Treasure dp-9

by Clive Cussler

  He stood over a table containing a model diorama of the Punta del Este waterfront and addressed the assembled men. "We will organize into three roving teams to patrol the docks on rotating eight-hour shifts," he began while dramatically slapping the stick in the palm of one hand.

  "Our mission is to stand on constant alert as a backup force in the event of a terrorist attack. I realize it's difficult for you to look inconspicuous, but try anyway. Stay in the shadows at night and off the main thoroughfares by day. We don't want to frighten the tourists into thinking Uruguay is an armed state. any questions?"

  Lieutenant Eduardo Vazquez raised a hand. "Colonel?"

  "Vazquez?"

  "If we see someone who looks suspicious, what should we do?"

  "You do nothing except report him. He'll probably Turn out to be one of the international security agents."

  "What if he appears to be armed?"

  Rojas sighed. "Then you'll know he's a security agent. Leave international incidents to the diplomats. Is everyone clear?"

  No hands went up.

  Rojas dismissed the men and walked to his temporary office in the Harbor Master's building. He stopped at a coffee machine to pour a cup when his aide approached.

  "Captain Flores in Naval Affairs asked if you could meet him downstairs."

  "Did he say why?"

  "Only that it was urgent."

  Rojas didn't want to spill his coffee, so he took the elevator instead of the stairs. Flores, impeccable in a white navy dress uniform, greeted him on the first floor but offered no explanations as he escorted Rojas across the street to a large shed that housed the coastal rescue boats. Inside, a group of men were examining several mangled fragments that looked to the Colonel as if they came from a boat.

  Captain Flores introduced him to Chavez and his son. "These fishermen have just brought in this wreckage, which they discovered in the channel," he explained. "They say it looked to them like a yacht had been crushed in a collision with a large ship."

  "Why should a yachting accident concern special security?"

  asked Rojas.

  The Harbor Master, a man with cropped hair and a bristling mustache, spoke up. "It may well be a disaster that could cast a cloud on the economic summit." He paused and added, Rescue craft are on the scene now. So far no survivors have been found."

  "Have you identified the yacht?"

  "One of the scraps Mr. Chavez and his crew fished out of the water bears a nameplate. The craft was called the Lola."

  Rojas shook his head. "I'm a soldier. Pleasure boats are not familiar.

  Is the name supposed to mean something to me?"

  "The yacht was named for the wife of Victor Rivera," answered Flores.

  "You know him?"

  Rojas stiffened. "I am acquainted with the Speaker of our Chamber of Deputies. The yacht was his?"

  Registered in his name," Flores nodded. 'We've already contacted his secretary at her home. Gave her no information of course. Merely inquired as to Mr. Rivera's whereabouts' She said he was on board his yacht hosting a party for Argentinean and Brazilian diplomats."

  "How many?" Rojas inquired, a fear growing within him.

  "Rivera and his wife, twenty-three guests and five crew members. Thirty in all."

  "Names?"

  "The secretary did not have the guest list in front of her. I've taken the liberty of sending my aide to Rivera's headquarters for a copy."

  "I think it best if I take command of the investigation from this point," stated Rojas officially.

  "The Navy stands ready to offer every assistance," said Flores, happy to wash his hands of any authority.

  Rojas turned to the Harbor Master. "What ship was involved with the collision?"

  "A mystery. No ship has arrived or departed the harbor in the last ten hours."

  "Is it possible for a ship to enter port without you knowing?"

  "A captain would be stupid to try it without calling for a pilot. "

  "Is it possible?" Rojas persisted.

  "No," stated the Harbor Master firmly. "No oceangoing ship could dock or moor in the harbor without my being aware of it."

  Rojas accepted that. "Suppose one sailed out?"

  The Harbor Master considered the question for a few moments. Then he gave a slight nod. "One could not cast off from a dock without my knowledge. But if the vessel was anchored offshore, if her skipper or his officers knew the channel, and if she ran without lights, she might make it out to sea unnoticed. But I must say it would be close to a miracle."

  "Can you furnish Captain Flores with a list of moored ships?"

  "I'll have a copy in his hands within ten minutes."

  "Captain Hores?"

  "Colonel?"

  "Since a missing ship is a naval operation, I'd like you to take command of the search."

  "Gladly, Colonel. I'll begin immediately."

  Rojas stared thoughtfully at the wreckage littering the concrete floor.

  "There'll be hell to pay before this night is through," he muttered.

  Shortly before midnight, after Captain Flores had conducted a thorough search of the harbor and the waters outside the channel, he notified Rojas that the only ship he could not account for was the Lady Flamborough.

  Colonel Rojas was stunned when he examined the cruise liner's VIP

  passenger list. He demanded a follow-up investigation in the false hope that the Egyptian and Mexican Presidents had disembarked for quarters on shore. Not until it was confirmed that they were missing along with the ship did the horrible specter of a terrorist hijacking become evident.

  An extensive air search was launched at dawn. Every aircraft the combined air forces of Uruguay, Argentina and Brazil could put in the air scoured over 400,000 square kilometers of the South Atlantic.

  No sign of the Lady Flamborough was found.

  It was as though she had been swallowed by the sea.

  Two hands were running under his shirt and up his back. He struggled to wake from a sound sleep, dreaming he was deep in the water swimming upward toward the shimmering surface, but never able to reach it. He rubbed his eyes, saw he was still on the couch in his office, and rolled over, his gaze blocked by a pair of shapely legs.

  Pitt moved to a sitting position and stared into Lily's beguiling eyes.

  He held up his wrist, but he had taken his watch off and placed it on the desk with his keys, change and wallet.

  "What time is it?" he asked.

  "Five-thirty," she replied sweetly, moving her hands across his shoulders and massaging his neck.

  "Night or day?"

  "Late afternoon. You only dozed off for three hours."

  "Don't you ever drop off.?"

  "I can get by with only four hours' sleep out of every twenty-four."

  He yawned. "Your next husband has my deepest sympathy."

  "Here's some coffee." She set a cup on an end table near his head.

  Pitt slipped on his shoes and tucked in his shirttails. Yaeger found anything?"

  'Yes .

  "The river?"

  "No, not yet. Hiram is very mysterious about it, but he claims you were right. Venator sailed across the Atlantic before either the Vikings or Columbus."

  He took a sip of the coffee and made a face. "This is almost solid sugar."

  Lily looked surprised. "Al said you always take four spoon fuls."

  "Al lied. I prefer it pure black with grounds on the bottom of the cup."

  "I'm sorry," she said with an unremorseful smile. "I guess I was taken in by a practical joker."

  "You're not the first," he said, staring out the door of his office.

  Giordino was seated with his feet on Yaeger's desk, devouring the last slice of a pizza while he studied a detailed topographic map of a shoreline.

  Yaeger sat with bloodshot eyes aimed at a computer monitor while jotting notes on a pad. He did not have to Turn as Pitt and Lily entered the room. He could see their reflections in the screen.

 
; "We've made a breakthrough," he said with some satisfaction.

  Pitt asked, "What have you got?"

  "Instead of concentrating on every nook and cranny south from the Serapis's grave in Greenland, I leapfrogged down to Maine and began looking for a match-up of his landing description."

  "And it paid off," Pitt said in anticipation.

  "Yes. If you'recall, Rufinus wrote that after they deserted Venator, they were battered by storms from the south for thirty-one days before finding a safe bay where they could make repairs to the ship. On the next leg of the voyage more storms blew away the sails and tore off the steering oars. Then the ship drifted for an unspecified number of days before ending up in the Greenland fjord."

  Yaeger stopped and called up a chart of the American side of the North Atlantic on the monitor. Next his fingers nimbly punched out a series of codes. A small line formed and began traveling southward from the east coast of Greentand south in a broken, zigzagged path around Newfoundland, past Nova Scotia and New England, ending at a point slightly above Atlantic City.

  "New Jersey?" muttered Pitt, puzzled.

  "Bamegat Bay, to be exact," said Giordino. He brought over the topographic map and laid it on a table. Then he circled a section of the coast with a red marker.

  "Bamegat Bay, New Jersey?" Pitt repeated.

  "The shape of the land was quite different back in ninety-one," Yaeger lectured matter-of-factly. "The beach strand was more broken and the bay was deeper and more sheltered. "

  "How did you arrive at this exact spot?" asked Pitt.

  "In describing the bay, Rufinus mentioned a great sea of dwarflike pines where fresh water seeped from the sand with the jab of a stick. New Jersey has a forest of dwarf pines that fits the description. It's called the Pine Barrens, and it spreads across the southern center of the state bordering on the coast to the east. The water level is just under the surface. During spring runoff or after heavy rains you can literally poke a hole in the sandy soil and strike water."

  "Looks promising," said Pitt. "But didn't Rufinus also say they added ballast stone?"

  "I admit that had me baffled. So I put in a call to a geologist at the Army Corps of Engineers. He came up with a stone quarry that pinpointed almost the exact site where I believe the Serapis's crew landed."

  "Nice job," said Pitt gratefully. "You've put the show on the right track."

  "Where do we go from here?" asked Lily.

  "I'll continue working south," answered Yaeger. "At the same time I'll have my people compute an approximate trace of Venator's course west from Spain. With hindsight, it seems obvious the islands that made up the fleet's first landfall after leaving the Mediterranean were the West Indies. By continuing the Serapis's path from New Jersey and projecting Venator's track to the Americas, we should arrive at an approximate intersect within five hundred miles of a liver that fits the bill."

  Lily looked skeptical. "I fail to see how you expect to trace Venator's track when he censored all accounts of heading, currents, winds and distances."

  "No great flash," Yaeger replied dryly. "I'll lift the log data from the voyages of Columbus to the New World,'taking his computed course and adjusting it for differences in hull design and water friction, rigging, and sail area between his ships and the Byzantine fleet a thousand years earlier."

  "You make it sound simple."

  "Believe me, it's not. We may be homing in on the target, but it's going to take another solid four days of study to get us there."

  The weariness and long hours of tedious study seemed forgotten. Yaeger's reddened eyes blazed with determination. Lily appeared to be galvanized with excess energy. They were poised for the starter's gun.

  "Do it," said Pitt. "Find the Library."

  Pitt thought Sandecker sent for him for a status report on the search, but the instant he saw the somber expression on the Admiral's face, he knew there was a problem. What really bothered Pitt was the soft look in the Admiral's eyes; they were usually as hard as flint.

  Then when Sandecker came over and took him by the arm and led him to a couch and sat down alongside, Pitt knew there was a problem.

  "I've just received some disturbing news from the White House,"

  Sandecker began. "The cruise ship that was hosting Presidents De L4orenzo and Hasan at the economic summit in Uruguay is suspected of being hijacked."

  "I'm sorry to hear it," said Pitt, "but how does that affect NUMA?"

  "Hala Kamil was on board."

  "Damn!"

  "And so was the Senator."

  "My father?" Pitt muttered in surprise. "I talked to him by phone the night before last. How did he come to be in Uruguay?"

  "He was on a mission for the President."

  Pitt stood up, paced back and forth and then sat down again. "What's the situation?"

  Chve Cuss 'er

  "The Lady Flamborough-the name of the British cruise liner-disappeared from the port of Punta del Este last night."

  "Where is the ship now?"

  "An extensive air search has yet to Turn up a trace of her. The general consensus of the officials on the scene is that the Lady Flamborough lies at the bottom of the sea."

  "Without absolute proof, I can't accept that."

  "I'm with you."

  "Weather conditions?"

  "I gather from the report the area was fair with calm seas."

  "Ships vanish in storms," said Pitt. "Seldom in calm seas."

  Sandecker made an empty gesture with his hands. "Until more details come in we can only speculate."

  Pitt could not believe his father was dead. What he heard was too inconclusive. "What is the White House doing about it?"

  "The President's hands are tied."

  "That's ridiculous," Pitt said sharply. "He could order all naval units in the area to assist in the search."

  "That's the catch," said Sandecker. "Except for an occasional training exercise, none of which is occurring now, there are no United States naval units on station in the South Atlantic. "

  Pitt stood again and stared out the window at the lights of Washington.

  Then he fixed Sandecker with a penetrating stare. "You're telling me the United States government is in no way involved with the search?"

  "It looks that way."

  "What's to stop NUMA from searching?"

  "Nothing except we lack a fleet of Coast Guard vessels and an aircraft carrier."

  "We have the Sounder."

  Sandecker stared back thoughtfully for a moment. Then his face took on a questioning expression. "One of our research vessels?"

  "She's on a sonar mapping project of the continental slope off southern Brazil."

  Sandecker nodded. "All right, I get your drift, but the Sounder is too slow to be of any help on an extensive sea search. What do you expect to accomplish with her?"

  "If my father's ship can't be found on the surface, I'll hunt for her below.",

  "You could be looking at a thousand square miles, maybe more."

  "The Sounder's sonar gear can cut a swath two miles wide, and she carries a submersible. All I need is your permission to take command of her."

  "You'll need someone to back you up."

  "Giordino and Rudi Gunn. We make a good team."

  "Rudi is on a deep-sea mining operation off the Canary Islands."

  "He could be in Uruguay in eighteen hours."

  Sandecker clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

  Deep down he felt Pitt was chasing shadows, but he never doubted for an instant what his answer would be.

  "Write your own ticket," he said in a level tone. "I'll back YOU."

  "Thank you, Admiral," Pitt said. "I'm grateful."

  "How does the Alexandria Library project stand?"

  "Yaeger and Dr. Sharp are close to a solution. They don't need Al and me getting in the way."

  Sandecker rose and placed both his hands on Pitts shoulders. "He may not be dead, you know."

  "Dad better
not be dead," Pitt said with a grim smile, "I'd never forgive him."

  "Dammit, Martin!" the President said abniptly. "Didn't your Middle East people smell a plot to hijack the Lady Flamborough?"

  Martin Brogan, the CIA director, shrugged wearily. He was well insulated for taking the blame for every terrorist act that killed Americans or took them hostage. The CIAs successes were rarely heralded, but their mistakes were the stuff of Congressional investigations and hype from the news mecha "The ship, along with its entire passenger list and crew, was snatched from under the noses of the finest security agents in the world," he replied. "Whoever dreamed up the venture and executed it is one shrewd operator. The mere scope is far beyond any terrorist activity we've seen in the past.

  "I find it hardly surprising our counterterrorist network was not tipped off in advance."

  Alan Merger, the National Security Adviser, removed his glasses and idly wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. "My end struck out too," he said, backing up Brogan. "Analysis of our eavesdropping monitoring systems failed to reveal any hint of a potential cruise-liner hijacking and abduction of two foreign leaders."

  "By sending George Pitt to meet with President Hasan, I sentenced an old friend to death," the President said regretfully.

  "Not your fault," Merger consoled him.

  The President angrily pounded the desk with one fist. "The Senator, Hala Kamil, De Lorenzo and Hasan. I can't believe they're all gone."

  "We don't know that for sure," said Merger.

  The President stared at him. "You can't hide a cruise liner and all the people on board, Alan. Even a dumb politician like me knows that."

  "There is still a chance '

  "Chance, hell. It was a suicide mission plain and simple. All those poor people were probably locked up while the ship was scuttled. The terrorists never meant to escape. They went down too."

  "All the facts aren't in yet," Merger argued.

  "Just what do we know?" demanded the President.

  "Our experts are already in Punta del Este working with the Uruguayan security people," explained Brogan. "So far, we only have preliminary conclusions. First, the hijacking has been tied to an Arab group. Two witnesses came forward who were in a passing launch when they saw the Lady Flamborough taking on cargo from a landing barge. They heard crewmen on both vessels speaking Arabic. The landing barge has not been found and is assumed to be scuttled somewhere in the harbor."