Raise the Titanic - Cussler Clive (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации полные .txt) 📗

    It took him almost a quarter of an hour to reach the elevator house at the far end of the Boat Deck. Pitt climbed over the hand railing and dropped to the Promenade Deck below. Here, he found the aft mast protruding from the rotted planking like a forelorn stump, ending abruptly at a height of eight feet where it had been cut short by Sea Slug's underwater torch.

    Pitt reached inside his jacket and pulled out the package given him by Commodore Bigalow and tenderly unwrapped it. He had forgotten to carry a line or cord, but he made do with the twine from the wrapping. When he was through, he stepped back from the stub of the once tall mast and stared up at his makeshift handiwork.

    It was old and it was faded, but the red pennant of the White Star Line that Bigalow had snatched from oblivion so long ago proudly flew once more over the unsinkable Titanic.

52

    The morning sun was just probing its rays above the eastern horizon when Sandecker jumped from the helicopter's cockpit door and ducked under the whirling blades, clutching his cap. Portable lights still blazed over the derelict's superstructure and crates of machinery were scattered about the decks in various stages of assembly. Pitt and his crew had slaved through the night, struggling like madmen to organize the salvage efforts.

    Rudi Gunn greeted him under a rust-cankered ventilator.

    "Welcome aboard the Titanic, Admiral," Gunn said, grinning. It seemed as if everybody in the salvage fleet was grinning this morning.

    "What's the situation?"

    "Stable for the moment. As soon as we get the pumps operating, we should be able to correct her list."

    "Where's Pitt?"

    "In the gymnasium."

    Sandecker stopped in midstride and stared at Gunn. "The gymnasium, did you say?"

    Gunn nodded and pointed at an opening in a bulkhead whose ragged edges suggested the work of an acetylene torch. "Through here."

    The room measured about fifteen feet wide by forty feet deep, and was inhabited by a dozen men who were all involved in their individual assignments and who were seemingly oblivious to the weird assortment of antiquated and rust-worn mechanisms mounted on what had once been a colorful linoleum-block floor. There were ornate rowing machines; funny-looking stationary bicycles that were attached to a large circular distance clock on the wall; several mechanical horses with rotting leather saddles; and what Sandecker could have sworn looked like a mechanical camel which, as he discovered later, was exactly that.

    Already the salvage crew had equipped the room with a radio transmitter and receiver, three portable gas-driven electrical generators, a small forest of spotlights on stands, a compact little Rube Goldberg-like galley, a clutter of desks and tables made out of collapsible aluminum tubing and packing crates, and several folding cots.

    Pitt was huddled with Drummer and Spencer as Sandecker moved toward them. They were studying a large cutaway drawing of the ship.

    Pitt looked up and waved a salute. "Welcome to the Big T, Admiral," he said warmly. "How are Merker, Kiel, and Chavez?"

    "Safely bedded down in the Capricorn's sick bay," Sandecker answered. "Ninety-per-cent recuperated and begging Dr. Bailey to return them to duty. A request, I might add, that fell on deaf ears. Bailey insisted that they remain under observation for twenty-four hours, and there is simply no budging a man of his size and determination." Sandecker paused to sniff the air and then wrinkled his nose. "God, what's that smell?"

    "Rot," Drummer replied. "It fills every nook and cranny. There's no escaping it. And it's only a matter of time before the dead marine life that came up with the wreck begins to stink."

    Sandecker gestured about the room. "A cozy place you've got here," he said, "but why set up operations in the gym rather than the bridge?"

    "A break from tradition for practical reasons," Pitt replied. "The bridge serves no useful function on a dead ship. The gym, on the other hand, sits amidships and offers us equal access to either bow or stern. It also adjoins our improvised helicopter pad over the first-class lounge roof. The closer to our supplies we are, the more efficiently we can operate."

    "I had to ask," Sandecker said heavily. "I should have known you didn't pick this museum of mechanical monstrosities just to launch a physical-fitness program."

    Something in a pile of wreckage that lay in a soggy heap against the forward wall of the gymnasium caught the admiral's eyes and he walked over to it. He stood and stared grimly for several moments at the skeletal remains of what had once been a passenger or crew member of the Titanic.

    "I wonder who this poor devil was?"

    "We'll probably never know," Pitt said. "Any dental records from 1912 have no doubt been destroyed long ago."

    Sandecker leaned down and examined the pelvic section of the bones. "Good lord, it was a woman."

    "Either one of the first-class passengers who elected to remain behind or one of the women from the steerage quarters who arrived on the Boat Deck after all the lifeboats had been launched."

    "Have you found any other bodies?"

    "We've been too busy to do any extensive exploring," Pitt said. "But one of Spencer's men reported another skeleton wedged against the fireplace in the lounge."

    Sandecker nodded toward an open doorway. "What's through there?"

    "That opens onto the grand staircase."

    "Let's take a look."

    They walked onto the landing above the A Deck lobby and looked down. Several rotting chairs and sofas were scattered haphazardly on the steps where they had fallen when the ship sank by the bow. The graceful flowing lines of the bannisters were still sound and undamaged, and the hands of the bronze clock could be seen frozen at 2:21. They made their way down the silt-coated stairs and entered one of the passageways leading to the staterooms. Without the benefit of outside light, the scene was an eerie one. Room after room was filled with rotted and fallen paneling interspersed with overturned and jumbled furniture. It was too dark to discern any detail, and after penetrating about thirty feet, they found their way blocked by a wall of debris, so they turned and headed back to the gymnasium.

    Just as they came through the doorway, the man hunched over the radio turned from his set. It was Al Giordino.

    "I wondered where you two went. The Uranus Oil people want to know about their submersible."

    "Tell them they can retrieve the Deep Fathom off the Titanic's foredeck just as soon as we make dry dock in New York," Pitt said.

    Giordino nodded and turned back to the radio.

    "Leave it to the commercial business interests to bitch about their precious property on such a momentous occasion," Sandecker said with a gleam in his eye. "And, speaking of momentous occasions, would any of you gentlemen care to celebrate with a touch of spirits?"

    "Did you say spirits?" Giordino looked up expectantly.

    Sandecker reached under his coat and produced two bottles. "Do not let it be said that James Sandecker ever fails to look out for the best interests of his crew."

    "Beware of admirals bearing gifts," Giordino murmured.

    Sandecker shot him a weary glance. "What a pity walking the plank became passe."

    "And keelhauling," Drummer added.