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

    "You're talking a major operation," said Rodgers.

    Pitt held his light on the great coiled chain. "Nobody said it was going to be easy. Besides, bringing out the treasure isn't our problem."

    Shannon gave him a questioning stare. "Oh, no? Then who do you expect to do it?"

    Pitt stared back. "Have you forgotten? We're supposed to stand aside and hand it over to our old pals from the Solpemachaco."

    The repulsive thought had slipped her mind after gazing enthralled at the wealth of golden artifacts. "An outrage," Shannon said furiously, her self-esteem blossoming once more, "a damned outrage. The archaeological discovery of the century, and I can't direct the recovery program."

    "Why don't you lodge a complaint?" said Pitt.

    She glared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

    "Let the competition know how you feel."

    "How?"

    "Leave them a message."

    "You're crazy."

    "That observation has been cropping up quite a bit lately," said Giordino.

    Pitt took the rope slung over Giordino's shoulder and made a loop. Then he twirled the rope like a lariat and threw the loop across the water, smiling triumphantly as it settled over the head of a small golden monkey on a pedestal.

    "Ah, ha!" he uttered proudly. "Will Rogers had nothing on me."

    Pitt's worst fears were confirmed when he hovered the helicopter above the Alhambra. No one stood on the deck to greet the craft and its passengers. The ferry looked deserted. The auto deck was empty, as was the wheelhouse. The boat was not riding at anchor, nor was she drifting. Her hull was resting lightly in the water only two meters above the silt of the shallow bottom. To all appearances, she looked like a ship that had been abandoned by her crew.

    The sea was calm and there was no pitch or roll. Pitt lowered the helicopter onto the wood deck and shut down the engines as soon as the tires touched down. He sat there as the sound of the turbine and rotor blades slowly died into a morbid silence. He waited a full minute but no one appeared. He opened the entry door and dropped to the deck. Then he stood there waiting for something to happen.

    Finally, a man stepped from behind a stairwell and approached, coming to a halt about 5 meters (16 feet) from the chopper. Even without the phony white hair and beard, Pitt easily recognized the man who had impersonated Dr. Steven Miller in Peru. He was smiling as if he'd caught a record fish.

    "A little off your beat, aren't you?" said Pitt, unruffled.

    "You seem to be my never-ending nemesis, Mr. Pitt."

    "A quality that thrills me no end. What name are you going under today?"

    "Not that it's of use to you, but I am Cyrus Samson."

    "I can't say I'm pleased to see you again."

    Sarason moved closer, peering over Pitt's shoulder at the interior of the helicopter. His face lost the gloating smile and twisted into tense concern. "You are alone? Where are the others?"

    "What others?" Pitt asked innocently.

    "Dr. Kelsey, Miles Rodgers, and your friend, Albert Giordino."

    "Since you have the passenger list memorized, you tell me."

    Please, Mr. Pitt, you would do well not to toy with me," Sarason warned him.

    "They were hungry, so I dropped them off at a seafood restaurant in San Felipe."

    "You're lying."

    Pitt didn't take his gaze off Sarason to scan the decks of the ferry. Guns were trained on him. That was a certainty he knew without question. He stood his ground and faced Miller's killer as if he didn't have a care in the world.

    "So sue me," Pitt retorted, and laughed.

    "You're hardly in a position to be contemptuous," Sarason said coldly. "Perhaps you don't realize the seriousness of your situation."

    "I think I do," said Pitt, still smiling. "You want Huascar's treasure, and you'd murder half the good citizens of Mexico to get it."

    "Fortunately, that won't be necessary. I do admit, however, two-thirds of a billion dollars makes an enticing incentive."

    "Aren't you interested in knowing how and why we were conducting our search at the same time as yours?" asked Pitt.

    It was Sarason's turn to laugh. "After a little persuasion, Mr. Gunn and Congresswoman Smith were most cooperative in telling me about Drake's quipu."

    "Not very smart, torturing a United States legislator and the deputy director of a national science agency."

    "But effective, nonetheless."

    "Where are my friends and the ferry's crew?"

    "I wondered when you'd get around to that question."

    "Do you want to work out a deal?" Pitt didn't miss the predator's eyes staring unblinkingly in an attempt to intimidate. He stared back piercingly. "Or do you want to strike up the music and dance?"

    Sarason shook his head. "I see no reason why I should bargain. You have nothing to trade. You're obviously not a man I can trust. And I have all the chips. In short, Mr. Pitt, you have lost the game before you draw your cards."

    "Then you can afford to be a magnanimous winner and produce my friends."

    Sarason made a thoughtful shrug, raised his hand, and made a beckoning gesture. "The least I can do before I hang some heavy weights on you and drop you over the side."

    Four burly dark-skinned men, who looked like bouncers hired from local cantinas, prodded the captives from the passageway with automatic rifles, and lined them up on the deck behind Sarason.

    Gordo Padilla came first, followed by Jesus, Gato, and the assistant engineer whose name Pitt could not recall ever hearing. The bruises and dried blood on their faces showed that they had been knocked around but were not hurt seriously. Gunn had not gotten off so lightly. He had to be half dragged from the passageway. He had been badly beaten, and Pitt could see the blotches of blood on his shirt and the crude rags wrapped around his hands. Then Loren was standing there, her face drawn and her lips and cheeks swollen and puffed up as though stung by bees. Her hair was disheveled and purplish bruises showed on her arms and legs. Yet she still held her head proudly and shook off the guards' hands as they roughly pushed her forward. Her expression was one of defiance until she saw Pitt standing there. Then it turned to cruel disappointment, and she moaned in despair.

    "Oh, no, Dirk!" she exclaimed. "They've got you too."

    Gunn painfully raised his head and muttered through lips that were split and bleeding. "I tried to warn you, but. . ." His voice went too soft to be understood.

    Sarason smiled, unfeeling. "I think what Mr. Gunn means to say is that he and your crew were overpowered by my men after they kindly allowed us to board your ferry from a chartered fishing boat after begging to borrow your radio."

    Pitt's anger came within a millimeter of driving him to inflict pain on those who had brutalized his friends. He took a deep breath to regain control. He swore under his breath that the man standing in front of him would pay. Not now. But the time would surely come if he didn't try anything foolish.

    He glanced casually toward the nearest railing, gauging its distance and height. Then he turned back to Sarason.

    "I don't like big, tough men who beat up defenseless women," he said conversationally. "And for what purpose? The location of the treasure is no secret to you."