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

Trout was trying his best to ignore the gnawing and belching that issued from the cages. "I understand, Colonel, and I'll pass your message along to my weak-stomached friend."

Strega stared at Trout with his wolfish yellow eyes as if trying to memorize his face. Then he gave Gamay a 14-karat smile, clicked his heels, wheeled about and headed for the door. The guards prodded the Trouts out of the building, although they didn't need any persuasion. Strega was getting into a Mercedes convertible. Sandy was leaning against the building, vomiting. Gamay went over and put her arm around the Alvin's pilot.

"Sorry about all that," MacLean said. "Strega insists on this orientation for newcomers. It's guaranteed to scare the pants off them." "It scared more than that off me," Sandy said. "Next time I'll know to wear a diaper."

MacLean sighed. "We've all had a hard day. Let's get you settled

in your quarters. After you've had a chance to shower and change, we'll get together for a drink at my place."

The bus went another half mile, passing through more barbed and electrified fence, finally stopping at a complex laid out with a large round-roofed building surrounded by small flat-roofed structures.

"That's the lab where we'll be working," MacLean said. He pointed to a building set off by itself. "That's Strega's place. The guards have their quarters right next door. The cottages are for scientific staff. They look like bunkers, but you'll find them quite comfortable."

The guard ordered everyone off the bus and pointed the Trouts and Sandy to a pair of adjoining cottages. MacLean place was next door. Trout and Gamay went to their quarters, basically one room with an iron bed, a small table and chair and a bathroom. It was spartan but clean. They shed their clothes and took long hot showers. Trout shaved with the dull disposable razor left for him.

Two lime-colored one-piece coveralls lay neatly folded on the bed. They had no desire to get into a prison uniform, but their own clothes had smelled vile even before they visited the animal house. Trout's coveralls were somewhat short in the sleeves and legs, but not uncomfortable. The bow tie didn't match but he wore it anyhow. Gamay would have looked glamorous even in sackcloth.

They went next door to get Sandy, but she was sleeping and they decided not to awaken her. MacLean welcomed them to his cottage, which was identical to the others except for its well-stocked bar. He insisted that they call him Mac, then he poured three glasses of Scotch whiskey and took the bottle with him when they went outside. The air was cool but not uncomfortable.

"I think my quarters may be bugged," MacLean explained. "Colonel Strega is a resourceful man."

"I'm not sure I care for his sense of humor," Gamay said.

"He's better known for his other qualities. The World Court

would like to talk to him in regard to some mass graves in Bosnia. How's your drink?"

"Fine. We couldn't do better at Club Med," she said. "When I get too depressed, I pretend I'm on vacation in an out-of-the-way resort," MacLean said.

"At the resorts I've visited, lunch wasn't delivered in rat traps," Trout said.

There was an awkward silence, which was broken by Gamay. "What, or who were those loathsome creatures in those cages?" MacLean took his time answering. "Those were mistakes." "As a fellow scientist, you'll understand when we say you have to be more specific," Trout said.

"Sorry. Maybe I had better start at the beginning." MacLean poured more whiskey into his glass, took a hearty swallow and stared into space with a far-off look in his eyes.

"It seems so long ago, but it's only been three years since I was hired by a small research company outside of Paris to work with enzymes, the proteins that are produced by living cells. We were interested in the role that enzymes play in the aging process. Our company had only limited resources, so we were ecstatic when a large conglomerate absorbed our lab."

"Who was behind this conglomerate?" Trout asked. "We didn't know and we didn't care. It didn't even have a name. We received substantial raises. We were promised greater funding and resources. We didn't mind when new conditions were imposed." "What sort of conditions?"

"Under our new management, guards constantly watched us. Men in lab coats and suits, but guards nonetheless. Our movements were restricted. We lived in housing close to the lab. Company vehicles picked us up every morning and night. Those with families were allowed visitors from time to time, but all of us were warned of the secrecy of our work. We even signed contracts agreeing to the strict

rules, but you have to understand, we were giddy. We were on a quest for the true Philosopher's Stone."

"I thought you were a chemist, not an alchemist," Gamay said. "As I recall, the Philosopher's Stone was a substance that could transform base metals like lead into silver or gold."

MacLean nodded. "That's a common wzwconception. Many ancients believed that the stone was the legendary 'elixir of life." If you mixed this wonderful substance with wine, the solution could heal wounds, restore youth and prolong life. That's the stone we were looking for."

"The quest for immortality," Trout mused. "It might have been easier to turn lead into gold."

A faint smile crossed MacLean's lips. "Many times during our research I had the same thought. I often pondered the impossibility of the task we had set ourselves."

* "You're not the first to fail in that quest," Trout said.

"Oh no, Dr. Trout. You misunderstand. We didn't fail." "Hold on, Mac. You're saying the elixir of life exists?"

"Yes. We discovered it at the bottom of the sea in the hydrothermal vents of the Lost City."

They stared at MacLean wondering if the insanity of this island had turned the Scotsman into a madman.

"I've been poking my proboscis into sea mud for a long time," Trout said after a moment. "I've yet to discover anything that resembles the Fountain of Youth."

Gamay shook her head. "You'll have to excuse my skepticism. As a marine biologist, I'm more familiar than Paul with the vents, and to be honest, I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

MacLean's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "You know more than you thinly you do, lass. Please explain why scientists around the world are excited about the microbes that have been found around the vents."

"That's easy," Gamay said, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Those bacteria are like nothing that's ever been found before. They're 'living fossils." The conditions in the Lost City are similar to those that existed at the dawn of life on earth. If you figure out how life evolved around the vents, you can see how it could have started on earth, or even other planets."

"Exactly right. My work started with a simple premise. If you had something involved in the creation of life, maybe it could extend life as well. Our company had access to samples taken on earlier expeditions to the Lost City. The enzyme these microbes produced was the key."

"In what way?"

"Every living creature on earth is programmed for one task, to reproduce itself as many times as possible. Once its job is done, it becomes redundant, thus all organisms have a built-in self-destruct gene that dispatches them to make way for future generations. In human beings, sometimes the gene is activated prematurely and you have Werner's progeria, where an eight-year-old child looks like an eighty-year-old. We reasoned that if this gene can be switched on, it could be switched off, with the result that you slow aging."