Cyclops dp-8

by Clive Cussler

  "The receptionist insinuated you weren't quite together."

  "A little act I love to put on. Keeps everyone guessing." Her eyes sparkled briefly and then they took on a faraway look. "Hans was a nice man who was seventeen years older than me. My love for him was mixed with compassion because of his crippled body. We had been married about three years when he brought Ray home for dinner one evening. The three of us soon became close friends, the men forming a partnership to salvage artifacts from old shipwrecks and sell them to antique dealers and marine collectors. Ray was handsome and dashing in those days, and it wasn't long before he and I entered into an affair." She hesitated and stared at Pitt. "Have you ever deeply loved two women at the same time, Mr. Pitt?"

  "I'm afraid the experience has eluded me."

  "The strange part was that I didn't feel any guilt. Deceiving Hans became an exciting adventure. It was not that I was a dishonest person. It was just that I had never lied to somebody close to me before and remorse never entered my mind. Now I thank God that Hans didn't find out before he died."

  "Can you tell me about the La Dorada treasure?"

  "After graduating from Stanford, Ray spent a couple years tramping through the jungles of Brazil, hunting for gold. He first heard of the La Dorada from an American surveyor. I don't remember the details, but he was sure it was on board the Cyclops when it disappeared. He and Hans spent two years dragging some sort of instrument that detected iron up and down the Caribbean. Finally, they found the wreck. Ray borrowed some money from his mother to buy diving equipment and a small salvage boat. He sailed ahead to Cuba to set up a base of operations while Hans was finishing up a job off New Jersey."

  "Did you ever receive a letter or a phone call from Hans after he sailed on the Monterey?"

  "He called once from Cuba. All he said was that he and Ray were leaving for the wreck site the next day. Two weeks later, Ray returned and told me Hans had died from the bends and was buried at sea."

  "And the treasure?"

  "Ray described it as a huge golden statue," she replied. "He somehow raised it onto the salvage boat and took it to Cuba."

  Pitt stood, stretched, and knelt beside Hilda again. "Odd that he didn't bring the statue back to the States."

  "He was afraid that Brazil, the state of Florida, the federal government, other treasure hunters and marine archeologists would confiscate or tie up the La Dorada in court claims and eventually leave him nothing. Then, of course, there was always the Internal Revenue Service. Ray couldn't see giving away millions of dollars in taxes if he could get around it. So he told no one but me of the discovery."

  "What ever became of it?"

  "Ray removed a giant ruby from the statue's heart, cut it up into small stones, and sold them piecemeal."

  "And that was the beginning of the LeBaron financial empire," said Pitt.

  "Yes, but before Ray could cut up the emerald head or melt down the gold, Castro came to power and he was forced to hide the statue. He never told me where he hid it."

  "Then the La Dorada is still buried somewhere in Cuba."

  "I'm certain Ray was never able to return and retrieve it."

  "Did you see Mr. LeBaron after that?"

  "Oh my, yes," she said brightly. "We were married."

  "You were the first Mrs. LeBaron?" Pitt asked, astonished.

  "For thirty-three years."

  "But the records say his first wife's name was Hillary and she died some years ago."

  "Ray preferred Hillary over Hilda when he became wealthy. Thought it had more class. My death was a convenient arrangement for him when I became ill-- divorcing an invalid was abhorrent to him. So he buried Hillary LeBaron, while Hilda Kronberg withers away here."

  "That strikes me as inhumanly cruel."

  "My husband was generous if not compassionate. We lived two different lives. But I don't mind. Jessie comes to see me occasionally."

  "The second Mrs. LeBaron?"

  "A very charming and thoughtful person."

  "How can she be married to him if you're still alive?"

  She smiled brightly. "The one time Ray made a bad deal. The doctors told him I had only a few months to live. But I fooled them all and have hung on for seven years."

  "That makes him a bigamist as well as a murderer and a thief."

  Hilda did not argue. "Ray is a complicated man. He takes far more than he gives."

  "If I were you I'd nail him to the nearest cross."

  "Too late for me, Mr. Pitt." She looked up at him, a sudden twinkle in her eyes. "But you could do something in my place."

  "Name it."

  "Find the La Dorada," she said fervently. "Find the statue and give it to the world. See that it's displayed to the public. That would hurt Ray more than losing his magazine. But more important, it's what Hans would have wanted."

  Pitt took her hand and held it. "Hilda," he said softly, "I'll do my damnedest."

  <<46>>

  Hudson adjusted the clarity of the image and nodded a greeting at the face staring back. "Eli, I have someone who has asked to talk to you."

  "Always happy to see a new face," Steinmetz replied cheerfully.

  Another man took Hudson's place beneath the video camera and monitor. He gazed in fascination for a few moments before speaking.

  "Are you really on the moon?" he asked finally.

  "Show time," Steinmetz said with an agreeable smile. He moved offscreen and lifted the portable camera from its tripod and panned it through a quartz window at the lunar landscape. "Sorry I can't show you earth, but we're on the wrong side of the ball."

  "I believe you."

  Steinmetz replaced the camera and moved in front of it again. He leaned forward and stared into his monitor. His smile slowly faded and his eyes took on a questioning look. "Are you who I think you are?"

  "Do you recognize me?"

  "You look and sound like the President."

  It was the President's turn to smile. "I wasn't sure you were aware, knowing that I was a senator when you left earth, and newspapers aren't delivered in your neighborhood."

  "When the moon's orbit around the earth is in the proper position we can tap into most communication satellites. During the crew's last rest break, they watched the latest Paul Newman movie on Home Box Office. We also devour the Cable News Network programs like starving dogs."

  "The Jersey Colony is an incredible achievement. A grateful nation will forever be in your debt."

  "Thank you, Mr. President, though it comes as a surprise that Leo jumped the gun and announced the success of the project before our return to earth. That wasn't part of the plan."

  "There has been no public announcement," said the President, becoming serious. "Next to you and your colony people, I am the only one outside the `inner core' who is aware of your existence, except maybe the Russians."

  Steinmetz stared at him across 240,000 miles of space. "How could they know about the Jersey Colony?"

  The President paused to look at Hudson, who was standing out of camera range. Hudson shook his head.

  "The Selenos lunar photo probes," answered the President, omitting any reference to them being manned. "One managed to send its data back to the Soviet Union. We think it showed the Jersey Colony. We also have reason to believe the Russians suspect you destroyed the probes from the lunar surface."

  An uneasy apprehension showed in Steinmetz's eyes. "You think they plan to attack us, is that it?"

  "Yes, Eli, I do," said the President. "Selenos 8, the Soviet lunar station, entered orbit around the moon three hours ago. NASA computers project it to pass up a safe landing site on the face and come down on the dark side in your block of the neighborhood. A risky gamble unless they have a definite objective."

  "The Jersey Colony."

  "Their lunar landing vehicle holds seven men," the President continued. "The craft requires two pilot-engineers to direct its flight. That leaves five for combat."

  "There are ten of us," said Steinmetz. "Two to o
ne, not bad odds."

  "Except they'll have firepower and training on their side. These men will be the deadliest team the Russians can field."

  "You paint a grim picture, Mr. President. What would you have us do?"

  "You've accomplished far more than any of us had any right to expect. But the deck is stacked against you. Destroy the colony and get out before there's any bloodshed. I want you and your people safely back on earth to receive the honors you deserve."

  "I don't think you quite realize what we've busted our asses to build here."

  "Whatever you've done isn't worth your lives."

  "We've all lived with death for six years," said Steinmetz slowly. "A few more hours won't matter."

  "Don't throw it all away on an impossible fight," the President argued.

  "Sorry, Mr. President, but you're talking to a man who lost his daddy at a little sand spit called Wake Island. I'll put it to a vote, but I already know the outcome. The other guys won't cut and run any more than I will. We'll stay and fight."

  The President felt proud and defeated at the same time. "What weapons do you have?" he asked wearily.

  "Our arsenal consists of one used rocket launcher, which is down to its last shell, an M-14 National Match rifle, and a twenty-two-caliber target pistol. We brought them for a series of gravity experiments."

  "You're outclassed, Eli," the President said miserably. "Can't you realize that?"

  "No, sir. I refuse to quit on a technicality."

  "What technicality?"

  "The Russians are the visitors."

  "So what?"

  "That makes us the home team," said Steinmetz slyly. "And the home team always has the advantage."

  "They've landed!" exclaimed Sergei Kornilov, smashing a fist into one hand. "Selenos 8 is on the moon!"

  Below the VIP observation room, on the floor of the Soviet Mission Control Center, the engineers and space scientists burst into wild cheering and applause.

  President Antonov held up a glass of champagne. "To the glory of the Soviet Union and the party."

  The toast was repeated by the Kremlin officials and high-ranking military officers crowded in the room.

  "To our first stepping-stone on our quest of Mars," toasted General Yasenin.

  "Here, here!" replied a chorus of deep voices. "To Mars."

  Antonov set his empty glass on a tray and turned to Yasenin, his face abruptly serious. "How soon before Major Leuchenko makes contact with the moon base?" he asked.

  "Allowing for time to secure the spacecraft systems, make a reconnaissance of the terrain, and position his men for the assault, I would say four hours."

  "How far away is the landing site?"

  "Selenos 8 was programmed to touch down behind a low range of hills less than three kilometers from where Selenos 4 detected the astronauts," answered the general.

  "That seems quite close," said Antonov. "If the Americans tracked our descent, Leuchenko has lost all opportunity for surprise."

  "There is little doubt they have realized what we're up to."

  "You're not concerned?"

  "Our advantage lies in Leuchenko's experience and superior firepower, Comrade President." Yasenin's face wore the expression of a boxing manager who had just sent his fighter into the ring against a one-armed man. "The Americans are faced with a no-win situation."

  <<47>>

  Major Grigory Leuchenko lay stretched in the fine, gray dust of the moon's surface and stared at the desolate wasteland spread beneath the pitch-black sky. He found the silent and ghostly landscape similar to the arid desert of Afghanistan's Seistan Basin. The gravel plains and rolling mound-shaped hills gave little definition. It reminded him of a great sea of plaster of paris, yet it seemed strangely familiar to him.

  He fought off an urge to vomit. He and his men were all suffering from nausea. There had been no time to train for the weightless environment during the journey from earth, no weeks or months to adjust as had the cosmonauts of the Soyuz missions. They were given only a few hours' instruction on how to operate the life-support systems of their lunar suits, a brief lecture on conditions they could expect to find on the moon, and a briefing on the location of the American colony.

  He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder through his lunar suit. He spoke into his helmet's internal transmitter without turning.

  "What have you got?"

  Lieutenant Dmitri Petrov pointed toward a flat valley running between the sloping walls of two craters about a thousand meters to the left. "Vehicle tracks and footprints, converging into that shadow below the left crater's rim. I make out three, maybe four small buildings."

  "Pressurized greenhouses," said Leuchenko. He set a pair of boxlike binoculars on a small tripod and settled the wide viewing piece around the faceplate of his helmet. "Looks like vapor issuing out of the crater's sloping side." He paused to adjust the focus. "Yes, I can see it clearly now. There's an entrance into the rock, probably an airlock with access to their interior facility. No sign of life. The outer perimeter appears deserted."

  "They could be hiding in ambush," said Petrov.

  "Hide where?" asked Leuchenko, sweeping the open panorama. "The scattered rocks are too small to shield a man. There are no breaks in the terrain, no indication of defense works. An astronaut in a bulky white lunar suit would stand out like a snowman in a field of cinders. No, they must be barricaded inside the cave."

  "Not a wise defensive position. All to our advantage."

  "They still have a rocket launcher."

  "That has little effect against men spread in a loose formation."

  "True, but we'll have no cover and we can't be sure they don't have other weapons."

  "A heavy concentration of fire inside the cave entrance might force their hand," suggested Petrov.

  "Our orders are not to cause any unnecessary destruction to the facility," said Leuchenko. "We'll have to move in=

  "Something is moving out there!" Petrov cried.

  Leuchenko stared through the binoculars. An odd-looking open vehicle had appeared from behind one of the greenhouses and was traveling in their direction. A white flag, attached to an antenna, hung limply in the airless atmosphere. He watched until it stopped fifty meters away and a figure stepped out onto the lunar soil.

  "Interesting," said Leuchenko thoughtfully. "The Americans want to parley."

  "Might be a trick. A ruse to study our force."

  "I don't think so. They wouldn't make contact under a flag of truce if they were acting from a position of strength. Their intelligence people and tracking systems on earth warned them of our arrival, and they must realize they're outgunned. Americans are capitalists. They look at everything from a business viewpoint. If they can't make a fight for it, they'll try to strike a deal."

  "You going out?" asked Petrov.

  "No harm in talking. He doesn't appear armed. Perhaps they can be persuaded to bargain their lives for an intact colony."

  "Our orders were to take no prisoners."

  "I haven't forgotten," said Leuchenko tensely. "We'll cross that bridge when we've achieved our objective. Tell the men to keep the American in their sights. If I raise my left hand, give the order to fire."

  He handed his automatic weapon to Petrov and rose lightly to his feet. His lunar suit, rifle, and life-support backpack, containing an oxygen recharger and water recharger for cooling, added 194 pounds to Leuchenko's body weight for a total of almost 360 earth pounds. But his lunar weight was only 60 pounds.

  He moved toward the lunar vehicle in the half-walking, half-hopping gait typical when moving under the light gravitational pull of the moon. He quickly approached the lunar vehicle and halted about five meters away.

  The American moon colonist was leaning unconcernedly against a front wheel. He straightened, knelt on one knee, and wrote a number in the lead-colored dust.

  Leuchenko understood and turned his radio receiver to the frequency indicated. Then he nodded.

  "Are you receivin
g me?" the American asked in badly mispronounced Russian.

  "I speak English," replied Leuchenko.

  "Good. That will save any misunderstanding. My name is Eli Steinmetz."

  "You are the United States moon base leader?"

  "I head up the project, yes."

  "Major Grigory Leuchenko, Soviet Union."

  Steinmetz moved closer and they stiffly shook hands. "It seems we have a problem, Major."

  "One neither of us can avoid."

  "You could turn around and hike back to your lunar lander," said Steinmetz.

  "I have my orders," Leuchenko stated in a firm tone.

  "You're to attack and capture my colony."

  "Yes.

  "Is there no way we can prevent bloodshed?"

  "You could surrender."

  "Funny," said Steinmetz. "I was about to ask the same of you."

  Leuchenko was certain Steinmetz was bluffing, but the face behind the gold-tinted visor remained unreadable. All Leuchenko could see was his own reflection.

  "You must realize that your people are no match for mine."

  "In a knock-down, drag-out firelight you'd win," agreed Steinmetz. "But you can remain outside your landing craft only for a few hours before you must go back and replenish your breathing systems. I reckon you've already used up two."

  "We have enough left to accomplish the job," Leuchenko said confidently.

  "I must warn you, Major. We have a secret weapon. You and your men will surely die."

  "A crude bluff, Mr. Steinmetz. I would have expected better from an American scientist."

  Steinmetz corrected him. "Engineer, there's a difference."

  "Whatever," said Leuchenko impatiently. As a soldier, he was out of his element in wordy negotiations. He was anxious for action. "It's senseless to carry this conversation any further. You would be wise to send your men out and turn over the facility. I'll guarantee your safety until you can be returned to earth."

  "You're lying, Major. Either your people or mine will have to be erased. There can be no losers left to tell the world what happened here."

  "You're wrong, Mr. Steinmetz. Surrender and you will be treated fairly."

  "Sorry, no deal."

  "Then there can be no quarter."