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

    "What she really means," Giordino sighed as he set the ice chest on the grass, "is we loaded up on enough food to feed a crew of lumberjacks."

    Pitt rolled forward out of the lawn chair and stared at a sentence printed across Giordino's shirt. "What does that say about Alkali Sam's Tequila?"

    "If your eyes are still open," Giordino recited, "it ain't Alkali Sam's."

    Pitt laughed and pointed toward the open door of the sixty-two-year-old house trailer. "Why don't we step into my mobile palace and get out of the sun?"

    Giordino hoisted the ice chest, carried it inside, and set it on a kitchen counter. Loren followed and began spreading the contents of the picnic basket across the table of a booth that could be made into a bed. "For something built during the Depression," she said, gazing at the wooden interior with leaded glass windows in the cupboards, "it looks surprisingly modern."

    "Pierce Arrow was ahead of its time," Pitt explained. "They went into the travel trailer business to supplement dwindling profits from the sales of their cars. After two years, they quit. The Depression killed them. They manufactured three models, one longer and one shorter than this one. Except for updating the stove and the refrigerator, I restored it to original condition."

    "I've got Corona, Coors, or Cheurlin," said Giordino. "Name your poison."

    "What kind of beer is Cheurlin?" asked Loren.

    "Domaine Cheurlin Extra Dry is a brand name for a bubbly. I bought it in Elephant Butte."

    "A champagne from where?"

    "New Mexico," Pitt answered. "An excellent sparkling wine. Al and I stumbled onto the winery during a canoe trip down the Rio Grande."

    "Okay." Loren smiled, holding up a flute-stemmed glass. "Fill it up."

    Pitt smiled and nodded at the glass. "You cheated. You came prepared."

    "I've hung around you long enough to know your solemn secret." She fetched a second glass and passed it to him. "For a price I won't tell the world the big, dauntless daredevil of the dismal depths prefers champagne over beer."

    "I drink them both," Pitt protested.

    "If she tells the boys down at the local saloon," said Giordino in a serious tone, "you'll be laughed out of town."

    "What is it going to cost me?" Pitt asked, acting subdued.

    Loren gave him a very sexy look indeed. "We'll negotiate that little matter later tonight."

    Giordino nodded at the open Sea of Cortez boating book. "Find any likely prospects?"

    "Out of nearly a hundred islands in and around the Gulf that rise at least fifty meters above the sea, I've narrowed it down to two probables and four possibles. The rest don't fit the geological pattern."

    "All in the northern end?"

    Pitt nodded. "I didn't consider any below the twenty-eighth parallel."

    "Can I see where you're going to search?" asked Loren, as she laid out a variety of cold cuts, cheeses, smoked fish, a loaf of sourdough bread, coleslaw, and down-home potato salad.

    Pitt walked to a closet, pulled out a long roll of paper and spread it on the kitchen counter. "An enhanced picture of the Gulf. I've circled the islands that come closest to matching Yaeger's translation of the quipu."

    Loren and Giordino put down their drinks and examined the photo, taken from a geophysical orbiting satellite, that revealed the upper reaches of the Sea of Cortez in astonishing detail. Pitt handed Loren a large magnifying glass.

    "The definition is unbelievable," said Loren, peering through the glass at the tiny islands.

    "See anything resembling a rock that doesn't look natural?" asked Giordino.

    "The enhancement is good, but not that good," answered Pitt.

    Loren hovered over the islands Pitt had circled. Then she looked up at him. "I assume you intend to make an aerial survey of the most promising sites?"

    "The next step in the process of elimination."

    "By plane?"

    "Helicopter."

    "Looks to me like a pretty large area to cover by helicopter," said Loren. "What do you use for a base?"

    "An old ferryboat."

    "A ferry?" Loren said, surprised.

    "Actually a car/passenger ferry that originally plied San Francisco Bay until 1957. She was later sold and used until 1962 by the Mexicans from Guaymas across the Gulf to Santa Rosalia. Then she was taken out of service. Rudi Gunn chartered her for a song."

    "We have the admiral to thank," Giordino grunted. "He's tighter than the lid on a rusty pickle jar."

    "1962?" Loren muttered, shaking her head. "That was thirty-six years ago. She's either a derelict by now or in a museum."

    "According to Rudi she's still used as a work boat," said Pitt, "and has a top deck large enough to accommodate a helicopter. He assures me that she'll make a good platform to launch reconnaissance flights."

    "When search operations cease with daylight," Giordino continued to explain, "the ferry will cruise overnight to the next range of islands on Dirk's survey list. This approach will save us a considerable amount of flight time."

    Loren handed Pitt a plate and silverware. "Sounds like you've got everything pretty well under control. What happens when you find what looks like a promising treasure site?"

    "We'll worry about putting together an excavation operation after we study the geology of the island," Pitt answered.

    "Help yourself to the feast," said Loren.

    Giordino wasted no time. He began building a sandwich of monumental proportions. "You lay out a good spread, lady."

    "Beats slaving over a hot stove." Loren laughed. "What about permits? You can't go running around digging for treasure in Mexico without permission from government authorities.

    Pitt laid a hefty portion of mortadella on a slice of sourdough bread. "Admiral Sandecker thought it best to wait. We don't want to advertise our objective. If word got out that we had a line on the biggest bonanza in history, a thousand treasure hunters would descend on us like locusts. Mexican officials would throw us out of the country in a mad grab to keep the hoard for their own government. And Congress would give NUMA hell for spending American tax dollars on a treasure hunt in another country. No, the quieter, the better."

    "We can't afford to be shot down before we've had half a chance of making the find," said Giordino in an unusual display of seriousness.

    Loren was silent while she ladled a spoonful of potato salad onto her plate, then asked, "Why don't you have someone on your team as insurance in the event local Mexican officials become suspicious and start asking questions?"

    Pitt looked at her. "You mean a public relations expert?"

    No, a bona fide, card-carrying member of the United States Congress."

    Pitt stared into those sensual violet eyes. "You?"

    "Why not? The Speaker of the House has called for a recess next week. My aides can cover for me. I'd love to get out of Washington for a few days and see a piece of Mexico."

    "Frankly," said Giordino, "I think it's a stellar concept." He gave Loren a wink and a toothy smile. "Dirk is always more congenial when you're around."