White Death - Cussler Clive (читать полностью книгу без регистрации .txt) 📗

"Nonetheless, a tragic loss."

"Agreed. I'm pleased with the success of your mission, but do you have any news of the sword and the horn?"

"It seems your relics had a long and arduous journey," Sandecker said. "With the help of the log Kurt discovered in Barker's macabre museum, we've been able to piece the story together. Your ancestor, Diego, sailed across the Atlantic from the Faroe Islands. But he never reached land. He and his crew died, most likely from disease. The ship drifted into the polar ice. The zeppelin discovered the caravel hundreds of years later after a secret flight to the North Pole, and removed the body of your ancestor. Mechanical problems forced the airship down on the ice. The Kiolya found it, and re- moved the bodies of Diego and the zeppelin's captain, Heinrich Braun."

"Kurt has told me this story," Aguirrez said impatiently. "But what of the relics?"

Sandecker said, "Gentlemen, I'm being rude. Please sit down. I think it's time for some brandy."

The admiral waved his guests to the comfortable leather chairs in front of his massive desk and went over to a bar hidden behind a wall panel. He brought back a bottle of B and B and poured each man a snifter of brandy. He stuck his nose in the wide-mouthed glass, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he unlocked his hu- midor and produced a handful of his specially rolled cigars. He passed the cigars around and patted the breast pocket of his navy blazer.

"I seem to have lost my cigar clipper. You gentlemen don't hap- pen to have a knife? Never mind." He reached into the chair well of his desk, pulled out a scabbard and laid it on the desk. "Perhaps this will do."

Balthazar's dark eyes widened in disbelief. He rose from his chair and reached out for the scabbard, cradling it with both hands as if it were made of glass. With shaking fingers, he slid the sword from the scabbard and held it high above his head as if he were rallying Charlemagne's legions to battle.

His lips formed a single whispered word. "Durendal.1) "The horn will arrive in a few days, along with the remains of your

ancestor," Sandecker said. "I thought you might be able to put these priceless relics together with their rightful owner."

Balthazar slid the sword back into the scabbard and passed it on to his sons.

"The rightful owners are the Basque people. I will use the sword and horn of Roland to ensure that the Basques finally attain their sov- ereignty." He smiled. "But in a peaceful manner."

The glee at the success of his theatrical gesture was evident in Sandecker's clear blue eyes. He raised his glass high. "Let's drink to that," he said.

Ryan called Austin later that day and said he was back in Washing- ton. He asked Austin to meet him at the "usual place." Austin arrived at Roosevelt Island a few minutes early, and was waiting in front of the statue, when he saw Ryan coming his way. Austin noticed that Ryan was still pale and gaunt from his wound. There was something else. The arrogant tilt of the chin and the boyish know-it-all grin that had flawed Ryan's good looks and irritated Austin were gone. Ryan seemed more serious and mature.

He smiled and extended his hand. "Thanks for coming, Kurt."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been used for target practice."

"I wish I could say you get used to it," Austin said, recalling the bullet and knife scars that marked his own body. "Knowing that you drove a spike into Barker's plans must help ease the pain. Congrat- ulations."

"Couldn't have done it without the help of Ben and Chuck, and Diego Aguirrez."

"Don't be modest."

"You're the one who's being modest. I heard about your adventures aboard the zeppelin."

"I hope this isn't turning into a mutual admiration society," Austin said. "I wouldn't want to ruin a wonderful relationship."

Ryan laughed. "I asked you here so I could apologize. I know I've been more than a little overbearing and self-righteous."

"Happens to the best of us."

"There's something else. I tried to use Therri to leverage your help."

"I know. I also know that Therri is too independent-minded to be used."

"I had to apologize, anyhow, before I leave."

"You sound as if you're heading off into the sunset."

"Like Shane? No, I'm not quite ready for that. I'm off to Bali in a few days to see if SOS can stop the illegal trade in sea turtles. Then I've got to help with a sea lion rescue in South Africa and see what we can do about poaching in the Galapagos Marine Reserve. In be- tween, I'll be raising funds to replace the Sentinel

"An ambitious schedule. Good luck."

"I'll need it." Ryan checked his watch. "Sorry to run, but I've got to line up the troops."

They walked back to the parking lot, where they shook hands once more.

"I understand you're seeing Therri later this week." "We're having dinner, as soon as we crawl out from our office work."

"I promise not to interrupt you the way I did back in Copen- hagen."

"Don't worry," Austin said. He glanced at the sky, a mysterious smile on his lips. "Where I'm taking Therri for dinner this time, no one will interrupt us."

41

MAY I POUR you more champagne, mademoiselle?" the waiter said.

"Thank you," Therri said with a smile. "I'd like that." The waiter refilled the fine crystal champagne glass and gave the bottle of Moot a professional twist. Then, with a click of his heels, he walked back to his station, ready to be summoned with the slightest hike of an eyebrow. He was impeccably dressed, his black hair was slicked back with shiny pomade, and a pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip. He possessed the perfect attitude, a bored detachment combined with undivided attention.

"He's wonderful," Therri whispered. "Where did you get him?" "Straight from the Orient Express," Austin said. Seeing the doubt in Therri's face, he added, "I confess. I borrowed him from NUMA food services. He worked as a maTtre d' at La Tour d'Argent in Paris before Sandecker hired him away to organize the NUMA dining room.

"He's done an outstanding job organizing our dinner," she said. They were sitting at a table for two. The tablecloth was white starched linen. The dishes and silverware were Art Deco. Dress was formal. Therri wore a knockout strapless black evening dress, and Austin had replaced the tux he'd ruined in the Washington dogsled race. She nodded in the direction of a string quartet that was play- ing Mozart in the background. "I suppose the musicians are from the National Symphony Orchestra."

Austin's mouth widened in a sheepish grin. "They're friends from the NUMA engineering division who get together on weekends. Quite good, aren't they?"

"Yes. And so was dinner. I don't know who your chef was, but-" She paused, catching the look in Austin's eye. "Don't tell me. The chef was NUMA, too."

"No. He's a friend of mine, St. Julien Perlmutter. He insisted on cooking for us tonight. I'll introduce you later."

She sipped her champagne, and her mood grew somber. "I'm sorry, but I can't help thinking from time to time of Dr. Barker and the monstrous creatures he created. It seems like a nightmare."

"I wish it were a bad dream. Barker and his pals were very real. So were his Frankenfish."

"What a strange, terrible man he was. I suppose we'll never know how someone so brilliant could become so evil."