Inca Gold - Cussler Clive (читать онлайн полную книгу .TXT) 📗

    "Who is our Florence Nightingale?" asked Gunn.

    "I'm Micki Moore. My husband is an anthropologist, and I'm an archaeologist hired by the Zolars."

    "To help them find Huascar's golden treasure?" Gunn rightly guessed.

    "Yes, we deciphered the images--"

    "On the Golden Body Suit of Tiapollo," finished Gunn. "We know all about it."

    Loren didn't speak for a few moments while she ravenously consumed one of the sandwiches and downed a beer. Finally, feeling almost as if she had been reborn, she stared at Micki curiously. "Why are you doing this? To build up our spirits before they come back and use us for punching bags again?"

    "We're not part of your ordeal," Micki replied honestly. "The truth is, Zolar and his brothers are planning to kill my husband and me as soon as they've recovered the treasure."

    "How could you know that?"

    "We've been around people like these before. We have a feel for what's going on."

    "What do they plan on doing with us?" asked Gunn.

    "The Zolars and their bribed cronies with the Mexican police and military intend to make it look as if you drowned while attempting to escape your sinking ferryboat. Their plan is to throw you in the underground river the ancients mentioned that runs through the treasure chamber and empties into the sea. By the time your bodies surface, there won't be enough left to prove otherwise."

    "Sounds feasible," Loren muttered angrily. "I give them credit for that."

    "My God," said Gunn. "They just can't murder a representative of the United States Congress in cold blood."

    "Believe me," said Micki, "these men have no scruples and even less conscience."

    "How come they haven't killed us before now?" asked Loren.

    "Their fear was that your friend Pitt might somehow expose your kidnapping. Now they no longer care. They figure their charade is strong enough to stand against one man's accusations."

    "What about the ferryboat's crew?" asked Loren. "They were witnesses to the piracy."

    "They'll be kept from raising the alarm by local police." Micki hesitated. "I'm sorry to have to tell you why they are no longer concerned about Pitt. Tupac Amaru swears that after you were transported to the hacienda, he and his men crushed Pitt to jelly by throwing concussion grenades at him in the water."

    Loren's violet eyes were grief-stricken. Until now she had harbored a hope Pitt had somehow escaped. Now her heart felt as though it had fallen into the crevasse of a glacier. She sagged against one wall of the stone room and covered her face with her hands.

    Gunn pushed himself to his feet. There was no grief in his eyes, only iron-hard conviction. "Dirk dead? Scum like Amaru could never kill a man like Dirk Pitt."

    Micki was startled by the fiery spirit of a man so sorely tortured. "I only know what my husband told me," she said as if apologizing. "Amaru did admit he failed to retrieve Pitt's body, but there was little doubt in his mind that Pitt could not have survived."

    "You say you and your husband are also on Zolar's death list?" asked Loren.

    Micki shrugged. "Yes, we're to be silenced too."

    "If you'll pardon me for saying so," said Gunn, "you seem pretty damned indifferent."

    "My husband also has plans."

    "To escape?"

    "No, Henry and I can break out any time it's convenient. We intend to take a share of the treasure for ourselves."

    Gunn stared at Micki incredulously. Then he said cynically, "Your husband must be one tough anthropologist."

    Perhaps you might better understand if I told you we met and fell in love when working on an assignment together for the Foreign Activities Council."

    "Never heard of it," said Gunn.

    Loren gave Micki a bemused stare. "I have. FAC is rumored to be an obscure and highly secret organization that works behind the scenes in the White House. No one in Congress has ever been able to come up with solid proof of its existence or its financing."

    "What is its function?" asked Gunn.

    "To carry out covert activities under the direct supervision of the President outside the nation's other intelligence services without their knowledge," replied Micki.

    "What kind of activities?"

    "Dirty tricks on foreign nations considered hostile to the United States," replied Loren, studying Micki for some kind of sign. But her expression was aloof and remote. "As a mere member of Congress I'm not privy to their operations and can only speculate. I have a suspicion their primary directive is to carry out assassinations."

    Micki's eyes turned hard and cold. "I freely admit that for twelve years, until we retired from service to devote our time to archaeology, Henry and I had few peers."

    "I'm not surprised," Loren said sarcastically. "By passing yourselves off as scientists, you were never suspected of being the President's hired killers."

    "For your information, Congresswoman Smith, our academic credentials are not counterfeit. Henry has his doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania and I have mine from Stanford. We have no misgivings about the duties we performed under three former Presidents. By eliminating certain heads of foreign terrorist organizations, Henry and I saved more American lives than you can imagine."

    "Who are you working for now?"

    "Ourselves. As I said, we retired. We felt it was time to cash in our expertise. Our government service is a thing of the past. Though we were well paid for our services, we weren't considered for a pension."

    "Tigers aren't known for changing stripes," mocked Gunn. "You can never achieve your objective without killing off Amaru and the Zolars."

    Micki smiled faintly. "We may very well have to do unto them before they can do unto us. But only after enough of Huascar's gold is brought to the surface for us to carry out."

    "So the trail will be littered with bodies."

    Micki passed a weary hand over her face. "Your involvement in the treasure hunt came as a complete surprise to everybody. Stupidly, the Zolars overreacted when they discovered another party was on the trail to the gold. They ran amok, murdering or abducting everyone their greed-crazed minds saw as an obstacle. Consider yourselves lucky they didn't murder you on the ferryboat like your friend Pitt. Keeping you alive temporarily is the hallmark of rank amateurs."

    "You and your husband," murmured Loren caustically, "you would have--"

    "Shot you and burned the boat down around your bodies?" Micki shook her head. "Not our style. Henry and I have only terminated those foreign nationals who have indiscriminately gunned down unfortunate women and children or blew them to pieces without blinking an eye or shedding a tear. We have never harmed a fellow American, and we don't intend to start now. Despite the fact your presence has hamstrung our operation, we will do everything in our power to help you escape this affair in one piece."

    "The Zolars are Americans," Loren reminded her.

    Micki shrugged. "A mere technicality. They represent what is perhaps the largest art theft and smuggling ring in history. The Zolars are world-class sharks. Why should I have to tell you? You've experienced their brutality firsthand. By leaving their bones to bleach in the Sonoran Desert, Henry and I figure to save the American taxpayers millions of dollars that would be spent on a complicated and time-consuming investigation into their criminal activities. And then there are the court and prison costs if they're caught and convicted."