Authors: Clive Cussler
“Something down there, all right,” he said, spitting out his mouthpiece as they surfaced. “About the right size for an ancient ship.”
“Could be anything,” said Summer sensibly, “from the wreck of an old fishing boat to trash dumped off a barge.”
“We'll know as soon as we dig a hole with the induction dredge.”
They swam back to the boat, attached the hose to the dredge and dropped it into the water. Dirk volunteered for the dirty job of excavation while Summer stayed aboard to watch the compressor.
He pulled the hose after him that was attached to a metal pipe that sucked the sand from the bottom and shot it out of a second hose that he laid several feet away to scatter the muck. The dredge acted like a vacuum cleaner as it burrowed into the bottom. The sand was soft, and in less than twenty minutes he had dug a crater four feet across and three feet deep. Then at slightly less than four feet he uncovered a round object, which he identified as an ancient terra-cotta oil jug, like one Dr. Boyd showed in photos during the conference at NUMA. He very carefully sucked the sand away from it until he could lift and set it outside the crater. Then he returned to his work.
Next came a terra-cotta drinking cup. Then two more. These were followed by the hilt and badly eroded blade of a sword. He was about to quit and bring his trove to the surface, when he removed the overburden from a round object in the shape of a dome, with two protrusions sprouting from it. As soon as he'd uncovered fifty percent of it, his heartbeat abruptly increased from sixty beats to a hundred. He recognized what Homer had described in his works as a Bronze Age helmet with horns.
Dirk finished removing the ancient artifact from its resting place of over three thousand years and gently laid it in the yellow sand beside the other discoveries. Standing in the crater amid the swirling sand and working the dredge was tiring work. He had been down nearly fifty minutes and found what he came for, evidence that Odysseus' fleet had come to grief in the West Indies and not the Mediterranean. His air was about gone, and though he could have sucked the air tank dry and easily reached the surface only ten feet away by exhaling a single breath, it was time to take a break. The next step was to bring the artifacts safely aboard
Dear Heart.
Holding the helmet as though it was a newborn baby, he ascended.
Summer was waiting at the boarding ladder to take his weight belt and air tank. He lifted the helmet out of the water and carefully handed it to her. “Take it,” he said. “But treat it gently. It's badly eroded.” Then, before she could comment, he jackknifed and dove to retrieve the other artifacts.
As he climbed on the boat, Summer had emptied their ice chest of drinks and was immersing the artifacts in salt water to preserve them. “Cool,” she repeated three times. “I can't believe what I'm seeing. A helmet, an honest-to-goodness ancient bronze helmet.”
“We were exceedingly lucky,” said Dirk, “to find them so early in the game.”
“Then these
are
from Odysseus' fleet.”
“We won't know for sure until experts like Dr. Boyd and Dr. Chisholm can make an identification. Fortunately, they were buried in the silt, which preserved them all these years.”
After a light lunch and relaxing for another hour, while Summer gently cleaned some of the outer layers of marine concretion without damaging the artifacts, Dirk went back down to operate the dredge.
This trip he found four copper ingots and one ingot of tin. They were oddly shaped with concave edges, a fair indication that they came from the Bronze Age. Next he uncovered a stone hammer. At four and a half feet, he struck fragmentary wooden planks and beams. One section of beam measured two feet long by five inches thick. Maybe, just maybe, Dirk thought, a dendrochronology lab would be able to date the growth rings from the tree it was cut from. By the time he carried the artifacts to the surface and hauled in the dredge, it was late in the afternoon.
He found Summer gazing at a magnificent sunset with clouds painted red-orange from the enlarged ball of the sun as it fell toward the horizon. She helped him off with his gear. “I'll fix dinner if you'll open a bottle of wine.”
“How about a little cocktail to celebrate?” Dirk said, smiling. “I bought a bottle of good Guadeloupe rum at the hotel. We have ginger ale, I'll make rum collinses.”
“They'll have to be room temperature. I threw out the ice from the chest when you brought aboard the first artifacts so I could use it as a preservation tank.”
“Now that we have a productive site with artifacts,” said Dirk, “I think that tomorrow we'll search and survey for the other ships in Odysseus' fleet.”
Summer looked wistfully at the water that was turning to a dark blue as the sun vanished into the sea. “I wonder how much treasure is down there.”
“There may not be any.”
She saw the doubt in his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“I can't be certain, but I believe the site I worked had been disturbed.”
“Disturbed?” she said skeptically. “Disturbed by whom?”
As Dirk spoke, he stared apprehensively at the buildings on the island. “It seemed to me the artifacts had been moved about by human hands rather than by tides and shifting sand. It was almost as if they had been stacked on top of one another in a pile that was foreign to nature.”
“We'll worry about it tomorrow,” Summer said, turning from the magnificent twilight. “I'm starved and thirsty. Get busy on those rum collinses.”
It was after dark when Summer finished heating conch soup and boiling a pair of lobsters that she had caught during her dive. For dessert she served bananas Foster. Then they lay on the deck, stared at the stars and talked until nearly midnight, listening to the water slap lightly against
Dear Heart
's hull.
As twin brother and sister, Dirk and Summer were very close, yet, unlike identical twins, they went their separate ways when not on the job. Summer was dating a young career diplomat with the State Department to whom her grandfather, the senator, had introduced her. Dirk pretty much played the field, not forming any close attachment and preferring a variety of girls as different in looks as they were in personality and taste. Though cut from the same cloth as his father, Dirk didn't share all the same interests. True, they both loved old cars and aircraft and had a passion for the sea, but there any similarity ended. Dirk liked to race motorcycles cross-country and enter in powerboat races. He was driven to compete on his own skills. On the other hand, his father was rarely competitive in a solitary sense, choosing to take part in sports that called for a team effort. Where young Dirk entered individual competition in track-and-field events at the University of Hawaii, Dirk the elder played football, becoming a star quarterback at the Air Force Academy.
Finally, after exhausting all conversation on Odysseus and his voyage, they decided it was time to turn in. Summer went below and slept in one of the berths while Dirk elected to sleep up on deck on the cushions in the cockpit under the open sky.
At four in the morning, the sea was black as obsidian. A light rain came that blotted out the stars. One could have walked off the deck into the water and never known it until he felt the splash. Dirk pulled an oilcloth over him and content-edly returned to dreamland.
He did not come awake at the sound of a boat engine, because there was no boat and no engine. They came from the water, silently, like ghosts flying around tombstones on Halloween night. There were four of them, three men and one woman. Dirk did not hear the gentle touch of feet on the boarding ladder that he had neglected to pull up. Without realizing it, he made it easy for them to creep on board.
Some people wakened in the night by intruders react in different ways. Dirk had no time to react. Unlike his father, he had yet to learn not to trust in luck or fate and always to follow the old Boy Scout motto: Be prepared. Before he knew strangers were on
Dear Heart,
the oilcloth was pulled up around his head, and a club or a baseball bat or a truncheon, he never knew, came down on the back of his head and sent him far beyond dreamland, falling into a deep black pit that never seemed to end.
T
HE PREPARATIONS TO
evacuate Isle de Ometepe came down to the wire. It took four days for Secretary of State George Hampton to convince Nicaraguan president Raul Ortiz that the American intentions were purely humanitarian. He promised that once the evacuation was completed, all American forces would leave the country. Jack Martin and Admiral Sandecker worked on Nicaraguan scientists who, once briefed on the looming disaster, lent their full support to the operation.
As expected, local government officials who were in Specter's pockets because of bribes, fought the intrusion. Those close to the Red Chinese also had their marching orders and put up a fight. But as Martin proposed at the conference, he and Sandecker put the fear of God into the leaders of the country by describing the potential catastrophe and the estimated number of dead within a mile of the lake. All opposition was quickly drowned in a river of panic.
Working closely with General Juan Morega, chief of the Nicaraguan armed forces, General Stack had all elements of his special rescue force in place. Once permission was given, he moved quickly. All boats around the lake were commandeered to evacuate residents of towns and villages that had no major roads available by which to flee. Trucks and U.S. Army helicopters carried the rest to high ground. At the same time a special fighting force was assembled to assault the Odyssey facility.
No one doubted that Odyssey security would put up a fight to keep their covert project and scientists who were held in illegal captivity an ongoing secret. There was also the fear that Specter would murder and dispose of the scientists' bodies so no trace was left of their existence. General Stack was sympathetic, but the possibility of thousands of deaths and trillions of dollars lost in shattered economies outweighed twenty or thirty lives. He gave orders that the facility and its workers be evacuated as swiftly as possible, including the scientists if they were still on the island.
He put Pitt under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Bonaparte Nash, called Bony by those close to him. A member of a Marine recon team, Nash welcomed Pitt and Giordino at the helicopter evacuation team's temporary base across the lake at the small city of San Jorge on the western shore. Blond hair cropped short, a body tight from muscles built from long hours of exercise, he had a round, soft face with friendly blue eyes that betrayed the toughness that lurked beneath.
“Real good to meet you, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Giordino. I was briefed on your qualifications as members of NUMA. Quite impressive. I trust you can lead me and my men to the building where the scientists are kept prisoner.”
“We can,” Pitt assured him.
“But as I understand it, you were only there once.”
“If we found it at night,” said Giordino testily, “we can find it in broad daylight.”
Nash laid out a large satellite photo of the facility on a small table. “I have five CH-forty-seven Chinook helicopters, each carrying thirty men. My plan is to land one at the air terminal, the second at the docks, a third alongside the building you described as the security headquarters and a fourth in a park area between a row of warehouses. You two will come along with me in the fifth to make certain we have the right building where the scientists are held.”
“If I might make a suggestion,” offered Pitt. He pulled a pen from the breast pocket of his flowered shirt and tapped it on a building beside a palm-lined street. “This is the main headquarters building. You can land on the roof and seize the top executives of Odyssey before they have time to escape in their own helicopter.”
“How do you know this?” Nash inquired thoughtfully.
“Al and I stole a copter from the roof when we evaded capture six days ago.”
“They have at least ten security guards in the building that your men will have to deal with,” said Giordino.
Nash looked at them with growing respect, but still not certain whether to fully believe them.
“There were security guards when you escaped?”
Pitt saw Nash's reservation. “Yes, four of them.”
Giordino picked up on it too. “Overpowering them was like taking candy from a baby.”
“I was told you guys were marine engineers,” said Nash, confused.
“We do that too,” Giordino said glibly.
“Okay, if you say so.” Nash gave a slight disconcerted shake of his head. “Now, then, I can't issue you any weapons. You'll be along for the ride as guides. You'll leave any fighting to me and my men.”
Pitt and Giordino glanced at each other with a twinkle in their eyes. Pitt's .45 and Giordino's .50 caliber auto were concealed in the back of the waistband behind their pants under loose tropical shirts.
“If we get into trouble,” said Giordino. “We'll throw rocks until your men rescue us.”
Nash wasn't sure if he liked these two wisecracking men. He held up his wrist and studied his watch. “We take off in ten minutes. You'll ride with me. After we land, you make certain we've got the right building. We can't lose a minute wandering around lost after we land, if we're to save the hostages before Odyssey guards execute them.”
Pitt nodded. “Fair enough.”
In precisely ten minutes he and Giordino were buckled into their seats inside the big Chinook transport helicopter with Lieutenant Colonel Nash. They were accompanied by thirty big, silent purposeful-looking men dressed in camouflaged combat fatigues with armored vests, huge guns that looked like arms out of a science fiction movie and an assortment of rocket launchers.
“Tough bunch,” Giordino said admiringly.
“I'm glad they're on our side,” Pitt agreed.
The pilot lifted the helicopter off the ground and took off across the beach over the lake. It was a short hop of fifteen miles to the Odyssey center. The entire operation was based on surprise. Colonel Nash's plan of operation was to subdue the guards, rescue the hostages and then evacuate the hundreds of workers in boats that were already on their way around the lake to Ometepe. Soon as the last person was off the island and safely ashore on high ground, Nash was to give the signal to the pilot of a B-52 bomber circling at sixty thousand feet to drop a massive ground-penetrating concussion bomb on the base of the mountain, unleashing a flank avalanche that would collapse the tunnels and sweep the research and development facility into the lake.
It seemed to Pitt that they had no sooner taken off than the helicopter stopped, hovered for a few seconds and set down. Nash and his men leaped from the seats through the open hatch and shouted for the security guards at the fenced gate to the hostage quarters to throw down their arms.
The other four copters had landed and received sporadic fire from a few security guards who had no idea they were up against an elite force. Seeing that resistance was hopeless, they quickly surrendered as fast as they could drop their weapons and raise their hands. They had not been hired to fight professional forces, only to protect the facility, and none had a death wish.
Pitt, with Giordino right on his heels, rushed through the gate and burst in the front door of the building ahead of Nash and his men. The guards inside, although hearing shots elsewhere on the facility, were stunned to find themselves looking down the muzzles of two very large automatic pistols before they had a chance to realize what was happening. They froze not so much in shock as in fear.
Nash was more than surprised to see Pitt and Giordino with weapons, he was madder than hell. “Give me those guns!” he demanded.
He was ignored, as Pitt and Giordino began kicking in the doors to the rooms. The first, second, third and fourth. They were all empty. Pitt rushed back to the guards that were being escorted from the building by Nash's team. He grabbed the nearest guard and jammed the Colt against the man's nose, flattening it.
“English!”
“No,
senor.
”
“¿Dónde están los cientÃficos?”
The guard's eyes widened as they crossed and focused on the muzzle mashing his nose.
“Ellos fueron tomados lejos a la darsena y colocados en el transbordador.”
“What's going on?” Nash demanded. “Where are the hostages?”
Pitt pulled the Colt back from the man's nose as it began to bleed. “I asked him where the scientists were. He said they were taken to the docks and put on a ferry.”
“It looks as if they're transporting them out onto the lake before sinking the ferry with everyone on it,” said Giordino grimly.
Pitt looked at Nash. “We'll need your men and a copter to go after them before the Odyssey guards can scuttle the ferry.”
Nash shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. My orders are to secure the base and evacuate all personnel. I can't spare any men or a helicopter.”
“But these people are vital to our national interest,” Pitt argued. “They hold the key to fuel cell technology.”
Nash's face was hard as stone. “My orders stand.”
“Then loan us a grenade launcher and we'll go after the ferry ourselves.”
“You know I can't issue weapons to civilians.”
“You're a big help,” snapped Giordino. “We haven't time to waste debating with a hardnose.” Giordino nodded toward a golf cart like the one he drove in the tunnels. “If we can't stop them on the dock, maybe we can grab one of Odyssey's patrol boats.”
Pitt threw Nash a look of disgust and then he and Giordino ran for the cart. Eight minutes later, with Giordino at the wheel, they sped onto the dock. An agonized look swept Pitt's face as he saw an old ferryboat pulling out into the lake, followed by a patrol boat.
“Too late,” groaned Giordino. “They've taken along a patrol boat to remove the guards after they blow out the bottom of the barge.”
Pitt ran to the opposite side of the dock and spotted a small outboard tied to a piling no more than twenty yards away. “Come on, the
Good Ship Lollipop
awaits.” Then he took off, running toward the boat.
It was an eighteen-foot Boston Whaler with a one-hundred-and-fifty-horsepower Mercury motor. Pitt started the motor while Giordino cast off the lines. Giordino had barely thrown the lines onto the dock when Pitt shoved the throttle to its top and the little Whaler leaped over the water as if kicked in the stern and took off after the wakes of the ferry and patrol boat.
“What do we do when we reach them?” Giordino yelled over the roar of the motor.
“I'll think of something when the time comes,” Pitt shouted back.
Giordino eyed the rapidly closing distance between the vessels. “You'd better come up with something quick. They have assault rifles against our popguns, and the patrol boat has a nasty cannon on its bow.”
“Try this,” Pitt said loudly. “I'm going to swing around and come in with the ferry between us and the patrol boat. That will neutralize its field of fire. Then we come alongside the ferry and jump on board.”
“I've heard of worse schemes,” Giordino said glumly, “but not in the last ten years.”
“It looks like two, maybe three, guards on the upper deck next to the wheelhouse. Take my Colt and play two-gun desperado. If you intimidate them, maybe they'll throw up their hands and surrender.”
“I won't hold my breath.”
Pitt cranked the wheel and spun the Whaler in a broad arc, circling around the ferry before the crew of the patrol boat could bring their bow gun to bear. The boat bounced over the crest of a small wave from the ferry's wake and dropped into the trough as a barrage of bullets flew harmlessly overhead. Giordino replied by squeezing both triggers as fast as his fingers could pull. The hail of bullets caught the guards by surprise. One dropped to the deck with a bullet in the leg. Another spun around, clutching his shoulder, while the third dropped his weapon and raised his hands.
“See,” said Pitt, “I told you so.”
“Sure, after I put two of them out of action.”
Twenty yards from the ferry Pitt eased back on the throttle and gave the wheel a light twist to starboard. With a deft touch from years of practice, he slipped the Whaler along the ferry's hull with barely a bump. Giordino beat him on board and was disarming the guards as Pitt leaped onto the deck. “I inserted a full clip.” He threw Pitt his .50 caliber automatic. “Take it!”
Pitt grabbed it and dropped through an open hatch and scrambled down the ladder below. His feet no sooner landed on the deck of a corridor than a rumble came from the engine room that shook the ferry. One of the guards had set off the detonators and the resulting explosion blasted a hole in the bilge of the hull. Pitt was knocked off his feet, but recovered instantly and ran through the central corridor, kicking in doors as he went.
“Out, get out quick!” he shouted to the frightened scientists who had been locked inside. “This boat is going to sink!” He began herding them toward the ladder leading topside. He stopped a man with gray hair and beard. “Are there any more of you?”
“They locked some of us in a storeroom at the end of the hallway.”