The Jungle - Cussler Clive (читать книги без .TXT) 📗

“It’s not worth the risk,” Juan countered. “Eric’s right. We need to cover our tracks completely. We’ll have Hux make the call. Bahar’s never met her, so he’d have no reason to be on the lookout for her voice. I also think that we shouldn’t pull into Monte Carlo. If our presence is reported in the area, Bahar might become suspicious.”

“Good idea,” Eric agreed. “And since we transited the Suez Canal using a fresh set of papers and ship’s name, he should have no idea we’re here. We might want to reconfigure the look of the deck in case he has the computer scanning satellite images for us. Also, while we’re at it, we should probably shut down all nonessential electronics. Just in case.”

Juan nodded and called down to the Op Center to go dark electronically and to have crewmen break out a bunch of fake containers and erect them topside. He turned to Soleil, “By the way, what was the inspector’s name?”

“Mercer,” she said. “His name is Philip Mercer.”

A FEW HOURS LATER they were close enough to the fabled playground of Monte Carlo to ferry Dr. Huxley, Soleil, and Cabrillo ashore in one of the hydrofoil lifeboats. They couldn’t go in by chopper because their arrival would be logged by French aviation authorities. Kevin Nixon had forged a passport for Soleil, so there were no problems when they got to the dock. She was along in case this Mercer guy needed more reminding if the code words she’d already supplied weren’t enough.

Juan paid cash for a prepaid cell phone, and they found a quiet park bench. He dialed the number Eric had tracked down for the mining engineer and handed the phone to Hux. After a couple of rings, a voice that grated like the business end of a wood chipper answered. “Hello.”

“Is this Philip Mercer?” Hux asked.

“Sure. Why not.”

“Mr. Mercer, I’m calling on behalf of—”

“First off, it’s Dr. Mercer. Second, if you’re calling on behalf of Jerry’s Kids or any other damned charity, I’m going to hold the phone next to my wrinkled white butt and—”

She heard another voice say, “Harry! Give me that, you old pervert. Hello. This is Mercer. Sorry. A friend of mine was at a bar when God handed out manners. Who is this, please?”

“I’m calling on behalf of someone you used to know. Please don’t say her name because this is not a secure line. You called her a Frenchy once, and she told you she was a Swissy.”

He gave a throaty chuckle. “I remember her fondly.”

“That’s good,” Hux said. “Not to sound overly dramatic, but this is a matter of life and death. Do you recall the place you met?”

“Yeah. Is she with you now?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Since this is just a little on the bizarre side, I want to verify. Ask her where she has a mole.”

Hux asked and relayed the answer. “She says it’s private and you are still a cochon.”

“Good enough for me,” Mercer said with a grin that carried over the airwaves.

“We need to know everything there is to know about the salt mine.”

“Are you looking to throw good money after bad too?”

“Nothing like that. All I can say is that some very bad people have taken it over, and the group I work for plans on taking it back. What we need is a detailed schematic of the entire place, above ground and below.”

“It’s a little hard to describe over the phone,” Mercer informed her. “There’s about thirty miles of tunnels, as I recall.”

Hux was ready for this. “Could you draw it out for us? We have a courier already heading to Washington, D.C.” Tiny Gunderson wouldn’t like the idea that he’d been demoted from chief pilot to courier, but it was the fastest way without putting the plans into the electronic ether. “He’ll be in D.C. by nine o’clock your time, tonight.”

“I guess you don’t know that I’m playing poker tonight with a guy who’s got a tell a blind man can see.”

“This is urgent, Dr. Mercer, or we wouldn’t be asking.”

“Do you have my address?” he asked.

“Yes, we do.”

“All right. I’m game. Do me a favor. Say to her, ‘Mauve peignoir,’ and tell me what she does.”

“She blushed, and called you a pig again.”

Mercer laughed and said, “I’ll meet your courier at nine.”

“Well?” Cabrillo asked when Julia punched off the phone.

Hux looked pointedly at Soleil. “He’s quite the charmer. You’ll have to tell me the story of the mauve nightie.”

Soleil’s blush deepened. “Later.”

“Well?” Cabrillo asked a second time.

“He’ll do it. Tiny can pick it up tonight and be back with it by tomorrow.”

“Once we have his diagram, we can formulate our plan to take out Bahar’s computer.”

They headed back to the harbor and made a startling discovery. MacD Lawless was leaning negligently against a fence near where they had berthed the lifeboat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Juan called out.

“Long story, but Ah came down to talk to the harbormaster to see if the Oregon had come in yet and saw the Or Death tied up pretty as you please.” His sunny smile faded. “We need to talk. Langston Overholt himself came to get me and had me flown here on an Air Force jet.”

“Let me guess,” Juan said knowingly. “Bahar has made his move with his quantum computer.”

MacD’s jaw dropped. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Eric and Mark figured out that he’d built it, and it stands to reason he’d use it against the United States. Tell me everything.”

They boarded the disguised hydrofoil as MacD told them what had been going on since he’d parted with the team in New Orleans, but it wasn’t until they were halfway back to the ship that the dread chill creeping up Juan’s spine went into overdrive. Linda had said Langston had phoned earlier about a mission involving a Chinese ship. That didn’t jibe with what was happening in Washington, and the sickening realization hit home.

As soon as they arrived on the Oregon he had Hali Kasim track Linda down.

“When you spoke with Overholt, did he sound different to you?” he asked without preamble.

“No. He sounded fine. Is something wrong with him?”

“Did you tell him we were headed here?” Trepidation carried in his voice. If she had, they were blown.

“No. I said we had another op and would need a week. He said it was no problem, since the Chinese looked like they were sticking around the Gulf of Alaska.”

Juan let out a long-held breath. “Thank God.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“That wasn’t Langston. That was the quantum computer you were talking to.”

Cabrillo had taken Eric’s and Mark’s warnings seriously, but this was the first time he truly understood the staggering capabilities Gunawan Bahar had at his disposal. Like the president had remarked earlier, they were squared off against a man who wielded the power of God.

“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Linda asked. She’d gotten it too.

“Yeah,” Juan replied. “Yeah, I think this time we really are.”

AS BADLY AS CABRILLO wanted a Predator drone over the Albatross Mine, he knew that the request was impossible because Bahar would get wind of it. Instead, Gomez Adams would be renting a helicopter there in Monaco and doing an aerial survey of the place. In the meantime they would have to make do with archived satellite imagery off the Internet. His concern went so deep that he had Mark ensure the images hadn’t been doctored recently. Fortunately, they were clean.

The mine sat in the Arc River Valley near the alpine town of Modane and, as Soleil had recalled, very close to the Italian border. From the air, there wasn’t much to look at. It was a basic industrial brownfield site, with several dilapidated buildings and the remains of the tower for the headgear hoist that once carried men into the mine and salt back out. A single access road snaked to the mine over an undulating series of switchbacks, but it also had rail access. Despite the graininess of commercial satellite pictures, they could see that some of the track bed had been removed, so that locomotives could no longer reach the facility.