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

    "We're approaching the lower half of our grid," Pitt said over his shoulder to Gunn, who was hunched over the proton magnetometer.

    "Circle around for a couple of minutes while I set up the system," Gunn replied. "Al, can you drop the tow bird for me?"

    "As you wish." Giordino nodded, moving from his seat to the rear of the cabin.

    Pitt said, "I'll head toward the starting point for our first run and hang around until you're ready."

    Giordino lifted the sensor. It was shaped like an air-to-air missile. He lowered it through a floor hatch of the helicopter. Then he unreeled the sensor on its umbilical cable. "Tow bird out about thirty meters," he announced.

    "I'm picking up interference from the helicopter," said Gunn. "Give me another twenty meters."

    Giordino complied. "How's that?"

    "Good. Now hold on while I set the digital and analog recorders."

    "What about the camera and data acquisition systems?"

    "Them too."

    "No need to hurry," said Pitt. "I'm still programming my grid lane data into the satellite navigation computer."

    "First time with a Geometrics G-8136?" Giordino asked Gunn.

    Gunn nodded. "I've used the model G-801 for marine and ocean survey, but this is my introduction to the aerial unit."

    "Dirk and I used a G-8136 to locate a Chinese airliner that crashed off Japan last year. Worked like a woman of virtue-sensitive, reliable, never drifted, and required no calibration adjustments. Obviously, my ideal for a mate."

    Gunn looked at him strangely. "You have odd taste when it comes to women."

    "He has this thing for robots," Pitt joked.

    "Say no more," Giordino said pretentiously. "Say no more."

    "I'm told this model is good for accurate data on small anomalies," said Gunn, suddenly serious. "If she won't lead us to the Concepcion, nothing will."

    Giordino returned to the copilot's seat, settled in and stared down at the unbroken carpet of green no more than 200 meters (656 feet) below. There wasn't a piece of ground showing anywhere. "I don't think I'd like to spend my holidays here."

    "Not many people do," said Pitt. "According to Julien Perlmutter, a check of local historical archives came up with the rumor that the local farmers shun the area. Julien said Cuttill's journal mentioned that mummies of long dead Inca were torn from graveyards by the tidal wave before being swept into the jungle. The natives are highly superstitious, and they believe the spirits of their ancestors still drift through the jungle in search of their original graves."

    "You can run your first lane," declared Gunn. "All systems are up and tuned."

    "How far from the coast are we going to start mowing the lawn?" Giordino asked, referring to the seventy-five meter wide grid lanes they planned to cover.

    "We'll begin at the three-kilometer mark and run parallel to the shore," answered Pitt, "running lanes north and south as we work inland."

    "Length of lanes?" inquired Gunn, peering at the stylus marking the graph paper and the numbers blinking on his digital readout window.

    "Two kilometers at a speed of twenty knots."

    "We can run much faster," said Gunn. "The mag system has a very fast cycle rate. It can easily read an anomaly at a hundred knots."

    "We'll take it nice and slow," Pitt said firmly. "If we don't fly directly over the target, any magnetic field we hope to find won't make much of an impression on your gamma readings."

    "And if we don't pick up an anomaly, we increase the perimeters of the grid."

    "Right. We'll conduct a textbook search. We've done it more times than I care to count." Then Pitt glanced over at Giordino. "Al, you mind our altitude while I concentrate on our lane coordinates."

    Giordino nodded. "I'll keep the tow bird as low as I can without losing it in the branches of a tree."

    The sun was up now and the sky was clear of all but a few small, wispy clouds. Pitt took a final look at the instruments and then nodded. "Okay, guys, let's find ourselves a shipwreck."

    Back and forth over the thick jungle they flew, the air-conditioning system keeping the hot, humid atmosphere outside the aircraft's aluminum skin. The day wore on and by noon they had achieved nothing. The magnetometer failed to register so much as a tick. To someone who had never searched for an unseen object, it might have seemed discouraging, but Pitt, Giordino, and Gunn took it in stride. They had all known shipwreck or lost aircraft hunts that had lasted as long as six weeks without the slightest sign of success.

    Pitt was also a stickler for the game plan. He knew from experience that impatience and deviation from the computed search lanes usually spelled disaster for a project. Rather than begin in the middle of the grid and work out, he preferred to start at the outer edge and work in. Too often a target was discovered where it was not supposed to be. He also found it expedient to eliminate the open, dry areas so no time was wasted rerunning the search lanes.

    "How much have we covered?" asked Gunn for the first time since the search began.

    "Two kilometers into the grid," Pitt answered. "We're only now coming into Yaeger's prime target area."

    "Then we're about to run parallel lines five kilometers from the 1578 shoreline."

    "Yes, the distance the wave carried the galleon, as indicated by Yaeger's computer program."

    "Three hours of fuel left," said Giordino, tapping the two fuel gauges. He showed no sign of fatigue or boredom, if anything he seemed to be enjoying himself.

    Pitt pulled a board with a chart clipped to it from a side pocket of his seat and studied it no more than five seconds. "The port city of Manta is only fifty-five klicks away. They have a good-sized airport where we can refuel."

    "Speaking of refueling," said Gunn, "I'm starved." Since he was the only one with free hands, he passed around sandwiches and coffee, thoughtfully provided by the oil company's helicopter service crew.

    "Weird tasting cheese," muttered Giordino, examining the inside of his sandwich with a cynical eye.

    Gunn grinned. "Beggars can't be choosers."

    Two hours and fifteen minutes later they had traveled the twenty-eight lanes it took to cover kilometers five and six. They definitely had a problem now as they were beyond Yaeger's estimated target site. None of them believed a tidal wave could carry a 570-ton ship more than 5 kilometers (3 miles) over land from the sea. Certainly not a wave with a crest less than 30 meters (98 feet) high. Their confidence ebbed as they worked farther out of the prime search area.

    "Beginning the first lane of the seven-kilometer mark," announced Pitt.

    "Too far, way too far," Giordino muttered.

    "I agree," said Gunn. "We either missed her, or she lies off the north and south perimeters of our grid. No sense in wasting time in this area."

    "We'll finish kilometer seven," Pitt said, his eyes locked on the navigational instrument displaying his coordinates.

    Gunn and Giordino knew better than to debate the matter. They were well aware that when Pitt's mind was set there was no moving him. He stubbornly felt the possibility of finding the old Spanish ship was promising despite the density of the jungle growth and the passage of four centuries. Giordino vigilantly kept the helicopter just high enough for the sensor to skim the tops of the trees while Gunn stared at the recording paper and digital readings. They were beginning to feel they had not been dealt a lucky hand and steeled themselves for a long and arduous search.