Dragon - Cussler Clive (книги хорошем качестве бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗
“I’ve never laid an explosive that failed to detonate,” Weatherhill growled on the defensive.
“Your charge went off all right,” said Meeker, “but not where you set it. If Dr. Nogami was still in deep cover inside the command complex, he could tell you the explosion occurred a good fifty meters from the electrical junction center.”
“No way,” Stacy protested. “I watched Timothy set the charge behind a bundle of optical fibers in an access passage.”
“It was moved,” Dr. Nogami said thoughtfully.
“How?”
“The inspector robot probably observed a slight drop in the power pulse, searched, and found the charge. He would have removed it and notified his robotic control. The timer must have set off the charge while it was being carried through the corridors to robotic control for investigation.”
“Then the Dragon Center is fully operational,” Mancuso said with grave foreboding.
“And the Kaiten Project can be primed and detonated,” added Stacy, her face displaying lines of disappointment.
Meeker nodded. “We’re afraid that’s the case.”
“Then our operation to knock out the center was a bust,” Weatherhill said disgustedly.
“Not really,” Meeker explained patiently. “You captured Suma, and without him the cars can’t be detonated.”
Stacy looked confused. “What’s to stop his fellow conspirators from setting off the bombs?”
Pitt threw Nogami a bemused look. “I suspect the good doctor has the answer.”
“A small bit of information I picked up after becoming chummy with the computer technicians,” Nogami said with a wide smile. “They allowed me to wander freely in their data center. On one occasion I stood behind a programmer and looked over his shoulder when he punched in data concerning the Kaiten Project. I memorized the entry code, and at my first opportunity I entered the system. It gave the bomb car locations, which you had already obtained, but I became stymied when I attempted to insert a virus in the detonation system. I discovered only Suma had access to the detonation codes.”
“So no one but Hideki Suma can launch the Kaiten Project,” Stacy said in relieved surprise.
“A situation his henchmen are working like hell to correct,” answered Meeker. He glanced around at the MAIT team. “But congratulations are still in order, you pulled off a winner. Your efforts effectively shut down the Dragon Center, causing the Japanese to reprogram their prime and detonate systems, and giving us enough time to put together a plan to destroy it once and for all.”
“Which, if I’m not sidetracking your lecture,” said Pitt quietly, “brings us back to Dennings’ Demons.”
“You’re quite right,” acknowledged Meeker. He hesitated while he sat on a desk. Then he began cutting toward the heart of the briefing. “The President was willing to lay his political life on the line and sanction a nuclear strike against the Dragon Center. But he called it off when word came of your escape. Your operation bought him some time, not much, but enough to accomplish what we’ve planned in the few hours we’ve got left.”
“You figure on setting off the bomb inside the B-Twenty-nine,” Pitt said, his eyes half closed in weariness.
“Not exactly.” Meeker sighed. “It will have to be removed and placed a short distance away.”
“Damned if I can see what damage it will cause to an island almost forty kilometers away,” Giordino muttered.
“A group of the finest oceanographers and geophysicists in the business think that an underwater atomic blast can take out the Dragon Center.”
“I’d like to know how,” Stacy said as she swatted at a mosquito that had found one of her bare knees.
Meeker refaced the blackboard. “Major Dennings could not have known, of course, that his aircraft crashed into the sea and fell to the seafloor close to a perfect location to remove a serious threat to his country forty-eight years later.” He paused and drew another jagged line that traveled under the sea bottom from the plane to Soseki Island and then curved southward. “A section of a major Pacific seismic fault system. It travels almost directly beneath the Dragon Center.”
Nogami shook his head doubtfully. “The center was constructed to withstand a major earthquake and a nuclear strike. Exploding an old atomic bomb, providing it can still detonate after five decades under saltwater, to cause a shift in the fault would prove a wasted effort.”
“Dr. Nogami has a sound argument,” said Pitt. “The island is almost solid rock. It won’t sway and shift during a heavy shock wave.”
Meeker said nothing for a moment, only smiled. Then he swung the axe. “No, it won’t sway and shift,” he repeated with a fiendish smile, “but it will sink.”
63
ABOUT FIFTY KILOMETERS northeast of Sheridan, Wyoming, as the crow flies, just south of the Montana border, Dan Keegan sat on a buckskin quarter horse searching for signs of trespassing hunters. While washing up for supper he had heard the distant rumble of two gunshots and immediately told his wife to put his fried chicken in the oven to warm. Then he gathered up an old Mauser bolt-action rifle and saddled up his favorite riding horse.
Hunters who ignored his fences and no-trespassing warning signs were a constant source of irritation to Keegan. Less than two months back a stray shot had dropped one of his herd’s calves. The hunter had fired at a six-point buck and missed, his bullet carrying over a slight rise and striking the calf almost two kilometers distant. Since then, Keegan wanted no part of hunters. They could just damn well shoot on somebody else’s property.
Keegan followed a trail that ran along Hanging Woman Creek. He never knew where the name came from. The only woman he recalled being hanged in Wyoming was Ella Watson, known as “Cattle Kate.” Prominent ranchers under the guise of vigilantes had strung her up for rustling in 1889. But that event occurred along the Sweetwater River, three hundred kilometers to the southwest.
The rays of the setting sun were intensified by the biting cold air, painting the surrounding hills in glowing yellow-orange tones. He came out onto a flat plain and began studying the ground. Keegan quickly picked up the tire tracks, following them from a spent shell casing to a rash of booted footprints and a pool of blood soaking the sandy soil. The hunters and their fallen game were gone.
He was too late and mad as hell. To drive a car on his range, the trespassers must have either cut his fence or shot off the lock on the gate across his private road leading to the highway. It would be dark soon. He decided to wait until morning to send one of his ranch hands to ride fence and check the gate. He mounted up and turned the horse for home.
After riding a short distance, he reined up.
The wind carried the faint sound of an automobile engine. He cupped one ear and listened. Instead of retreating as he thought the hunters had done, the sound grew louder. Someone was approaching. He urged the horse up the slope of a small mesa and scanned the flatland below. A vehicle was speeding up the road, trailing a cloud of dust.
He expected to see a pickup truck or a four-wheel-drive emerge from the brush bordering the road. When it finally came close enough to recognize, Keegan was surprised to see it was an ordinary car, a brown four-door sedan, a Japanese make.
The driver soon braked and stopped at an open spot in the road. The car sat there for a few moments as the dust drifted over the roof and settled onto the range grass. The driver slipped from behind the wheel and opened the hood and leaned under for a few moments. Next he walked around to the rear of the car, raised the trunk lid, and lifted out a surveyor’s transit. Keegan watched in curiosity as the intruder set the transit on a tripod and aimed the lens at several prominent landmarks, jotting down the distance readings on a clipboard and comparing them on a geological map that he spread on the ground.
