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

    It was a neat bit of seamanship. Stewart stopped the ship within 2 meters of the life raft with only a slight wash. Several crewmen stared down and waved, leaning far over the railing and bulwark to shout greetings. The boarding ladder had been lowered and a crewman stood on the lower platform with a boat hook. He extended it, the end was grabbed by Giordino, and the raft was pulled in alongside the platform.

    The sharks were forgotten and everyone began smiling and laughing with unabashed happiness at having survived death without major injuries at least four times since being taken hostage. Shannon stared up at the towering hull of the research ship, took in the ungainly superstructure and derricks, and turned to Pitt with a shrewd twinkle in her eyes.

    "You promised us a four-star hotel and a refreshing bath. Certainly not a rusty old work boat."

    Pitt laughed. "A rose by any other name. Any port in a storm. So you share my attractive, but homespun stateroom. As a gentleman, I'll give you the lower berth while I suffer the indignity of the upper."

    Shannon looked at him with amusement. "Taking a lot for granted, aren't you?"

    As Pitt relaxed and kept a paternal eye on the occupants of the raft, who were climbing the ladder one after the other, he smiled fiendishly at Shannon and murmured, "Okay, we'll keep a low profile. You can have the upper and I'll take the lower."

    Jaun Chaco's world had cracked and crumbled to dust around him. The disaster in the Valley of Viracocha was far worse than anything he could have imagined. His brother had been the first to be killed, the artifact smuggling operation was in shambles, and once the American archaeologist, Shannon Kelsey, and the university students told their story to the news media and government security officials, he would be thrown out of the Department of Archaeology in disgrace. Far worse, there was every possibility he would be arrested, tried for selling his nation's historical heritage, and sentenced to a very long jail term.

    He was a man wracked with anxiety as he stood beside the motor home in Chachapoya and watched the tilt-rotor aircraft come to a near halt in the air as the twin outboard engines on the end of the wings swiveled from forward flight to vertical. The black, unmarked craft hovered for a few moments before the pilot gently settled the extended landing wheels on the ground.

    A heavily bearded man in dirty rumpled shorts and a khaki shirt with an immense bloodstain in its center exited the nine-passenger cabin and stepped to the ground. He looked neither right nor left, the expression on his face set and grim. Without a word of greeting, he walked past Chaco and entered the motor home. Like a chastised collie, Chaco followed him inside.

    Cyrus Sarason, the impersonator of Dr. Steven Miller, sat heavily behind Chaco's desk and stared icily. "You've heard?"

    Chaco nodded without questioning the bloodstain on Sarason's shirt. He knew the blood represented a fake gunshot wound. "I received a full report from one of my brother's fellow officers."

    "Then you know Dr. Kelsey and the university students slipped through our fingers and were rescued by an American oceanographic research ship."

    "Yes, I am aware of our failure."

    "I'm sorry about your brother," Sarason said without emotion.

    "I can't believe he's gone," muttered Chaco, strangely unmoved. "His death doesn't seem possible. The elimination of the archaeologists should have been a simple affair."

    "To say your people bungled the job is an understatement," said Sarason. "I warned you those two divers from NUMA were dangerous."

    "My brother did not expect organized resistance by an army."

    "An army of one man," Sarason said acidly. "I observed the action from a tomb. A lone sniper atop the temple killed the officers and held off two squads of your intrepid mercenaries, while his companion overpowered the pilots and commandeered their helicopter. Your brother paid dearly for his overconfidence and stupidity."

    "How could a pair of divers and a juvenile group of archaeologists scourge a highly trained security force?" Chaco asked in bewilderment.

    "If we knew the answer to that question, we might learn how they knocked the pursuing helicopter out of the air."

    Chaco stared at him. "They can still be stopped."

    "Forget it. I'm not about to compound the disaster by destroying a U.S. government ship and all on board. The damage is already done. According to my sources in Lima, full exposure, including Miller's murder, was communicated to President Fujimori's office by Dr. Kelsey soon after she boarded the ship. By this evening, the story will be broadcast all over the country. The Chachapoyan end of our operation is a washout."

    "We can still bring the artifacts out of the valley." The recent demise of Chaco's brother had not fully pushed aside his greed.

    Sarason nodded. "I'm ahead of you. A team is on its way to remove whatever pieces survived the rocket attack launched by those idiots under your brother's command. It's a miracle we still have something to show for our efforts."

    "I believe there is a good possibility a clue to the Drake quipu may still be found in the City of the Dead."

    "The Drake quipu." Sarason repeated the words with a faraway look in his eyes. Then he shrugged. "Our organization is already working on another angle for the treasure."

    "What of Amaru? Is he still alive?"

    "Unfortunately, yes. He'll live the rest of his days as a eunuch."

    "Too bad. He was a loyal follower."

    Sarason sneered. "Loyal to whoever paid him best. Tupac Amaru is a sociopathic killer of the highest order. When I ordered him to abduct Miller and hold him prisoner until we concluded the operation, he put a bullet in the good doctor's heart and threw him in the damned sinkhole. The man has the mind of a rabid dog."

    "He may still prove useful," said Chaco slowly.

    "Useful, how?"

    "If I know his mind, he'll swear vengeance on those responsible for his newly acquired handicap. It might be wise to unleash him on Dr. Kelsey and the diver called Pitt to prevent them from being used by international customs investigators as informants."

"We'd be skating on thin ice if we turned a crazy man like him loose. But I'll keep your suggestion in mind."

    Chaco went on. "What plans do the Solpemachaco have for me? I am finished here. Now that my countrymen will know I have betrayed their trust with regard to our historical treasures, I could spend the rest of my life in one of our filthy prisons."

    "A foregone conclusion." Sarason shrugged. "My sources also revealed that the local police have been ordered to pick you up. They should arrive within the hour."

    Chaco looked at Sarason for a long moment, then said slowly "I am a scholar and a scientist, not a hardened criminal. There is no telling how much I might reveal during lengthy interrogation, perhaps even torture."

    Sarason suppressed a smile at the veiled threat. "You are a valuable asset we cannot afford to lose. Your expertise and knowledge of ancient Andean cultures is second to none. Arrangements are being made for you to take over our collection facilities in Panama. There you will direct the identification, cataloguing, and restoration operations on all artifacts we either purchase from the local huagueros or acquire under the guise of academic archaeological projects throughout South America."