The Mediterranean Caper dp-2

by Clive Cussler

  The visibility was startling. The long, purplish tentacles of a jelly-like Portuguese Man O’ War were clearly discernible nearly eighty feet away. A pair of ugly looking Dragonet fish swam idly across the bottom, their vivid blue and yellow scaleless bodies topped by high slender gill spines. It was a hidden world, a soundless world, owned by weirdly shaped creatures and decorated by graceful fantasies of form and vibrant hues that defied any attempt at human description. It was also a world of mystery and danger, guarded by a sinister array of weapons, varying from the slaughterous teeth of the shark to the deadly venom of the innocent looking Zebra fish; an intriguing combination of eternal beauty and constant peril.

  Without waiting for signs of discomfort, Pitt began snorting into the mask to equalize the air pressure of his inner ears to that of the water pressure. When his ears popped, he slowly dove toward the majestic seascape under him and became a part of it.

  At thirty feet, the reds were left behind, and the depths became a soft blending of blues and greens. Pitt leveled off at fifty and studied the bottom. No sea growth or rocks here, just a patch of submerged desert where miniature sand dunes meandered in unbroken snake-like ripples. Except for an occasional bottom-dwelling Star Gazer fish, buried with only a pair of stony eyes and a portion of its grotesque, fringed lips protruding above the sand, the sea floor was deserted.

  Exactly eight minutes after they had left the First Attempt, the bottom began to slope upward, and the water became slightly murky from the surface wave action. A rock formation, covered with swaying seaweed, appeared in the gloom ahead. And then suddenly they were at the base of a vertically sheer cliff that rose at an unbroken 90 deg. angle until it disappeared into the mirrored surface above. Like Captain Nemo and his companions exploring an undersea garden, Pitt began directing his team of marine scientists to spread out and search for the submarine cave.

  The hunt took no more than five minutes. Woodson, who had angled a hundred feet out on the right perimeter, found it first. Signaling Pitt and the others by rapping his knife against his airtank, he motioned for them to come and went swimming off along the northern face of the cliff to a point beyond a weed-encrusted crevasse. There he paused and held up a leveled arm.

  And then Pitt saw it; a black and ominous opening just twelve feet below the surface. The size was perfect; big enough for a submarine or, for that matter, a locomotive to have been driven in. They all hung suspended in the clear crystal water, their eyes fixed on the cave entrance, hesitating, exchanging glances.

  Pitt moved first, entering the hole. Except for a few dim flashes of light, reflected from the whites of his heels, he disappeared completely from view, swallowed by the yawning cavity.

  He leisurely beat the water with his fins and let an incoming swell help carry him slowly through the tunnel. The bright blue-green of the sunlit sea rapidly transformed into a kind of deep twilight blue. At first Pitt could see nothing, but soon his eyes adjusted to the dark interior, and he began to make out a few details of his surroundings.

  There should have been a myriad of marine life clinging to the tunnel walls. There should have been darting crabs, winking limpets and barnacles, or crawling lobsters, sneaking about in search of tasty shellfish. There were none of these. The rocky sides were barren, and they were coated with a reddish substance that clouded the water whenever Pitt touched the smooth, unnatural material. He rolled face up and inspected the arched roof, watching in fascinated interest as his exhaust bubbles rose and wandered across the ceiling, like a trail of quicksilver, seeking escape from a vial.

  Abruptly the roof angled upward, and Pitt’s head broke the surface. He looked around but saw nothing; a gray cloud of mist obscured everything. Puzzled, he ducked his head back in the water and dove, leveling out at ten feet. Beneath him a cylindrical shaft of cobalt light flowed in from the tunnel. The water was as clear as air; Pitt could see every nook and cranny of the cavern's submerged area.

  An aquarium. That was the only way Pitt could describe it. But for the fact that there were no portholes in the walls, the cavern could have easily passed for the main tank at Marineland in California. It was a far cry from the tunnel; marine life abounded everywhere. The lobsters were here, and so were the crabs, the limpets, the barnacles, even a heavy growth of kelp. There were also roving schools of brilliantly colored fish. One fish in particular caught Pitt’s eye, but before he could get closer, it saw his approach and flashed into a protective rock fissure.

  For several moments, Pitt took in the breathtaking scene. Then suddenly, he started as a foreign hand grabbed his leg. It was Ken Knight, and he was motioning toward the surface. Pitt nodded and swam to the top. Again he was greeted by the heavy mist.

  Pitt spit out his mouthpiece. “What do you make of it?” he asked. The rock walls amplified his voice to a roar.

  “A fairly common occurrence,” Knight answered, roaring back matter of factly. “Every time a swell hits the entrance outside, the force runs like a piston through the tunnel, compressing the air already trapped in the cavern. When the pressure recedes, the expanded, moisturized air cools and condenses in a fine mist.” Knight paused to blow some mucus from his nose. “The swells are running at about twelve-second intervals, so it should start to clear up at any time.”

  No sooner had he said it than the mist disappeared, revealing a dim cavern that arched to a dome sixty feet overhead. It was a drowned grotto and nothing more; no traces of man-made equipment. Pitt felt as though he had entered a deserted cathedral whose spires stood in ruined desolation from a World War I artillery shelling or a World War II aerial bombardment The walls were twisted and broken in jagged fissures, and. the shattered rocks at their base showed that another rock fall could come at any time.

  Then the mist returned and smothered all vision.

  Pitt, in the few seconds it took to survey the cavern, was conscious of nothing but the gnawing fear of self-doubt. Then came a creeping wave of numbed disbelief, then the chagrin that he had bungled it.

  "It can’t be,” he muttered. “It just can’t be.” Pitt’s free hand curled into a white knuckled fist, and he pounded the water in an outburst of temper and despair. “This cavern had to be von Till’s base of operations. God help us from the mess that I’ve surely caused.”.

  “I'd still vote for you, Major,” Knight reached out and touched Pitt on the shoulder. “The geology bears out your hunch. This would seem the most logical spot.”

  “It’s a dead end. Except for the tunnel, there’s no openings, anywhere.”

  “I saw a ledge on the far end of the cave. Maybe if

  I—”

  “No time for that,” Pitt interrupted impatiently. “We must get back out as fast as we can and keep searching.”

  “Excuse me, Major!” Hersong had caught Pitt’s arm, an action that surprised Pitt by seemingly coming out of nowhere. “I found something that might be of interest.”

  The mist went through its cycle and then cleared again, revealing a peculiar expression on Hersong’s face that caught Pitt’s attention. He grinned at the lanky botanist.

  “OK, Hersong. let’s make it quick. We hardly have time for a lecture on marine flora.”

  “Believe it or not, that’s just what I had in mind,” Hersong grinned back; the glistening water trickled through the strands of his red beard. “Tell me, did you notice that growth of Macrocystis pyrifera on the wall opposite the tunnel?”

  “I might have,” Pitt answered flatly, “if I knew what you were talking about”

  "Macrocystis pyrifera is a brown algae of the Phaeophyta family, perhaps, better known as kelp.”

  Pitt stared at him, considering, and let him continue.

  “What it boils down to, Major, is that this particular species of kelp is native only to the Pacific Coast of the United States. The water temperature in this part of the Mediterranean is far too warm for Macrocystis pyrifera to survive. On top of that, kelp, like in land plant cousins, needs sunlight to provide the process f
or photosynthesis. I can’t imagine kelp thriving in an underwater cave. Nope, if you’ll forgive the vernacular, it just ain’t done.”

  Pitt was slowly treading water. “Then if it isn’t kelp, what is it?”.

  The mist was back, and Pitt couldn’t see Hersong’s face. He could only hear the botanists rumbling voice.

  “It’s art, Major. pure art. Without a doubt, the finest plastic replica of Macrocystis pyrifera I’ve ever beheld.”

  “Plastic?” Knight boomed, his tone echoing around the cavern. “Are you sure?”

  “My dear boy,” Hersong said disdainfully. “Do I question your. analysis of’ core samples or—”

  “That red slime on the tunnel walls,” Pitt cut in. “What do you make of that?”

  “Couldn’t say for sure,” Hersong said. “Looked like some type of’ paint or coating.”

  “I’ll back him. Major.” The face of Stun Thomas suddenly materialized out of the fading mist. “Red anti-fouling paint for ship hulls. It contains arsenic; that’s why nothing grows in the tunnel.”

  Pitt glanced at his watch. ‘Time is running out.

  This must be the place.”

  “Another tunnel behind the kelp? Knight asked in a careful sort of voice. “Is that it, Major?”

  “It’s beginning to look encouraging.” Pitt said quietly. “A camouflaged second tunnel that leads to a second cavern. Now I can see why von Till’s operation was never discovered by any native of Thasos.”

  “Well,” Hersong purged the water from his mouthpiece. “I guess we keep going.”

  “We have no other option,” Pitt said. “Are we all ready for another go?”

  “All present and accounted for, except for Woodson,” Spencer answered.

  Suddenly, at that instant, a flashbulb flooded the cavern in a bright blue light

  “Nobody smiled,” Woodson observed sourly. He had drifted off to the far wall of the cavern, trying for the widest possible lens angle.

  “Next time, yell sex.” Spencer joked back.

  “It wouldn’t matter,” Woodson grunted. “None of you know what it means anyway.”

  Pitt grinned and moved off. He rolled forward and jackknifed. diving to the bottom like an airplane on a strafing run. The others followed, spaced out at ten-foot intervals.

  The forest of counterfeit kelp was thick and nearly impenetrable. Thin branches rose from the bottom to the surface, flaring into a wide, spreading canopy. Hersong was right: it was a work of art. Even at arm’s length Pitt couldn't have told the plastic from the real thing. He unsheathed the knife and began slicing his way through the brown swaying stems. Working his way forward, stopping only to untangle his air tank, he finally broke into another tunnel. The second had a larger diameter than the first but was much shorter in length. After four stout kicks, Pitt surfaced in a new cavern, only to be enveloped in the unending white. mist Every few moments, the splash of a head breaking the water, announced the arrival of another member of the team.

  “See anything?” The voice was Spencer’s.

  “Not yet,” Pitt replied. Mechanically, his eyes strained unblinkingly into the damp gloom. He thought he saw something now, something more imagined than real. Gradually, he became aware of a dark shape, materializing out of the fog. And then suddenly, it was absolutely and concretely there the smooth, black metal hull of a submarine. Pitt spat out his mouthpiece, swam over to the sub and grabbed hold of’ the bow planes, pulling himself onto the deck.

  Pitt’s mind became absorbed in the submarine. At least ten times he’d wondered how he'd react, how he would feel when he finally touched the heroin’s underwater carrier. Elation at being proved right — that and more. Anger and disgust flooded over him. If they could only talk, what tales of insidious tragedies these steel plates could relate.

  “Please drop your spear on the deck and keep very, very still.” The voice behind Pitt was hard, and so was the gun barrel that dug into his spine. He eased the pole spear slowly to the wet deck. “Good. Now order your men to drop their weapons on the bottom. No tricks. A concussion grenade in the water can turn a swimmer into an ugly mass of jelly.”

  Pitt nodded at the five floating heads. “You heard the man. Drop the spear guns… the knives too.

  There’s no sense in antagonizing these nice people. I’m sorry men. It looks like I’ve blown it.”

  There was nothing else left to say. Pitt had led these five men into a trap from which they might never escape alive. All emotion left him, he was conscious now only of time. On cue, Pitt raised his hands over his head and slowly turned around.

  “Major Pitt, you are an uncommonly aggravating young man.”

  Bruno von Till stood on the deck of the submarine, grinning like Fu Manchu about to feed a victim to the crocodiles. His eyes were narrowed slits beneath the skin-topped head, and he seemed, at least to Pitt, to radiate a personal and long-practiced repulsiveness. But something was wrong, terribly wrong. The old German had both hands in his jacket pockets; he carried no gun. It was the man beside him who held the gun — a mountain of a man with a face of carved stone and a torso like a tree trunk. Von Till’s eyes fully opened, and his voice rose in a mocking tone.

  “Forgive me for not offering introductions, Major.” Von Till gestured toward his companion. “But I understand that you and Darius have already met.”

  17

  “You seem surprised to see me, Major,” Darius murmured satanically. “I can’t tell you what a great pleasure it is to meet you again under more favorable terms.” He jammed the nasty looking Luger against Pitt’s throat “Please do not move and force me to kill you prematurely. Your quick and sudden death would only cheat me out of a great deal of personal satisfaction and pleasure. I said I had an account to settle with you and your ugly little friend; now the hour has arrived to repay my debt for the pain I have suffered at your hands or more correctly feet.”

  Pitt did his damnedest to look casual. “Sorry to disappoint you but Giordino stayed home this trip.”

  “Then his punishment shall be added to yours.”

  Darius smiled pleasantly. then lowered the gun and calmly shot Pitt in the leg. The sharp crack of the Luger amplified to a thunderclap within the rock-walled cavern. A blow — like the thrust of a red hot poker — jerked Pitt sideways and knocked him backward two steps. Somehow, he never really knew how, he managed to remain on his feet The nine millimeter bullet had torn through the fleshy part of his thigh. missing the bone by a scant quarter of an inch and leaving a neat little reddish hole at the entrance and a slightly larger one at the exit. The burning sensation quickly left, and his leg became numb with shock, the real pain, he was sure, would soon follow.

  “Come now, Darius,” von Till spoke reprovingly.

  “Let us not over-indulge ourselves in crudity. We have more important matters to resolve before you pursue your little ‘eye-for-an-eye’ sport. My apologies, Major Pitt, but you must admit, you have only yourself to blame. Your well-aimed kick in such a delicate location will require Darius to limp for at least another two weeks.”

  “I’m only sorry I didn’t boot him twice as hard,”

  Pitt said through clenched teeth.

  Von Till ignored him. He said to the men in the water: “Drop your diving equipment on the bottom, gentlemen. Then climb up on deck. Quickly, we have little time to waste.”

  Thomas raised his mask and threw an if-looks-could-kill stare at von Till “We’re damn well comfortable right where we are.”

  Von Till shrugged. “Very well, it seems you need an incentive.” He turned and shouted into the dim shadows of the cavern. “Hans, the lights!”

  Suddenly, a string of overhead flood lights burst on, illuminating the cavern from ceiling to water. Pitt could now see that the submarine was moored to a floating dock that began at a tunnel entrance on the far wall and extended two hundred feet across the water like an enormous wooden tongue. The domed ceiling was much lower in this inner cavern as compared to the outer one, bu
t its horizontal area was several times larger; the square footage would have easily equaled a football field. Along the right wall, on an overhanging ledge, five men stood in frozen immobility, their hands gripped on leveled machine pistols.

  Each was dressed in the same style of uniform that Pitt had previously seen on von Till’s chauffeur. There was no mistaking the business-like manner in which they aimed their weapons at the men in the water.

  “I think you’d better do as the man says,” Pitt advised.

  The mist returned, but the burning lights kept it to a minimum, dooming any chance for escape. Spencer and Hersong climbed aboard the sub first, followed by Knight and Thomas. Woodson, as usual, was last, still clutching his camera in defiance of von Till's commands.

  Knight helped Pitt off with his airtank. “Let me take a look at your leg, sir.” Gently he eased Pitt to a sitting position on the deck. Then he removed the lead weights from his weight belt and wrapped the nylon webbing around Pitt’s wound, stemming the blood flow. He looked up at Pitt and grinned. “It seems as though everytime I turn around, you’re bleeding.”

  “A messy habit I can’t rid myself of lately—”

  Pitt stopped short. The mist was disappearing again, and the lights had now exposed a second submarine moored on the opposite side of the dock. He surveyed both subs comparing them. The one he and his men rested on had a flush deck from stem to stern, no projections anywhere. The other sub was different; it still retained its original conning tower, a massive structure that sat on its hull like a distorted half-bubble. Three men, backs turned to the drama, behind them, were busily removing the machine guns from a shattered airplane that sat on the broad deck.