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

    The surface appeared so close he could reach out and touch it when his lungs began to burn. It was a spiteful illusion. The waves were still 20 meters (66 feet) away.

    He put some strength into his kick as a huge elastic band seemed to tighten around his chest. Soon, the desire for air became his only world as darkness started seeping around the edges of his eyes.

    Pitt became entangled in something that hindered his ascent. His vision, blurred without a dive mask, failed to distinguish what was binding him. Instinctively, he thrashed clumsily in an attempt to free himself. A great roaring sound came from inside his brain as it screamed in protest. But in that instant before blackness shut down his mind, he sensed that his body was being pulled toward the surface.

    "I've hooked a big one!" shouted Joe Hagen joyously,

    "You got a marlin?" Claire asked excitedly, seeing her husband's fishing pole bent like a question mark.

    "He's not giving much fight for a marlin," Joe panted as he feverishly turned the crank on his reel. "Feels more like a dead weight."

    "Maybe you dragged him to death."

    "Get the gaff. He's almost to the surface."

    Claire snatched a long-handled gaff from two hooks and pointed it over the side of the yacht like a spear. "I see something," she cried. "It looks big and black."

    Then she screamed in horror.

    Pitt was a millimeter away from unconsciousness when his head broke into a trough between the waves. He spit out his regulator and drew in a deep breath. The sun's reflection on the water blinded eyes that hadn't seen light in almost two days. He squinted rapturously at the sudden kaleidoscope of colors.

    Relief, joy of living, fulfillment of a great accomplishment-- they flooded together.

    A woman's scream pierced his ears and he looked up, startled to see the Capri-blue hull of a yacht rising beside him and two people staring over the side, their faces pale as death. It was then that he realized he was entangled in fishing line. Something slapped against his leg. He gripped the line and pulled a small skipjack tuna, no longer than his foot, out of the water. The poor thing had a huge hook protruding from its mouth.

    Pitt gently gripped the fish under one armpit and eased out the hook with his good hand. Then he stared into the little fish's beady eyes.

    "Look, Toto," he said jubilantly, "we're back in Kansas!"

    Commander Maderas and his crew had moved out of San Felipe and resumed their search pattern when the call came through from the Hagens.

    "Sir," said his radioman, "I just received an urgent message from the yacht The First Attempt."

    "What does it say?"

    "The skipper, an American by the name of Joseph Hagen, reports picking up a man he caught while fishing."

    Maderas frowned. "He must mean he snagged a dead body while trolling."

    "No, sir, he was quite definite. The man he caught is alive."

    Maderas was puzzled. "Can't be the one we're searching for. Not after viewing the other one. Have any boats in the area reported a crew member lost overboard?"

    The radioman shook his head. "I've heard nothing."

    "What is The First Attempt's position?"

    "Twelve nautical miles to the northwest of us."

    Maderas stepped into the wheelhouse and nodded at Hidalgo. "Set a course to the northwest and watch for an American yacht." Then he turned to his radioman. "Call this Joseph Hagen for more details on the man they pulled from the water and tell him to remain at his present position. We'll rendezvous in approximately thirty-five minutes."

    Hidalgo looked at him across the chart table. "What do you think?"

    Maderas smiled. "As a good Catholic, I must believe what the church tells me about miracles. But this is one I have to see for myself."

    The fleet of yachts and the many boats of the Mexican fishing fleets that ply the Sea of Cortez have their own broadcast network. There is considerable bantering among the brotherhood of boat owners, similar to the old neighborhood telephone party lines. The chatter includes weather reports, invitations to seaboard social parties, the latest news from home ports, and even a rundown of items for sale or swap.

    The word went up and down the Gulf about the owners of The First Attempt catching a human on a fishing line. Interest was fueled by those who embellished the story before passing it on through the Baja net. Yacht owners who tuned in late heard a wild tale about the Hagens catching a killer whale and finding a live man inside.

    Some of the larger oceangoing vessels were equipped with radios capable of reaching stations in the United States. Soon reports were rippling out from Baja to as far away as Washington.

    The Hagen broadcast was picked up by a Mexican navy radio station in La Paz. The radio operator on duty asked for confirmation, but Hagen was too busy jabbering away with other yacht owners and failed to reply. Thinking it was another of the wild parties in the boating social swing, he noted it in his log and concentrated on official navy signals.

    When he went off duty twenty minutes later, he casually mentioned it to the officer in charge of the station.

    "It sounded pretty loco," he explained. "The report came in English. Probably an intoxicated gringo playing games over his radio."

    "Better send a patrol boat to make an inspection," said the officer. "I'll inform the Northern District Fleet Headquarters and see who we have in the area."

    Fleet headquarters did not have to be informed. Maderas had already alerted them that he was heading at full speed toward The First Attempt. Headquarters had also received an unexpected signal from the Mexican chief of naval operations, ordering the commanding officer to rush the search and extend every effort for a successful rescue operation.

    Admiral Ricardo Alvarez was having lunch with his wife at the officers' club when an aide hurried to his table with both signals.

    "A man caught by a fisherman." Alvarez snorted. "What kind of nonsense is this?"

    "That was the message relayed by Commander Maderas of the G-21," replied the aide.

    "How soon before Maderas comes in contact with the yacht?"

    "He should rendezvous at any moment."

    "I wonder why Naval Operations is so involved with an ordinary tourist lost at sea?"

    "Word has come down that the President himself is interested in the rescue," said the aide.

    Admiral Alvarez gave his wife a sour look. "I knew that damned North American Free Trade Agreement was a mistake. Now we have to kiss up to the Americans every time one of them falls in the Gulf."

    So it was that there were more questions than answers when Pitt was transferred from The First Attempt soon after the patrol vessel came alongside. He stood on the deck, partially supported by Hagen, who had stripped off the torn wet suit and lent Pitt a golf shirt and a pair of shorts. Claire had replaced the bandage on his shoulder and taped one over the nasty cut on his forehead.

    He shook hands with Joseph Hagen. "I guess I'm the biggest fish you ever caught."

    Hagen laughed. "Sure something to tell the grandkids."

    Pitt then kissed Claire on the cheek. "Don't forget to send me your recipe for fish chowder. I've never tasted any so good."

    "You must have liked it. You put away at least a gallon."