The old man stared solemnly and sadly at the great red vehicle that was battered to a pulp, riddled with bullet holes, tires shredded and flat, the windows in the control cabin shot to shards. Nearly three full minutes passed as he walked around the wreckage, examining the damage. Finally, he looked up and made a crooked grin.
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he said, pulling at his gray beard.
Pitt stared at him bleakly. “You really believe it can be rebuilt?”
“I know so. Might take a couple of years, but I think we can put her back together as good as new.”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” said Giordino, shaking his head.
“You and I aren’t seeing the same thing,” said Cussler. “You see a pile of junk. I see a magnificent machine that will one day be admired by millions of people at the Smithsonian.” His blue-green eyes gleamed as he spoke. “What you don’t realize is that you took a mechanical failure and turned it into an astonishing success. Before, the Snow Cruiser’s only distinction was that it was a fiasco and didn’t come close to achieving what it was designed to do. And that was to carry a crew in comfort five thousand miles over the ice of the Antarctic. It floundered almost immediately after coming off the boat in 1930 and lay buried for seventy years. You two not only proved her a triumph of early-twentieth-century engineering by driving her sixty miles across the ice shelf in the middle of a blizzard, but you used her brute size and power to prevent a worldwide cataclysm. Now, thanks to you, she’s a priceless and treasured piece of history.”
Pitt gazed at the huge mutilated vehicle as if it were a wounded animal. “But for her, none of us would be standing here.”
“Someday, I hope you’ll tell me the entire story.”
Giordino looked at the old man oddly. “Somehow, I think you already know it.”
“When she’s put on display,” said Dad, slapping Pitt on the back, “I’ll send you both invitations to the ceremony.”
“Al and I will look forward to it.”
“That reminds me. Could you point out whoever is in charge here. During our crossing from the ice station, my crew and I ran across three frozen bodies about a half a mile from the runway. It looked like they were trying to cross over the security fence before the cold caught up with them. I’d better report it so the remains can be recovered.”
“A man and two women?” Pitt asked innocently.
Dad nodded. “Funny thing. They were dressed more like they were going to a football game in Philadelphia than to survive the Antarctic.”
“Some people just don’t respect the hazards of frigid climates.”
Dad lifted an eyebrow, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a red bandanna half the size of a pup tent and blew his nose. “Yeah, ain’t it the truth.”
AIRCRAFT were landing with frequency, unloading scientists and military personnel, then loading Cleary’s wounded along with the injured Wolf security guards and airlifting them to hospitals in the United States. Not to be left out, the nuclear submarine Tucson navigated her way through the cavern into the ice-enclosed harbor and moored next to the old Nazi U-BOATS.
Captain Evan Cunningham was a bantam cock of a man, short and wiry, who moved his arms and legs as if jerked on strings. He had a smooth face with a sharp chin and Prussian blue eyes that seemed constantly in motion. He met with Colonel Wittenberg and General Bill Guerro, who had been sent to Okuma Bay from Washington to take command from Wittenberg and oversee the growing complexity of the discovery. Cunningham offered the services of his ship and crew as authorized by the naval chief of staff.
Wittenberg had described Pitt to Cunningham, and the commander had sought out the man from NUMA. He approached and introduced himself. “Mr. Pitt, we’ve talked over the radio, but haven’t actually met. I’m Evan Cunningham, captain of the Tucson.”
“A privilege to meet you, Captain. Now I can properly express my thanks for your timely rescue of the Polar Storm and everyone on board.”
“A lucky case of being in the right place at the right time.” He grinned broadly. “Not every sub commander in today’s navy can say he sank a U-boat.”
“Certainly not unless they’ve retired to a nursing home.”
“Speaking of U-boats, did you know there are four more docked in the ice harbor?”
Pitt nodded. “I took a quick look at them this morning. They’re as pristine as the day they came out of the factory.”
“My engine-room crew went on board to study them. They were mighty impressed with the high quality of engineering created when their grandparents were still in junior high school.”
“To anyone born after 1980, World War Two must seem as distant as the Civil War was to our parents.”
Pitt excused himself as he glanced at the passengers stepping down the boarding ladder of a Boeing 737 that had taxied up to the hangar. A woman wearing a knit cap with red hair flowing from under it like a fiery waterfall stopped for a moment and looked around the hangar, marveling at the busy activity. Then she looked in his direction and her face lit up.
Pitt began to walk toward her, but was overtaken by Giordino, who ran past him, took Pat O’Connell in his muscular arms, lifted her off the ground as easily as if she were a down pillow, and swung her around in a circle. Then they kissed passionately.
Pitt watched them, mystified. When Giordino set Pat on her feet again, she looked over and waved. Pitt kissed her lightly on one cheek, stood back, and said, “Have I been missing something or do you two have a thing for each other?”
Pat laughed gaily. “Al and I looked into each other’s eyes when we were in Buenos Aires and something beautiful happened between us.”
He looked at Giordino dryly. “Like what?”
“Like we fell in love.”
Pitt was no longer mystified. He was dumbfounded. “You fell in love?”
Giordino shrugged and smiled. “I can’t explain it. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Does this mean you’re breaking up the act?”
“My friend, you and I have been through a lot together, more wild ventures than I care to remember. It’s a miracle we’re still alive, and we have more than our share of scars to prove it. We have to face reality. We’re not getting any younger. My joints are beginning to creak when I get up in the morning. We’ve got to think about slowing down.” He paused and grinned. “And then, of course, there’s Mama Giordino to consider.”
“You have a mother?” asked Pat, teasing.
“You and Mama will get along famously,” Giordino said approvingly. “Mama said I can’t remain a bachelor forever if I want to give her little Giordinos to fatten with her celebrated lasagna.”
“We’d better hurry.” Pat laughed. “At thirty-five, I don’t have much time left to produce a new brood.”
“You have Megan,” Pitt said.
“Yes, and she adores Al.”
Pitt shook his head in wonder. “Megan approves of this alien character?”
“Why shouldn’t she?” Pat said. “He saved her life.”
Pitt didn’t mention that he had a hand in saving mother and daughter, too. Nor did he let on that he had a fondness for Pat that went beyond mere friendship. “Well, I guess there’s nothing left for me to do but give my blessing and insist on being the best man at your wedding.”
Giordino put his arm around Pitt’s shoulder and said wistfully, “I can’t think of another mortal I’d rather have stand up for me.”
“Have you set a date?”
“Not before six months,” answered Pat. “Admiral Sandecker arranged for me to direct the project to decipher and translate the Amenes inscriptions found in the lost city. It will actually take years, but I don’t think he’ll hold it against me if I go home early for a wedding with Al.”
“No,” Pitt said, trying to absorb the unexpected promise of Al becoming married. “I don’t guess he will.”
Lieutenant Miles Jacobs came up and threw a casual salute. “Mr. Pitt? Colonel Wittenberg
would like a word with you.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He and General Guerro have set up a command post in one of the aircraft maintenance offices on the far end of the hangar.”
“I’m on my way, thank you.” Pitt turned and looked at Giordino. “You’d better get Pat situated in one of the empty storerooms—she can use it for living quarters and a base for her inscription project.” Then he turned and strode through the turmoil of activity to the military command post.
Wittenberg sat at his desk and gestured to a chair, as Pitt entered one of the offices the Russian slaves had carved out of the ice nearly six decades previously. A communications center had been set up, manned by two operators. The place was a madhouse, with civilians and military personnel rushing in and out. General Guerro sat behind a large metal desk in one corner, surrounded by scientists who were requesting the military rush in special excavation equipment so they could begin removing the ice shroud from the ancient city. He did not look happy as he made excuses for the delay.
“Have you found the relics yet?”
“We’ve been too busy to search,” answered Wittenberg. “I thought I’d pass the buck to you. If you’re successful, let me know and I’ll schedule a military transport to fly you back to the States.”
“I’ll get back to you shortly,” said Pitt, rising to his feet. “I think I know where the Wolfs put them.”
“One more thing, Mr. Pitt,” said Wittenberg seriously. “Do not say anything to anyone. It’s best the relics are removed quietly, before a lot of crazies get wind of their existence and move heaven and earth to lay their hands on them.”
“Why not destroy them and be done with it?”
“Not our call. The President personally ordered them brought to the White House.”
“I think I understand,” Pitt assured him.
As he walked across the hangar floor, the weight of his responsibility fell over him like a black cloud. Uneasily, he approached the Wolfs’ deserted executive jet and studied the mutilated tail section that he had crushed with the Snow Cruiser, before stepping around to the entrance door and entering the darkened interior. In what little light filtered in through the smashed opening and the windows, he could discern an interior luxuriously appointed with leather chairs and sofas. He pulled his flashlight from a pocket and swept its beam around the cabin. There was a bar and credenza with a large TV. The rear compartment of the cabin held a king-size bed in anticipation of its owner’s getting a few hours’ sleep while the plane was in flight. The bathroom had gold-plated fixtures and a small shower. Forward, just behind the cockpit, he could see a small galley, complete with oven, microwave, sink, and cabinets that held crystal glasses and china.
His eyes fell on a long box that was tied to the floor beside the bed. Pitt knelt and ran his hands over the surface. He tried to lift one end, but found it was made out of bronze and extremely heavy. There was a brass plaque embedded in the lid. He shined the light on the lettering and leaned closer. The inscription was in German, but relying on the few words he’d learned, he loosely translated the message as “Here lie the treasures of the ages awaiting resurrection.”
He twisted the pins from their hasps and removed them. Then, taking a deep breath, he took both hands and lifted the lid.
There were four objects inside the bronze box, all contained in leather cases and neatly wrapped in heavy linen. He carefully opened the first case and unwrapped the smallest object. It held a small bronze plaque with a crack running through it. The sculptured front side displayed a holy knight killing a dragonlike monster. Pitt would learn later that it was considered a sacred Nazi relic because Hitler had had it in a breast pocket of his uniform during the assassination attempt, when German army dissenters had set off a bomb in his forest headquarters.
The next case held the sacred Nazi flag earlier described by Admiral Sandecker as having been smeared with the blood of a fallen supporter of Hitler who’d been killed when the Bavarian police fired on the fledgling Nazi party members during the Munich Putsch in November of 1923. The blood-stain could easily be seen under the beam of the flashlight. He placed it back inside the linen and the leather case.
Then he opened a long mahogany chest and stared in rapt fascination at the Holy Lance, the lance allegedly used by a Roman centurion to pierce the body of Jesus Christ, the lance Hitler believed would give him control over the destiny of the world. The image of the lance being used to kill Christ on the cross was too overwhelming for Pitt to envision. He gently laid the most sacred relic in Christendom back in the mahogany chest and turned to the largest of the leather cases.
After unwrapping the linen, he discovered that he was holding a heavy urn of solid silver a few inches less than two feet high. The top of the lid was decorated with a black eagle that stood on a gold wreath surrounding an onyx swastika. Just below the lid were inscribed the words Der Führer. Directly beneath were the dates 1889 and 1945 over the runic symbols for the SS. On the base above a ring of swastikas were the names Adolf Hitler and Eva Hitler.
The horror struck Pitt like a blow to the face. The sheer immensity of what he was staring at sent shivers up his spine and a knot twisting inside his stomach, as his face drained of all color. It didn’t seem possible that in his hands he was holding the ashes of Adolf Hitler and his mistress/wife, Eva Braun.
PART FIVE
ASHES, ASHES, ALL FALL DOWN
APRIL 15, 2001
WASHINGTON, D.C.
WHEN THE MILITARY PASSENGER aircraft sent to bring Pitt, Giordino, and the relics from Okuma Bay to Washington landed at the airport in Veracruz, Mexico, Pitt questioned the pilot and was told that Admiral Sandecker had sent a NUMA executive jet to carry them the rest of the way. Sweating in the heat and humidity, they hauled the bronze box to the turquoise aircraft with the big NUMA letters on the fuselage that was parked a good hundred yards away.
Except for the pilot and copilot in the cockpit, the plane was deserted. After loading the box and tying it down to the floor, Pitt tried to open the cockpit door, but it was locked. He knocked and waited until a voice came over the cabin speaker.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pitt, but my orders are to keep the cabin door locked and permit no exit or entry of the cockpit until the relics are safely loaded in an armored truck at Andrews Air Force Base.”
A security overkill, Pitt thought. He turned to Giordino, who was holding up a green hand. “Where did you get the green palm?”
“From the paint on the door hinge. I grabbed it for support when we loaded the box.” He rubbed a finger over the stain. “Not green, turquoise. The paint on this plane isn’t dry.”
“Looks as if the turquoise paint was sprayed on less than eight hours ago,” observed Pitt.
“Could it be we’re being hijacked?” asked Giordino.
“Maybe, but we might as well enjoy the scenery below until we can determine we’re on the right course for Washington.”
The plane taxied for a few minutes before taking off over the sea under a cloud-free radiant blue sky. For the next few hours, Pitt and Giordino relaxed and took turns keeping watch through the windows at the water below. The plane flew across the Gulf of Mexico and crossed into the States at Pensacola, Florida. From there it appeared to be on a direct course for Washington. When Giordino recognized the nation’s capital in the distance, he turned to Pitt.
“Could it be we’re like a pair of suspicious old women?”
“I’ll reserve judgment until I see a red carpet leading to an armored car.”
In another fifteen minutes, the pilot banked the aircraft and headed onto the flight path for Andrews Air Force Base. Only two miles from the end of the runway, the plane made a barely perceptible sideways motion. Pitt and Giordino, themselves pilots with many hours in the cockpit, immediately sensed the slight course deviation.
“He’s not landing at Andrews,” Giordino announced calmly.
“No, he’s lining up to come into a small private airpor
t just north of Andrews in a residential area called Gordons Corner.”
“I have this odd feeling that we’re not getting red-carpet, VIP treatment.”
“So it would appear.”
Giordino gazed at Pitt through squinted eyes. “The Wolfs?”
“Who else?”
“They must want the relics badly.”
“Without them, they have no hallowed symbols to rally around.”
“Not like them to play games. They could have just as well put down anywhere between Mexico and Virginia.”
“Without Karl and Hugo at the family helm,” said Pitt, “they either got sloppy or else they knew they’d be tracked all the way from Veracruz and chased by Air Force fighters if they attempted to deviate from the flight plan.”
“Should we take over the controls and head for Andrews?” Giordino asked.
“Better to wait until we’re on the ground,” said Pitt. “Busting into the cockpit while the pilot is flared for touchdown might cause bad things to happen.”
“You mean a crash?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s life,” mused Giordino. “I had my heart set on a marching band and a parade through the city.”
Seconds later, the wheels gave a brief screech as they smacked the asphalt of the landing strip. Staring through one of the windows, Pitt saw an armored truck and a pair of ML430 Mercedes-Benz suburban utility vehicles converge and follow in the wake of the aircraft. Quick sprinters with 268-horsepower V-8 engines, they were about as close to European sports sedans as a four-wheeler could get.
“Now’s the time,” he said briefly. He pulled his Colt from the duffel bag as Giordino retrieved his P-10. Then Giordino effortlessly kicked open the cockpit door and they rushed inside. The pilot and copilot automatically raised their hands without turning.
Atlantis Found (A Dirk Pitt Novel) Page 53