Shock Wave dp-13

by Clive Cussler

  “What’s stopping you from blowing the whistle?” asked Pitt.

  “Easier said than done. Every one of the scientists and engineers who direct the digging signed ironclad contracts. No performance, no pay. Dorsett’s attorneys would throw up a smoke screen so thick you couldn’t cut it with a laser if we sued. Just as bad, if the Mounties learned of the carnage among the Chinese laborers, and the cover-up, Dorsett would claim ignorance and make damned certain we’d all stand trial for conspiracy. As it is, we’re scheduled to leave the island in four weeks. Our orders are to shut down the mine the week before. Only then are we to be paid off and sent on our way.”

  “Why not get on a boat and leave now?”

  “The thought crossed our minds until the chief superintendent tried exactly that,” said the engineer slowly. “According to letters we received from his wife, he never arrived home and was never seen again.”

  “Dorsett runs a tight ship.”

  “As tight as any Central American drug operation.”

  “Why shut down the mine when it still produces?”

  “I have no idea. Dorsett set the dates. He obviously has a plan he doesn’t intend to share with the hired help.”

  “How does Dorsett know none of you will talk once you’re on the mainland?”

  “It’s no secret that if one of us talks, we all go to jail.”

  “And the Chinese laborers?”

  He stared at Pitt over the respirator clamped around the lower part of his face, his eyes expressionless. “I have a suspicion they’ll be left inside the mine.”

  “Buried?”

  “Knowing Dorsett, he wouldn’t bat an eye when he gave the order to his security flunkies.”

  “Have you ever met the man?” asked Pitt.

  “Once was enough. His daughter, The Emasculator, is as bad as he is.”

  “Boudicca.” Pitt smiled thinly. “She’s called The Emasculator?”

  “Strong as an ox, that one,” said the engineer. “I’ve seen her lift a good-sized man off the ground with one arm.”

  Before Pitt could ask any more questions, the elevator reached the surface level and stopped in the main lift building. The engineer stepped outside, glancing at a Ford van that drove past. Pitt followed him around the corner of the mess hall and behind the garbage containers.

  The engineer nodded at Pitt’s jumpsuit. “Your gear belongs to a geologist who’s down with the flu. I’ll have to return it before he discovers it missing and wonders why.”

  “Great,” Pitt muttered. “I probably contacted his flu germs from the respirator.”

  “Your Indian friends have returned to their boats.” The engineer gestured at the food-storage loading dock. The tractor and trailers were gone. “The van that just passed by the elevator building is a personnel shuttle. It should return in a couple of minutes. Hail the driver and tell him to take you through the tunnel.”

  Pitt stared at the old engineer dubiously. “You don’t think he’ll question why I didn’t leave with the other Haida?”

  The old engineer took a notebook and a pencil from a pocket of his jumpsuit and scribbled a few words. He tore off the sheet of paper, folded it and passed it to Pitt. “Give him this. It will guarantee your safe passage. I have to return to work before Dapper John’s muscle boys begin to ask questions.”

  Pitt shook his hand. “I’m grateful for your help. You took a terrible risk by revealing Dorsett Consolidated secrets to a perfect stranger.”

  “If I can prevent future deaths of innocent people, any risk on my part will have been well worth it.”

  “Good luck,” said Pitt.

  “The same to you.” The engineer began to walk away, thought of something and turned back. “One more thing, out of curiosity. I saw the Dorsett gunship take off after a floatplane the other day. It never returned.”

  “I know,” said Pitt. “It ran into a hill and burned.”

  “You know?”

  “I was on the floatplane.”

  The engineer looked at him queerly. “And Malcolm Stokes?”

  Pitt quickly realized that this was the undercover man Stokes had mentioned. “A metal splinter in one lung. But he’ll live to enjoy his pension.”

  “I’m glad. Malcolm is a good man. He has a fine family.”

  “A wife and five children,” said Pitt. “He told me after we crashed.”

  “Then you got clear only to jump back in the fire.”

  “Not very bright of me, was it?”

  The engineer smiled. “No, I guess it wasn’t.” Then he turned and headed back into the elevator building, where he disappeared from Pitt’s view.

  Five minutes later, the van appeared and Pitt waved it to a stop. The driver, in the uniform of a security guard, stared at Pitt suspiciously. “Where did you come from?” he asked.

  Pitt handed him the folded note and shrugged wordlessly.

  The driver read the note, wadded it up, tossed it on the floor and nodded. “Okay, take a seat. I’ll run you as far as the search house at the other end of the tunnel.”

  As the driver closed the door and shifted the van into drive, Pitt took a seat behind him and casually leaned down and picked up the crumpled note. It read:

  This Haida fisherman was in the john when his friends unknowingly left him behind. Please see that he gets to the dock before the fishing fleet departs.

  C. Cussler

  Chief Foreman

  The driver stopped the van in front of the security building, where Pitt was explored from head to feet by X ray for the second time that morning. The doctor in charge of anatomical search nodded as he completed a checklist.

  “No diamonds on you, big boy,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  “Who needs them?” Pitt grunted indifferently. “You can’t eat stones. They’re a curse of the white man. Indians don’t kill each other over diamonds.”

  “You’re late, aren’t you? Your tribesmen came through here twenty minutes ago.”

  “I fell asleep,” said Pitt, hurriedly throwing on his clothes.

  He took off at a dead run and rushed onto the dock. Fifty meters from the end he came slowly to a stop. Concern and misgiving coursed through him. The Haida fishing fleet was a good five kilometers out in the channel. He was alone with nowhere to go.

  A large freighter was unloading the last of its cargo across the dock from the Dorsett yacht. He dodged around the big containers that were hoisted from the cargo holds on wooden skids and tried to lose himself amid the activity while moving toward the gangway in an attempt to board the ship. One hand on the railing and one foot on the first step was as far as he got.

  “Hold it right there, fisherman.” The calm voice spoke from directly behind him. “Missed your boat, did you?”

  Pitt slowly turned around and froze as he felt his heart double its beat. The sadistic Crutcher was leaning against a crate containing a large pump as he casually puffed on the stub of a cigar. Next to him stood a guard with the muzzle of his M-1 assault rifle wavering up and down Pitt’s body. It was the same guard Pitt had struck in Merchant’s office. Pitt’s heart went on triple time as Dapper John Merchant himself stepped from behind the guard, staring at Pitt with the cold authority of one who holds men’s lives in the palms of his hands.

  “Well, well, Mr. Pitt, you are a stubborn man.”

  “I knew he was the same one who punched me the minute I saw him board the shuttle van.” The guard grinned wolfishly as he stepped forward and thrust the gun barrel into Pitt’s gut. “A little payback for hitting me when I wasn’t ready.”

  Pitt doubled over in sharp pain as the narrow, round muzzle jabbed deeply into his side, badly bruising but not quite penetrating the flesh. He looked up at the grinning guard and spoke through clenched teeth. “A social misfit if I’ve ever seen one.”

  The guard lifted his rifle to strike Pitt again, but Merchant stopped him. “Enough, Elmo. You can play games with him after he’s explained his persistent intrusion.” He looked at Pitt
apologetically. “You must excuse Elmo. He has an instinctive drive to hurt people he doesn’t trust.”

  Pitt desperately tried to think of some way to escape. But except for jumping in the icy water and expiring from hypothermia or— and this was the more likely option of the two-being blasted into fish meal by Elmo’s automatic rifle, there was no avenue open.

  “You must have an active imagination if you consider me a threat,” Pitt muttered to Merchant as he stalled for time.

  Merchant leisurely removed a cigarette from a gold case and lit it with a matching lighter. “Since we last met, I’ve run an in-depth check on you, Mr. Pitt. To say you are a threat to those you oppose is a mild understatement. You are not trespassing on Dorsett property to study fish and kelp. You are here for another, more ominous purpose. I rather hope you’ll explain your presence in vivid detail without prolonged theatrical resistance.”

  “A pity to disappoint you,” said Pitt, between deep breaths. “I’m afraid you won’t have time for one of your sordid interrogations.”

  Merchant was not easily fooled. But he knew that Pitt was no garden-variety diamond smuggler. A tiny alarm went off in the back of his mind when he saw the utter lack of fear in Pitt’s eyes. He felt curious yet a trifle uneasy. “I freely admit I thought more highly of you than to expect a cheap bluff.”

  Pitt stared upward and scanned the skies. “A squadron of fighters from the aircraft carrier Nimitz, bristling with air-to-surface missiles, should be whistling over at any moment.”

  “A bureaucrat with an obscure governmental agency with the power to order an attack on Canadian soil? I don’t believe so.”

  “You’re right about me,” said Pitt. “But my boss, Admiral James Sandecker, has the leverage to order an air strike.”

  For an instant, a brief eye blink in time, Pitt thought Merchant was going to buy it. Hesitation clouded the security chief’s face. Then he grinned, stepped forward and wickedly backhanded Pitt across the mouth with a gloved hand. Pitt staggered backward, feeling the blood springing from his lips.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Merchant said dryly. He wiped a speck of blood from his leather glove with a bored expression of distaste. “No more stories. You will speak only when I ask for answers to my questions.” He turned to Crutcher and Elmo. “Escort him to my office. We’ll continue our discussion there.”

  Crutcher pushed a flat-handed palm into Pitt’s face and sent him staggering across the dock. “I think we’ll walk instead of ride to your office, sir. Our nosy friend could use a little exercise to soften him up ...”

  “Hold on there!” came a sharp voice from the deck of the yacht. Boudicca Dorsett was leaning against the rail, watching the drama below on the dock. She was wearing a wool cardigan over a white turtleneck and a short pleated skirt. Her white-stockinged legs were encased in a pair of high calfskin riding boots. She tossed her long hair over her shoulders and gestured to the gangway leading from the dock to the yacht’s promenade deck. “Bring your intruder on board.”

  Merchant and Crutcher exchanged indulgent glances before hustling Pitt on board the yacht. Elmo prodded him viciously in the lower back with the assault rifle, forcing him through a teak doorway into the main salon.

  Boudicca sat on one edge of a desk carved from driftwood with an Italian-marble top. Her skirt, taut under her legs, rose to mid-thigh. She was a robust woman, almost masculine in her movements, yet exuding sensuality and an unmistakable aura of wealth and polish. She was used to intimidating men, and she frowned when she saw Pitt clinically appraising her.

  A first-class performance, Pitt observed. Most men would have been awed and cowed. Merchant, Crutcher and Elmo couldn’t keep their eyes off her. But Pitt refused to play on her turf. He ignored Boudicca’s obvious charms and forced his eyes to travel over the luxurious furnishings and decor of the yacht’s salon.

  “Nice place you have here,” he said impassively.

  “Shut your mouth in front of Ms. Dorsett,” Elmo snapped, raising the butt of his weapon to strike Pitt again.

  Pitt whirled on his feet, knocked away the approaching rifle with one hand and rammed his other fist into Elmo’s gut just above the groin. The guard groaned in pain and anger and doubled over, dropping the rifle, both hands clutched at the point of impact.

  Pitt scooped up the rifle from the salon’s thick carpet before anyone could react and calmly handed the weapon to a stunned Merchant. “I’m tired of being on the receiving end of this cretin’s sadistic habits. Please keep him under control.” Then he turned to Boudicca. “I realize it’s early, but I could use a drink. Do you stock tequila on board this floating villa?”

  Boudicca remained calm and aloof, staring at Pitt with renewed curiosity. She looked at Merchant. “Where did he come from?” she demanded. “Who is this man?”

  “He penetrated our security by posing as a local fisherman. In reality he’s an American agent.”

  “Why is he snooping around the mine?”

  “I was taking him back to my office for the answers when you called us to come aboard,” replied Merchant.

  She rose to her full height and stood taller than any man in the salon. Her voice became incredibly deep and sensuous, and her eyes were cool as they flicked over Pitt. “Your name, please, and your business here.”

  Merchant began to answer. “His name is—”

  “I want him to tell me,” she cut Merchant off.

  “So you’re Boudicca Dorsett,” Pitt said, brushing off her question and returning her gaze. “Now I can say I know all three.”

  She searched his face for a moment. “All three?”

  “Arthur Dorsett’s lovely daughters,” answered Pitt.

  Anger at being toyed with flashed in her eyes. She took two steps, reached out, grasped Pitt’s upper arms and squeezed as she leaned forward, crushing him against one wall of the salon. There was no expression in the giantess’ black eyes as they stared unblinkingly into Pitt’s, almost nose-to-nose. She said nothing, only stood there increasing the pressure and pushing upward until his feet were barely touching the carpet.

  Pitt resisted by tensing his body and flexing his biceps, which felt as if they were clamped in ever-tightening vises. He could not believe any man, much less a woman, could be so strong. His muscles began to feel as if they were mashed to pulp. He clenched his teeth and bleeding lips together to fight the rising pain. The restricted blood flow was numbing and turning his hands white when Boudicca finally released her grip and stepped back.

  “Now then, before I encircle your throat, tell me who you are and why you’re prying into my family’s mining operation.”

  Pitt stalled for a minute while the pain subsided and feeling returned to his lower arms and hands. He was stunned by the woman’s inhuman strength. Finally, he gasped out, “Is that any way to treat the man who rescued your sisters from certain death?”

  Her eyes widened questioningly, and she stiffened. “What are you talking about? How do you know my sisters?”

  “My name is Dirk Pitt,” he said slowly. “My friends and I saved Maeve from freezing to death and Deirdre from drowning in the Antarctic.”

  “You?” The words seemed to boil from her lips. “You’re the one from the National Underwater & Marine Agency?”

  “The same.” Pitt walked over to a lavish bar with a copper surface and picked up a cocktail napkin to dab away the blood that dripped from a cut lip. Merchant and Crutcher looked as stunned as if a horse they had bet their life savings on had run out of the money.

  Merchant gazed blankly at Boudicca. “He must be lying.”

  “Would you like me to describe them in detail?” asked Pitt carelessly. “Maeve is tall, blond, with incredibly blue eyes. Strictly a camp-on-the-beach type.” He paused to point at a portrait of a young blond woman, wearing an old-fashioned dress with a diamond the size of a quail’s egg set in a pendant around her neck. “That’s her in the painting.”

  “Not even close.” Boudicca smirked. “That hap
pens to be a portrait of my great-great-great-grandmother.”

  “Neither here nor there,” Pitt said with feigned indifference, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the incredible likeness of Maeve. “Deirdre, on the other hand, has brown eyes and red hair and walks like a runway model.”

  After a long pause, Boudicca said, “He must be who he says he is.”

  “That doesn’t explain his presence here,” Merchant persisted.

  “I told you during our last meeting,” said Pitt. “I came here to study the effects of the chemicals and pollution flowing into the sea from the mine.”

  Merchant smiled thinly. “An inventive story, but far from the truth.”

  Pitt could not relax for a moment. He was in the company of dangerous people, cunning and shrewd. He had felt his way, assessing the reaction to his line of approach, but he realized it was only a matter of a minute or two before Boudicca figured out his game. It was inevitable. She had enough pieces to fill in the borders of the puzzle. He decided he could better control the situation by telling the truth.

  “The gospel you want, the gospel you’ll get. I’m here because the pulsed ultrasound you use to excavate far diamonds causes an intense resonance that channels great distances underwater. When undersea conditions are optimal these pulses converge with those from your other mining operations around the Pacific and kill any living organism in the area. But of course I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  He’d caught Boudicca off balance. She stared at Pitt as if he had stepped off an alien spaceship. “You’re quite good at creating a scene.” she said hesitantly. “You should have gone into the movies.”

  “I’ve considered it,” said Pitt. “But I don’t have James Woods’ talent or Mel Gibson’s looks.” He discovered a bottle of Herradura silver tequila behind the bar on a glass shelf backed by a gold-tinted mirror and poured himself a shot glass. He also found a lime and a salt shaker. He let Boudicca and the others stand there and watch as he dabbed his tongue on the flap of skin between his thumb and forefinger before sprinkling salt on it. Then he downed the tequila, licked the salt and sucked on the lime. “There, now I feel ready to face the rest of the day. As I was saying, you know more about the horrors of the acoustic plague, as it’s come to be called, than I do, Ms. Dorsett. The same killer that came frighteningly close to killing your sisters. So it would be foolish of me to waste my time attempting to enlighten you.”