Inca Gold - Cussler Clive (читаем полную версию книг бесплатно txt) 📗

    Instinctively holding his breath, he fought to reach the surface. Aided by his inflated buoyancy compensator, he quickly broke clear and was immediately swept away by the torrent. Rocks reached out for him like shrouded predators of the underworld. He was flung down a spill of rapids, colliding, he'd have sworn, with every boulder that protruded from the river. The contact rasped and shredded his wet suit, stripping skin from his legs and outspread arms. He suffered a blow to his chest and then his head struck something hard and ungiving. But for the protection of the hardhat that absorbed 80 percent of the blow, he'd have cracked his skull open.

    Incredibly, his buoyancy compensator stayed inflated and he floated half-unconscious through a short spill of rapids. One of the lights on his helmet was smashed by the impact and the other one seemed to cast an indistinct red beam. Gratefully, he felt loose stone beneath his feet and saw he was being spun toward shallows leading to a small open space along the shoreline. He swam until his knees scraped the coarse gravel, struggling to loosen the grip of the murderous current. He extended his hands to pull himself over the slippery stones onto the dry shelf. A groan of pain escaped his lips as one of his wrists exploded in agony. At some point after going over the falls, he had broken something there. His wrist was not all that was broken. He'd also cracked two or more ribs on his left side.

    The rumbling thunder of the falls sounded far in the distance. Slowly his mind came back on track and he wondered how far he'd been swept by the ungodly torrent. Then, as more of the cobwebs cleared, he remembered Giordino. In desperation he shouted Al's name, his voice echoing through the air chamber, hoping but never really expecting to hear a reply.

    "Over here."

    The answer didn't come much louder than a whisper, but Pitt heard it as if it came out of a loudspeaker. He rose unsteadily to his feet, trying to get a fix. "Say again."

    "I'm only six meters upstream of you," said Giordino. "Can't you see me?"

    A red haze seemed to block Pitt's field of vision. He rubbed his eyes and found he could focus them again. He also realized the red haze that had been clouding his sight came from blood that was spilling from a gash in his forehead. Now he could clearly discern Giordino lying on his back a short distance away, half out of the water.

    He staggered over to his friend, clutching the left side of his chest in a vain attempt to contain the pain. He knelt stiffly beside Giordino. "Am I ever glad to see you. I thought you and the Windbag had sailed off without me."

    "The remains of our trusty boat were swept downstream."

    "Are you badly injured?" Pitt asked.

    Giordino smiled gamely, held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "At least I can still play Carnegie Hall."

    "Play what? You can't even carry a tune." Then Pitt's eyes filled with concern. "Is it your back?"

    Giordino weakly shook his head. "I stayed with the Windbag and my feet were caught in the lines holding the equipment when she struck bottom. Then she went one way, and I went the other. I think both legs are broken below the knees." He explained his injuries as calmly as if he were describing a pair of flat tires.

    Pitt gently felt Giordino's calves as his friend clenched his fists. "Lucky you. Simple breaks, no compound fractures."

    Giordino stared up at Pitt. "You look like you went through the spin cycle in a washing machine."

    "A few scrapes and bruises," Pitt lied.

    "Then why are you talking through clenched teeth?"

    Pitt didn't answer. He tried to call up a program on the computer on his arm, but it had been knocked against a rock and was broken. He unbuckled the straps and threw it in the river. "So much for Duncan's data."

    "I lost the camera too."

    "Tough break. Nobody will be coming this way again soon, certainly not over those falls."

    "Any idea how far to the treasure cavern?" asked Giordino.

    "A rough guess? Maybe two kilometers."

    Giordino looked at him. "You'll have to go it alone."

    "You're talking crazy."

    "I'll only be a burden." He was no longer smiling. "Forget about me. Get to the treasure cavern."

    "I can't leave you here."

    "Busted bones or not, I can still float. I'll follow you later."

    "Take care when you get there," said Pitt grimly. "You may drift, but you can't escape the current. Mind you stay close to shore out of the mainstream or you'll be swept beyond recovery."

    "No big deal if I am. Our air tanks went with the Wallowing Windbag. If we meet a flooded gallery between here and the treasure chamber longer than we can hold our breath, we'll drown anyway."

    "You're supposed to look on the bright side."

    Giordino removed a spare flashlight from a belt around one thigh. "You'll need this. Your headlamp looks like it lost a fight with a rock. Come to think of it, your face is a mess too. You're bleeding all over the shredded remains of your nice clean wet suit.'

    "Another dip in the river will fix that," said Pitt, attaching the flashlight around the forearm above his broken left wrist where the computer used to be. He dropped his weight belt. "I won't be needing this any longer."

    "Aren't you taking your air tank?"

    "I don't want to be hindered any more than I have to."

    "What if you come to a flooded chamber?"

    "I'll have to free dive through as far as I can on my lungs."

    "One last favor," said Giordino, holding up the empty harness straps that once supported his air tanks. "Wrap my legs together to keep them from flopping around."

    Pitt cinched the straps as tight as he dared, conscious of his broken wrist and the need to be gentle. Except for a sharp intake of breath, Giordino uttered no sound. "Rest up for at least an hour before you follow," Pitt ordered.

    "Just get a move on and do what you can to save Loren and Rudi. I'll be along as soon as I'm able."

    "I'll keep a watch for you."

    "Better find a big net."

    Pitt gave Giordino's arm a farewell grip. Then he waded into the river until the current swept him off his feet and carried him into the next cavern.

    Giordino watched until Pitt's light vanished around the next bend in the canyon and was lost in the darkness. Two kilometers (1.2 miles), he mused. He hoped to God the final leg of the journey was in air-filled chambers.

    Zolar drew a long, relieved breath. Things had gone well, better than he'd expected. The project was winding down. The trailer used for the operations office, the forklift, and the winch had been airlifted away along with most of Colonel Campos's men. Only a small squad of army engineers remained behind to load the final lot onto the army transport helicopter that was parked beside the stolen NUMA craft.

    Zolar looked down at the remaining pieces of the golden treasure, which stood in a neat row. He studied the brilliantly gleaming antiquities with an eye toward their ultimate sale price. The artistry and magnificence of the metalwork of the twenty-eight golden statues of Inca warriors was indescribable. They each stood one meter high and provided a rare glimpse into the creative mastery of Inca artisans.

    "A few more and you'd have yourself a chess set," said Oxley, admiring the golden display.