Pacific Vortex! (Dirk Pitt 1)

“Did what he wanted to do,” Hunter said hopelessly, his voice trailing off softly.

“Welcome back to the land of the walking dead.”

Pitt slowly focused his eyes and looked up into the ever-grinning face of Giordino.

“Who’s walking?” Pitt muttered. He wished he were unconscious again, wished the burning ache in his gashed arm and the throb from his bruised head belonged to someone else. He didn’t move; he just lay there and soaked up the sea of pain.

“For a while there I thought you’d need a casket.” Giordino said casually.

He held out his hand and Giordino pulled him to a sitting position. Pitt blinked his eyes to remove the sand and saltwater. “Where in hell are we?”

“An underwater cave,” Giordino answered. “I found it right after you blacked out and we escaped from that god-awful current.”

Pitt looked around the small chamber, lit dimly by Giordino’s dented dive light. It was about twenty feet wide and thirty feet long, and the ceiling was between five and ten feet high. Three quarters of the floor was water while the remainder consisted of the rocky shelf that he and Giordino rested on. The walls of the semi-flooded gallery were smooth and covered by a score of tiny crabs that scooted about the ledge like frightened ants.

“I wonder how deep we are,” Pitt murmured.

“My depth gauge read eighty feet outside the entrance.”

Pitt longed for a cigarette. He dragged his sore body across the shelf to one wall and leaned against it, staring in dumb fascination at the blood that splotched his black rubber wet suit

“A pity I don’t have a camera,” said Giordino. “You’d make a great human interest story.”

“Looks worse than it really is,” Pitt lied. He nodded at Giordino’s feet “I’m sorry I can’t say the same about your bug-crushers.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of my piggies will be going to market for a while.” Giordino coughed up mucus and spat it in the water. “Now what?”

“We can’t go back outside,” Pitt said thoughtfully. “With all this blood, we’d draw every shark within ten miles.” He paused, glanced at his watch, and then stared at the water. “We’ve got nearly two hours before the Monitor cuts loose. What say we spend it looking around?”

Giordino’s expression was devoid of enthusiasm. “We’re hardly in prime condition to go exploring caves.”

“You know how easily I get bored sitting around.”

Giordino wearily shook his head. “The things I do for a friend.” He took careful aim at a crab, spat, and missed. “I guess anything beats an evening with these guys.”

“What’s the status of our equipment?” “I’d hoped you wouldn’t ask,” Giordino said. “All in about the same shape I’m in. Except for our air tanks, which are, if you’ll pardon the expression, on their last gasp, we have exactly one face mask, forty feet of nylon line, one flipper, and this light which has just about had it”

“Forget the air tanks. I’ll try a free dive first” Pitt slipped the fin on a foot and took the nylon cord, wrapping one end around his waist “You rest easy and hold on to the other end of the line. When you feel three jerks, get out of there fast. Two jerks, pull like hell. One jerk, follow me in.”

“It’ll be lonesome here,” Giordino sighed. “Just me and the crabs.”

Pitt grinned. “You won’t be lonely long.”

Pitt picked up the light and sat on the edge of the shelf. He inhaled and exhaled several times, hyperventilating to purge the carbon dioxide from his system. Finally, satisfied that his lungs could hold no more, he slid into the gloomy water and stroked toward the bottom of the cavern.

Pitt was an excellent diver. He could stay underwater, holding his breath, for nearly two minutes. His muscles ached and the bloody cuts in his skin smarted from the saltwater, but he plunged downward with one hand touching the smooth surface of the wall, while the other gripped and aimed the light. The wall sloped on a broken angle for fifteen feet and then leveled out into a confining shaft Pitt came to a mound of fallen rock that nearly blocked his forward progress, but he managed to snake over the obstacle and found that the walls began expanding away from his line of vision. He pulled his body through into the new chamber and made a gliding ascent, slowly waving the one flipper.

In a matter of seconds, he popped into sweet air and a gallery that was flooded by a soft yellow glow. It was a golden world, a world of yellow where even the shadows were cast in matching hues. The roof was at least twenty feet high and glistened with a mass of tiny stalactites which trickled water in small splashing drops throughout the interior.

Pitt breast-stroked through the gold-tinted water to a rock-carved grand stairway which stretched into a long curving tunnel with odd-looking triangular-grooved notches imbedded in the steps. Two effigies of square-bearded men with fishtails instead of legs, crouched in a sphinxlike fashion on each side of the landing. The statues were deeply eroded from the dripping water and appeared to be extremely old.

He hoisted his buttocks onto the bottom step of the landing and removed his mask, blinking his eyes to adjust to the eerie strangeness of the light The tightness of the wetsuit began to irritate his arm. Tenderly, favoring the gashes on his arm, he managed to slip it from his body. When he unwrapped the nylon cord from around his waist he noticed a scant three feet of slack. He gave the cord one sharp tug and as soon as it became taut, he hauled it in hand over hand until Giordino’s curly head popped to the surface.

“I’ve gone to a yellow hell,” Giordino sputtered. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and extended his hand to Pitt.

“Welcome to Delphi’s House of Horrors.” He grabbed Giordino’s hand and hauled him from the water onto the step.

Giordino nodded toward the sculptures. “The local reception committee?” He rubbed a hand over one of the squared-off beards, stroking the stony surface. “Any idea what causes the weird light?”