt followed him to the empty bridge, where the ship's log and all other charts and maps were noticeably absent. Slowly and methodically, the police team searched the entire ship, finding an equally purloined and empty vessel. Not a shred of evidence was uncovered as to the ship's intent, nor a person around to tell its tale.

"Talk about abandoning ship," Giordino muttered, shaking his head. "Even the cabins are empty of personal effects. That was one quick getaway."

"Too quick to have been carried out unexpectedly in the short time we were gone. No, they had finished their work and were already sneaking out the door when we stopped by. I'll bet there weren't any personal effects or links to the crew brought aboard in the first place. They planned on walking away from an empty ship."

"With a kidnapped oil survey team," Giordino replied, his mind centered on Theresa. After a long silence, he returned to the bridge, hopeful to find some sort of clue as to where the departed trucks had gone.

Pitt stood on the bridge wing, staring down at the stern deck and its array of empty containers. His mind whirred with puzzlement over the motive for the abductions and the fate of the survey team. The pink glow of the rising sun bathed the ship in a dusky light and illuminated the gouge marks imbedded in the deck where the sunken derrick had stood the night before. Whatever secrets the ship possessed had departed with the crew and cargo that vanished quietly in the night. But the sunken derrick was something they had not been able to hide. The significance was lost on Pitt, but, deep inside, he suspected it was an important clue to a bigger mystery.