The Navigator - Cussler Clive (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно полностью .TXT) 📗
“Where is the statue now?” Carina said with growing excitement.
Salim pointed to the ground. “Earthquake.” The cliff had slid into the sea.
Carina was visibly disappointed, but Austin persisted. He showed Salim a map of the coast and asked the old man to pinpoint the site of the tomb. Salim tapped the map with his fingertip.
Carina clutched Austin’s arm. “Kurt,” she said. “Those men were in the hotel last night.”
The Turks had paused at the edge of the courtyard and were staring directly at Carina and Austin. Austin remembered the two men he had seen lounging in the lobby. Their arrival at the village was no accident.
“You’re right,” he said. “They’re a long way from Istanbul.”
He took a handful of lira from his pocket and dropped the bills next to Salim. He picked up a ceramic plate, thanked the old man for the information, and slipped his arm around Carina’s waist. He told her to walk as casually as she was able to the church.
He guided her through the doorway into the vacant building and edged over to a window that had been stripped of glass and framework. Peering around the edge of the doorframe, he saw the men talking to Salim. The old artist pointed to the church. The men broke off their conversation and headed toward the building. They were no longer sauntering and walked quickly with purpose in each step.
Austin told Carina to climb out a window opening on the opposite wall. He followed her through the opening, and they scrambled up a gravelly path to a hill that overlooked the church.
Carina hid in a small chapel perched at the top of the hill and Austin flattened himself to the ground. Their pursuers had separated and set off in opposite directions around the church. They met up again and had a heated discussion. Then they split up and disappeared into the labyrinth of deserted houses.
Austin retrieved Carina from the chapel and led the way down the other side of the ridge. They caught a glimpse of something black moving between them and the main road. One man had come around the bottom of the ridge and was going from house to house. Austin pulled Carina into a doorway.
He was still holding the plate he had bought from Salim. He stepped out of the doorway, curled the plate into his wrist, and snapped it like a Frisbee over a nearby rooftop. There was the sound of the plate shattering and the rattle of gravel kicked up by running feet.
Austin and Carina veered off the main thoroughfare through the village and followed a rocky goat path back to the road. Staying close to the side, they walked about a quarter of a mile back to the village entrance.
They headed for the Renault and saw the car that the two men had driven up in parked tight next to theirs. Austin told Carina to wait and went to the snack bar. He came back a minute later holding a corkscrew in his hand.
“This is no time for wine,” she said with a sour look.
“I agree,” Austin said. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “A cold beer would be better.”
He asked Carina to keep watch. He ducked down between the cars as if tying his shoe and jammed the corkscrew point into the other car’s tire. He worked the point around until he felt a rubbery puff of air on his hand and mangled the valve for good measure.
“What are you doing?” Carina said.
“I’m making sure our friends get the point,” Austin said with a wolfish grin.
He slid behind the wheel of the Renault, started the engine, and pulled out onto the road with spinning tires.
AUSTIN DROVE as if he were in the Grand Prix. With Carina map-navigating, they headed toward Fethiye, a coastal market and resort town. He drove directly to the harbor. They walked along the quay past the wide-beamed wooden boats that took tourists out on day trips for fishing and scuba diving.
He stopped at the tie-up for a wooden boat about forty-five feet long. A sign said that the Iztuzu, the Turkish name for Turtle, was for hire on an hourly or daily basis.
Austin crossed the short gangway and called out a hello. A man in his forties came out of the cabin. “I’m Captain Mustapha,” he said, with a friendly smile. “You want to rent the boat?”
The boat was not new, but it had been well maintained. Metal was free of rust, and the wood was highly polished. Lines were neatly coiled. Austin surmised that Mustapha was a competent mariner. The fact that he was still in port suggested that he might be hungry for business. Austin pulled out the map he had shown Salim and pointed to the coastline.
“Can you take us here, Captain? We might like to do some snorkeling.”
“Yes, of course. I know all the good places. When?”
“How about now?”
Austin agreed to the price Mustapha threw out and waved at Carina to come aboard. Mustapha cast off the dock lines and eased the boat out of its slip. He pointed the bow into the bay. The boat followed the irregular coastline. They passed resort complexes, a lighthouse, and luxurious villas perched in the hills. Eventually, all signs of human habitation disappeared.
Mustapha angled the boat in toward a half-moon cove and killed the engine. He dropped anchor and dug out a couple of beat-up snorkels and masks and fin sets.
“You want to go swimming?”
Austin had been squinting up at a section of cliff where the rock was exposed like an open wound. “Maybe later. I’d like to go ashore.”
Mustapha shrugged and put the snorkels away. He hung a ladder over the side and brought the dinghy around. Austin rowed the short distance to shore and pulled the dinghy up on the rocky beach. Within a dozen or so feet from the water’s edge, the terrain rose at a sharp angle. Using tree trunks and bushes as handholds, Austin climbed until he was about a hundred fifty feet above the lagoon.
He stood on a ledge that bulged out from the cliff like a Neanderthal’s brow. A swath of rock about a hundred feet wide had been sheared off as neatly as if by a giant chisel. Austin guessed that the cliff had been weakened by the tomb, in combination with natural faults, and the violent shaking of the earth had jiggled it loose. Huge boulders lay at the base of the cliff and in the water.
Austin wondered whether the statue could have survived the crushing fall. Then he waved at Carina, who had been watching his climb, and started down the hill. He was sweating from the heat and exertion, and his shorts and shirt were covered with dirt. He dove into the water fully clothed, giving his body and clothes a quick laundering. When it came to the behavior of foreign tourists, Mustapha was never surprised. He started the engine and headed back to port.
Austin cracked open a couple of bottles of Turkish beer from the cooler and handed one to Carina. “Well?” she said.
He took a deep gulp and let the cold liquid trickle down his throat. “We’ll assume that Salim is correct and the statue was still in the tomb at the time of the earthquake. There’s no certainty that it wasn’t buried between tons of rock. Even if we do find it, the Navigator may be too damaged to be of help.”
“Then this was all for nothing?”
“Not at all. I’d like to come back for a closer look.”
He told Mustapha he wanted to lease the boat for another day.
“Can we come back here tomorrow?” Austin said. “I’d like to do some diving.”
“Yes, of course. You’re scientists?” Mustapha said.
Austin showed him his NUMA ID. Mustapha had never heard of the agency, but the fact that Austin carried special identification impressed him. Mustapha was glad to get the charter. He had told the boat’s owners that if they didn’t get him a mate soon he would quit. Austin took a satellite phone from his backpack and punched in Zavala’s number. Zavala was at the port excavation, waiting for Hanley to give him the green light on the Subvette.
“You’ll have to tell Hanley that the sub’s services are needed elsewhere,” Austin said.
