Lost City - Cussler Clive (читать книги полные TXT) 📗

slanting floor was wet, and after they had gone in a few yards, water lapped at their toes.

"Not exactly the tunnel of love, is it?" Zavala said, peering into the darkness.

"It's what I would expect the river Styx to look like." Austin stared at the black water for a moment, and then a bolt of energy seemed to pass through his body. "Let's get back to the power plant."

Drouet and his companions emerged from the plant building after Zavala's helicopter touched down. Drouet hurried over to greet Austin.

"I must apologize for my earlier behavior," he said. "I didn't have all the facts about this horrible situation. I have since talked to my superiors and the American embassy, which told me about you and NUMA, Monsieur Austin. I didn't know there were French citizens trapped under the glacier."

"Should their nationality have made any difference?"

"No, of course not. Inexcusable. You will be happy to know I have sent for help. A rescue team is on its way."

"That's a start. How long before they get here?"

Drouet hesitated, knowing the answer was unsatisfactory. "Three or four hours."

"You must know that will be too late."

Drouet wrung his hands in anguish. He was obviously distressed. "At least we can recover the bodies. It's the best I can do."

"It's not the best I can do, Monsieur Drouet. We're going to try to bring them back alive, but we'll need your help."

"You're not serious! Those poor people are trapped under eight hundred feet of ice." He studied the silent determination in Austin's face and arched an eyebrow. "Very well. I'll knock heads together to get you anything you need. Tell me what I must do."

Austin was pleasantly surprised to learn that Drouet's plump exterior hid a layer of steel.

"Thank you for your offer. First, I'd like to borrow your helicopter and pilot."

"Yes, of course, but I see your friend has a helicopter."

"I'll need a bigger one."

"I don't understand. These unfortunate people are trapped in the ground, not the air."

"Nevertheless." Austin gave Drouet a hard look that said he was through wasting time.

Drouet nodded vigorously. "Very well. You have my full cooperation."

While Drouet scurried over to talk to his pilot, Austin called the NUMA vessel's captain on a hand radio and spent several minutes sketching out his plan. Fortier listened carefully.

"I'll get right on it," he said. Austin thanked him and gazed at the glacier, sizing up the adversary he was about to tackle. He had no room in his scheme of things for self-doubt. He knew plans could go awry, and had scars all over his body to prove it. He also knew that problems could be fixed. He was certain that, with luck, his scheme would work. What he wasn't sure of was whether Skye was still alive.

SKYE WAS VERY much alive. Renaud, who was feeling the full force of her fury, could attest to that. After Renaud had made one of his self-serving comments, Skye had snapped. She had laced into the hapless Frenchman, her eyes bright with tears of rage as she tongue-lashed him for ruining the biggest discovery of her career. Renaud finally summoned up the courage to croak a protest. Skye had exhausted her repertoire and lung power by then and cut him short with a withering glare and a well-chosen word.

"Idiot!"

Renaud tried to play on her sympathy. "Can't you see I'm injured?" He held his bruised and lacerated hand.

"It's your own stupid fault," she said coldly. "How in God's name could you allow a man with a gun to come into this place?"

"I thought he was a reporter."

"You have the brain of an amoeba. Amoebas don't think. They ooze."

"Mademoiselle, please," LeBlanc entreated. "We have only so much air to breathe. Save your strength."

"Save it for what}" She pointed to the ceiling. "It may have escaped your attention, but we are stuck under a very large glacier."

LeBlanc put his finger to his lips.

Skye glanced around at the cold and frightened faces and saw she was making the others even more miserable. She realized, too, that her tirade against Renaud was a product of her fear and frustration. She apologized to LeBlanc and clamped her lips tightly together, but before she did so, she muttered, "He is an idiot."

Then she went over and plunked down next to Rawlins, the magazine writer, who was sitting with his back against a wall, writing in a notebook. He had bunched a plastic tarp together and was using it to insulate his posterior from contact with the wet floor. She snuggled close for warmth, saying, "Pardon me for being forward, but I'm freezing."

Rawlins blinked in surprise, set the notebook aside and then gallantly wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"You were pretty hot a minute ago," he said.

"Sorry for losing my temper in front of everyone," she murmured.

"I don't blame you, but try to look on the bright side. At least we've got lights."

The floodwaters must have missed the wires that ran along the top of the tunnel to the power plant. Although the lights had flickered a few times, the power was still on. The wet and weary survivors were crowded into the stretch of tunnel that ran between the ice cave and the stairs.

Despite his optimistic observation, Rawlins knew they were short on time. He and the others were finding it more difficult to breathe. He attempted to divert his thoughts.

"What was that scientific discovery you were talking about?" he asked Skye.

A dreamy look came into her eyes. "I found an ancient tomb under the waters of the lake. I think it may have had something to do with

the Amber Route, which means that trade contacts between Europe and the Mediterranean countries go further back than anyone has ever imagined. To Minoan or Mycenaean times maybe." Rawlins groaned. "Are you all right?" Skye said.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Oh hell, no, I'm not. The only reason I'm here was to do a story on the subglacial observatory. Then they found the body in the ice, which would have been a major exclusive. Then a thug posing as a reporter pistol-whips your pal Renaud and floods the tunnel. Wow! My stuff would have been picked up all over the world. I would have been the next Jon Krakauer. Publishers would be pounding on my door with book deals. Now, you tell me about the Minoan angle."

"I don't know that it's Minoan," Skye said, trying to ease his distress. "I could be wrong."

He shook his head sadly.

The TV reporter, who had been listening to the conversation, said, "Don't blame you for feeling bad, but put yourself in my place. I've got video of the body and the French guy getting smacked with the gun."

The other reporter tapped his tape recorder. "Yeah, and I got the voices all on tape."

Rawlins stared at the fire hose snaking past their feet. "I wonder if we could use a water jet to melt a tunnel through the glacier."

Thurston was sitting next to Rawlins. He chuckled and said, "I've already done some calculations in my head. It will take us about three months if we work steadily."

"Do we get time off for Sundays and holidays?" Rawlins asked.

Everyone laughed, except for Renaud.

Rawlins's offbeat humor reminded Skye of Austin. How long had it been since she left the ship? She glanced at her watch and realized that only a few hours had elapsed. She had been eagerly looking for

ward to their date. She'd been entranced by the rugged profile, the pale, almost white hair, but it went beyond physical attraction. He was interesting, a study in contrasts. Austin had a quick sense of humor and he could be warm and gentle, but she detected diamond hardness behind the twinkle in those blue eyes. And, of course, there were those magnificent shoulders. She wouldn't be surprised if he could walk on the bottom of the sea.