Lost City (NUMA Files 5)

He gave the pilot a thumbs-up. The cable went taut and the helicopter rose slightly and hung in space with its rotors madly slashing the air. Despite the ear-shattering racket, the submersible and trailer only lifted a few inches off the deck. The combined weight of the sub, trailer and cargo were beyond the aircraft's lifting capacity. Austin signaled the chopper to ease off. The line went slack and the load thumped back onto the deck.

Austin pointed to the helicopter and shouted in Francois's ear. "Tell them to stay where they are until I figure this out." As Francois translated, Austin got on his own radio and called Zavala, whose helicopter had been circling high above the ship. "We've got a problem," Austin said.

"So I see. Wish this chopper was a sky crane," he said, referring to the huge industrial helicopters that were designed to hoist big loads.

"We may not need one." Austin laid out what he had in mind. Zavala laughed and said, "My life must have been very dull before I met you." "Well?"

"Tricky," Zavala said. "Dangerous as hell. Audacious. But possible." Austin never doubted his partner's flying skills. Zavala had thousands of hours as a pilot in helicopters, small jet and turboprop aircraft. It was the vagaries, the unexpected that bothered him. A shift of the wind, human inattention or equipment failure could turn a carefully calculated risk into a disaster. In this case, the job could end with a mix-up in translation. He had to be sure the message was clear.

He pulled Francois aside and told him what he wanted the French pilot to do. Then he made him repeat his instructions back to him. Francois nodded in understanding. He spoke into his radio and the

French helicopter moved off to the side so that the lifting line was at an angle.

Zavala's chopper darted in and dropped a line, which Austin quickly spliced onto the harness. He gave the choppers a visual check, making sure there was plenty of space between the two aircraft. They would be pulled together by the weight they were lifting and he didn't want the helicopters tangling rotors.

Once more, Austin gave the signal to lift. The rotors churned away in earsplitting concert and this time the submersible and trailer seemed to leap skyward. A foot. Two feet. A yard. Two yards. The pilots were well aware of the fact that the helicopters were of unequal size and power, and adjusted for the difference with amazing skill.

They rose in slow motion, the strange load swinging between them until they were a couple of hundred feet above the lake's surface, and then they flew toward land until they were lost against the dark rock of the mountains. Zavala kept up a running commentary over the radio. He had to break off a couple of times to correct his position.

Austin didn't breathe easily until he heard Zavala's laconic announcement: "The eagles have landed."

Austin and several crewmen scrambled into

a small boat and were on shore waiting when the helicopters came back, flying side by side, and landed on the beach. Austin climbed into Zavala's chopper and the French helicopter took on crew from the Mummichug.

Minutes later, they dropped down for a landing near the bright yellow SEA mobile which was on its trailer in front of the tunnel entrance. Austin supervised the crew as they adjusted the sub's load. Then the trailer was backed into the sloping tunnel to the water's edge. Chocks were inserted behind the wheels, while Austin left the tunnel to confer with Lessard. At Austin's request, the plant supervisor had retrieved another blueprint from his trove. He spread it out on a flat rock.

"These are the internal aluminum supports I told you about. You'll

encounter them a few hundred feet inside the tunnel. There are twelve sets laid three abreast, approximately ten yards between one set and the other."

"The submersible is less than eight feet wide," Austin said. "I've figured out that I'll only have to cut one column in each set to squeeze through."

"I suggest that you stagger your cuts. In other words, don't cut the same column position in every set. As you can see by this diagram,

the ceiling is the thinnest here of any place within the tunnel. You've got hundreds of tons of ice and rock pressing down on the tunnel."

"I've figured that into the equation."

Lessard's eyes bored into Austin's face. "I called Paris after you posed your plan and talked to a friend in the state power company. He said this end of the tunnel was built to move the lab trailers into place. It was discarded as prime access because as time went on there was danger of the roof collapsing. The columns were installed to keep the tunnel open as a ventilating air shaft. This is what worries me," he said, drawing his finger across the top of the tunnel drawn on the blueprint. "There's a large unstable pocket of water here. Because of the lateness of the season, it is even bigger than usual. If there is a weakness in the support system, the whole ceiling could come down."

"It's worth the risk," Austin said.

"You've considered the possibility that you're risking your lives in vain, that the people are already dead."

Austin replied with a grim smile, "We won't know that until we take a look, will we?"

Lessard regarded Austin with an expression of admiration. The American with the pale hair and arresting blue eyes was either insane or supremely confident in his abilities. "You must like this woman very much."

"I only met her a few days ago, but we have a dinner date in Paris and I intend to keep it."

Lessard replied with a shrug. Gallantry was something a Frenchman could appreciate. "The first few weeks are the time of maximum attraction between a man and a woman, before they know each other well. Well, bonne chance, mon ami. I see your friend wants your attention."

Austin thanked Lessard for his advice and went over to where Zavala was standing in front of the tunnel entrance.

"I've gone over the sub's control system. Pretty simple stuff," Zavala said.

"I knew you wouldn't have a problem." Austin took a last glance around. "Time to vamoose, amigo."