Raise the Titanic - Cussler Clive (электронная книга .TXT) 📗

    "I promise never to dig our leader ever again. Providing, of course, he keeps me in booze," Giordino said.

    "A small price to pay." Sandecker sighed. "Choose your poison, gentlemen. You see before you a fifth of Cutty Sark scotch for the city slickers, and a fifth of Jack Daniel's for the farm boys. Round up some glasses and be my guests."

    It took Giordino all of ten seconds to find the required number of styrofoam cups in their Mickey Mouse all-electric galley. When the liquor had been poured, Sandecker raised his cup.

    "Gentlemen, here's to the Titanic. May she never again rest in peace."

    "To the Titanic. "

    "Hear, hear."

    Sandecker then relaxed on a folding chair, sipped at his scotch, and idly wondered which of the men in that soggy room were on the payroll of the Soviet government.

53

    Soviet General Secretary Georgi Antonov sucked on his pipe with short, violent puffs and regarded Prevlov with a pensive gaze.

    "I must say, Captain, I take a dim view of the whole undertaking."

    "We have carefully considered every avenue, and this is the only one left open to us," Prevlov said.

    "It's fraught with danger. I fear the Americans will not take the theft of their precious byzanium lying down."

    "Once it is in our hands, Comrade Secretary, it will make no difference how loudly the Americans scream. The door will have been slammed in their faces."

    Antonov folded and unfolded his hands. A large portrait of Lenin floated on the wall behind him. "There must be no international repercussions. It must look to the world as though we were entirely within our rights."

    "This time the American president will have no recourse. International law is on our side."

    "It will mean the end of what used to be called detente," Antonov said heavily.

    "It will also mean the beginning of the end of the United States as a superpower."

    "A cheerful conjecture, Captain; I appreciate that." His pipe had gone out and he relit it, filling the room with a sweet aromatic odor. "However, should you fail, the Americans will be in the same position to say the same of us."

    "We will not fail."

    "Words," Antonov said. "A good lawyer plans the prosecutor's case as well as his own. What measures have you taken in the event of an unavoidable mishap?"

    "The byzanium will be destroyed," Prevlov said. "If we cannot possess it, then neither can the Americans."

    "Does that include the Titanic as well?"

    "It must. By destroying the Titanic, we destroy the byzanium. It will be accomplished in such a way that another recovery operation will be totally out of the question."

    Prevlov fell silent, but Antonov was satisfied. He had already given his approval for the mission. He studied Prevlov carefully. The captain looked like a man who was not used to failure. His every movement, every gesture, seemed thoughtfully planned in advance; even his words carried an air of confident forethought. Yes, Antonov was satisfied.

    "When do you leave for the North Atlantic?" he asked.

    "With your permission, Comrade Secretary, at once. A long-range reconnaissance bomber is on standby at Gorki Airfield. It is imperative that I be standing on the bridge of the Mikhail Kurkov within twelve hours. Good fortune has sent us a hurricane, and I will make full use of its force as a diversion for what will seem our perfectly legal seizure of the Titanic."

    "Then I will not keep you." Antonov stood and embraced Prevlov in a great bear hug. "The hopes of the Soviet Union go with you, Captain Prevlov. I beg you. do not disappoint us.

54

    The day began going badly for Pitt right after he wandered away from the salvage activity and made his way down to No. 1 cargo hold on G Deck.

    The sight that met his eyes in the darkened compartment was one of utter devastation. The vault containing the byzanium was buried under the collapsed forward bulkhead.

    He stood there for a long time, staring at the avalanche of broken and twisted steel that prevented any easy attempt to reach the precious element. It was then that he sensed someone standing behind him.

    "It looks like we've been dealt a bum hand," Sandecker said.

    Pitt nodded. "At least for the moment."

    "Perhaps if we--"

    "It would take weeks for our portable cutting equipment to clear a path through that jungle of steel."

    "There's no other way?"

    "A giant Dopplemann crane could clear the debris in a few hours."

    "Then what you're saying is that we have no choice but to stand by and wait patiently until we reach the dry-dock facilities in New York."

    Pitt looked at him in the dim light and Sandecker could see the look of frustration that cracked his rugged features. There was no need for an answer.

    "Removing the byzanium to the Capricorn would have been a break in our favor," Pitt said. "It'd certainly have saved us a lot of grief."

    "Maybe we could fake a transfer."

    "Our friends who work for the Soviets would smell a hoax before the first crate went over the side."

    "Assuming they're both on board the Titanic, of course."

    "I'll know this time tomorrow."

    "I take it you have a line on who they are?"

    "I've got one of them pegged, the one who killed Henry Munk. The other is purely an educated guess."

    "I'd be interested in knowing who you've ferreted out," Sandecker said.

    "My proof would never convince a federal prosecutor, much less a jury. Give me a few more hours, Admiral, and I'll lay them both, Silver and Gold, or whatever their stupid code names are, right in your lap."

    Sandecker stared at him, then said, "You're that close?"

    "I'm that close."

    Sandecker passed a weary hand across his face arid tightened his lips. He looked at the tons of steel covering the vault. "I leave it with you, Dirk. I'll back your play to the last hand. I don't really have much choice."

    Pitt had other worries, too. The two Navy tugs that Admiral Kemper promised to send were still hours away, and sometime during the late morning, for no apparent reason, the Titanic took it into her mind to increase her starboard list to seventeen degrees.

    The ship rode far too low in the water; the crests of the swells lapped at the sealed portholes along E Deck just ten feet below the scuppers. And although Spencer and his pumping crew had managed to drop suction pipes down the loading hatches into the cargo holds, they had not been able to fight their way through the debris crowding the companionways to reach the engine and boiler rooms, where the greatest volume of water still lay-remote and inaccessible.

    Drummer sat in the gymnasium, dirty and exhausted after working around the clock. He sipped at a mug of cocoa. "After almost eighty years of submersion and rot," he said, "the wood paneling in the passageways has fallen and jammed them worse than a path in a Georgia junkyard."

    Pitt sat where he'd been all afternoon, bent over a drafting table next to the radio transmitter. He stared out of red rimmed eyes at a transverse drawing of the Titanic's superstructure.

    "Can't we thread our way down the main staircase or the elevator shafts?"