The Storm - Cussler Clive (книги без сокращений .TXT) 📗

It was also unoccupied. Whoever Dirk Pitt had found to drop the van off had vanished. A second set of tire tracks on the soft shoulder by the road suggested the driver had been ferried off in another vehicle.

They piled into the van. Kurt made his way to the driver’s seat as Joe checked the supplies in the back.

“We’ve got boots and caftans back here,” Joe said. “Food, water and some equipment. The guy set us up well.”

Kurt looked for the key. He flipped the visor down and it dropped into his hand, along with a note.

He stuck the key in the ignition and unfolded the note as Joe made his way up front and took the passenger seat.

“It says take the coast road northeast for seven miles. Turn northwest on the paved road that marks the Eastern Highway. It will be paved for thirty miles and then become a dirt track. Continue on for exactly forty-five miles. Hide the van and hike northwest on a course of 290 for 5.2 miles. You’ll cut the corner and come upon the compound you seek. Good luck.”

“Any signature?”

“Anonymous,” Kurt said. He folded the note and tucked it away. “Whoever he is, let’s not disappoint him.”

After a quick look around, Kurt turned the key, and the engine came to life with that sound that only old VWs ever seemed to make. The gears made a grinding noise as Kurt put the van in first and released the clutch, but at least they were off and running.

He hoped to make the compound before daybreak. They had four hours.

CHAPTER 17

GAMAY TROUT WAS FILLED WITH GLEE AS SHE RODE ALONG at twenty knots, a mere thirty feet above the waves, in a small airship of Elwood Marchetti’s design.

To call it a blimp would have been a disservice to the sleek craft. The crew compartment sat between and slightly below what Marchetti called air pods. Filled with helium, the pods resembled pontoons, although much larger and longer. They were flat on the bottom and curved on the top to provide lift as the craft moved forward. They were attached to the passenger compartment by a series of struts that ran up and out at a forty-five-degree angle. A second raft of struts ran between them, bracing them and keeping them apart. The design allowed a view upward to the sky, something no other airship had.

The passenger compartment was shaped like that of an upscale cabin cruiser, raked backward as it dropped away from the inflated sections. A platform to the rear allowed open-air cruising, sunbathing and a way to enter and exit the airship. Twin ducted fans, placed well forward of the cabin, pulled the craft along like a pair of sled dogs. A stubby set of wings acted as a canard while a pair of vertical tails, one on each pod, acted as the airship’s rudders.

“This is amazing,” Gamay said, leaning over the side and staring at a trio of dolphins they’d found and begun following.

With Marchetti at the controls, Paul, Gamay and Leilani were free to enjoy the moment. They soaked it in, feeling the breeze, gazing at the dolphins flying through the clear waters below.

The bottle-nosed mammals easily kept pace with the airship, accelerating with powerful strokes of their flat tails. Occasionally, one would break the surface and propel itself through the air, leaping toward them and then arcing back down to the water.

“It’s like they’re trying to reach us,” Leilani said.

“Maybe they think we’re the mother ship,” Paul replied.

Gamay laughed. She could only imagine what the dolphins would think of such a vessel. Clearly they weren’t afraid of it, though. “Marchetti, I think this will work.”

Leilani nodded, seeming to be in better spirits. Paul smiled.

“You look like the cat who ate the canary,” Gamay said.

“I was just thinking how lucky I am to be up here with two beautiful women,” Paul said, grinning, “instead of hiking through the desert with Kurt and Joe.”

Gamay laughed.

“And it’s not just the company,” he added. “For once we’ve got the multimillion-dollar toys to work with. Kurt and Joe are probably wrestling with a few smelly camels right about now.”

“Have to agree,” Gamay said, then turned to Marchetti. “How much farther can we go?”

“We can stay aloft for days if we need to,” he said. “But my suggestion is to put another hour on this leg and then head home to the island. My crew will have the other two airships put together and ready for action tomorrow, and we can take all three up and cover more ground—er, water.”

“Do you have pilots?” Paul asked.

“Pilots?” Marchetti replied. “We don’t need no stinking pilots.”

“Who’s going to fly them?”

“Any of you can,” Marchetti said. “You drive this thing like you drive a car or boat.”

Gamay found Marchetti a welcome addition to the team. Certainly he’d been true to his word so far, putting his full backing behind the expedition. He’d already turned the floating island of Aqua-Terra toward the northwest and brought it up to the blazing speed of four and a half knots and turned over all specs of the microbots to NUMA. He’d even brought back another dozen members of his crew to keep the island running sans robots.

“Give us a few lessons before you send us out,” Paul asked.

“Sounds fair.”

Gamay turned her attention back to the sea. The dolphins continued to race along with them, staying just ahead of the airship’s floating shadow. Another one looked as if it were about to jump, when suddenly they scattered, darting in opposite directions and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“You see that?” she asked.

“They’re quick,” Paul said.

“Must have gotten tired of us,” Leilani said.

Still gazing at the water, Gamay sensed something different. The sea was growing darker. A murky gray hue had begun to replace the clear deep blue they’d seen only moments before.

She guessed the dolphins had sensed the change, processed it as danger and fled in the other direction.

The happiness left her. “Slow us down,” she said to Marchetti. “I think we’ve found them.”

CHAPTER 18

“RIDING IN THIS THING MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I’M HEADED to Woodstock in the desert,” Joe said, talking over the VW’s engine noise and peering into the dark.

“Let’s hope it’s not quite as crowded,” Kurt replied.

He and Joe drove through the night. When they reached the waypoint, they pulled off the desert track and parked the VW behind the curved slope of a sand dune.

While Joe brushed away the tire tracks, Kurt pulled out a tarp. He peeled a thin film off the topside of the tarp, exposing an adhesive layer. Laying the tarp facedown and dragging it across the ground caused the adhesive to pick up a fine layer of sand as grains stuck to its surface.

Satisfied, Kurt flung the tarp over the top of the VW, staked it in the ground and dumped several small bucket loads of sand on the top.

Joe returned just as Kurt finished. Joe blinked as if his eyes were deceiving him.

“What happened to the VV?”

“I made it invisible,” Kurt said, heaving a small backpack over his shoulders. “No one’s going to spot it.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, “probably not even us. I lose my car in the parking lot, this I might never find.”

Kurt hadn’t really considered that. He looked around for landmarks, but the desert offered only endless dunes in every direction. He pulled out a GPS receiver and dropped a pin, marking the location of the hiding spot. He hoped that would help.

As Joe pulled on his own backpack, Kurt slid a pair of snowshoes on his feet. They were modern carbon fiber design, not the tennis rackets of old, but they would do the same thing: spread his weight out over a wider area and allow him to walk on top of the sand instead of sinking in and trudging through it with every step.