Pacific Vortex! (Dirk Pitt 1)

“Yes, the vented heat from their power plants coming in contact with the cooler water causes a mist-like condensation. Presto: instant fog bank!”

Pitt pushed himself upright to a sitting position. He tried to read the hands on his watch but the dial was a blur.

“How long have I been out?”

“You were discovered in my daughter’s sleeping quarters precisely forty minutes ago.” Delphi stared speculatively at Pitt’s bruised and scarred body, betraying no degree of emotion or concern.

“A nasty habit of mine,” Pitt said, smiling. “Always showing up in ladies’ bedrooms at inconvenient times.”

Delphi maintained his bland expression. The silver-haired giant sat on a white, sculptured stone couch lined with red satin cushions while Pitt noted wryly that he was delegated to the cold, marble-smooth floor.

He ignored Delphi for a moment and took in the surroundings. It looked like one of those futuristic displays at world expositions. The room was of comfortable proportions, about twenty-five square feet, with walls decorated with original oil paintings of seascapes grouped in neat but casual array. Incandescent lighting came from rounded brass fixtures beamed at a white ceiling.

Toward the far wall was a broad walnut desk with a red leather top, handsome matching desk furniture, and a modern and expensive intercom. But the unique innovation that set the room apart from anything that might even slightly resemble it, was the large transparent portal into the sea. It was an arch nearly ten feet wide, and eight feet high; through the thick, clear crystal Pitt could see a garden of spiral- and mushroom-shaped rocks that were outlined by underwater lights. An eight-foot moray eel slithered along the lower edge of the portal and cast a stony eye at the occupants of the room. Delphi did not notice the eel; the golden eyes beneath his half-closed lids were still aimed at Pitt.

Pitt’s gaze wandered back to Delphi.

“You don’t seem talkative this morning.” Delphi smiled. “Perhaps you’re concerned with the fate of your friend?”

“Friend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man with the injured feet. You left him in an abandoned passageway.”

“Litter is everywhere these days.”

“It’s stupid of you to continue your display of ignorance. My men have discovered your aircraft”

“Another bad habit. I double-park.”

Delphi ignored the remark. “You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Okay, I’ll tell all,” Pitt said randomly. “I chartered a plane to fly to Las Vegas on the special casino tour and we got lost. That’s all there is to it, I swear.”

“Very witty,” Delphi said wearily. “Later you’ll be begging for mercy.”

“I’ve always wondered how I’d bear up under torture.”

“Not you, Pitt. I wouldn’t consider causing you the slightest discomfort. There are several more refined methods of getting at the truth.” Delphi rose from the couch and bent over the intercom. “Bring me the other.” He straightened and offered Pitt a rigidly fixed and lifeless smile. “Make yourself comfortable. I promise the wait will be short.”

Pitt rose awkwardly to his feet He should have been reeling from dizziness and exhaustion. Yet, unaccountably, the adrenaline began to pump and his mind ran sharp.

He stole a glance at his watch. It read 0410. Fifty minutes until the marines attacked the transmitter on Maui. Fifty minutes until the Monitor blew the seamount into gravel There was little chance of getting out alive now. The sacrifice would be worth it, he thought grimly, if only Crowhaven got the Starbuck underway. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the Starbuck cutting a course through the ocean back to Hawaii, but somehow the picture wouldn’t come.

Crowhaven could not remember when he had seen so much blood. The deck of the control room was coated with it, while several places along the electrical panels were splattered wildly in the manner of a Jackson Pollock abstract painting.

Things had gone smoothly at first Too smoothly. The entry into the aft storage compartment had gone off without opposition; they’d even had time to remove their diving gear and take a short breather. But when the advance party of SEAL’s crept into the Starbuck’s control room, hell broke loose.

For Crowhaven, the next four minutes were the most frightening of his life. Four minutes of ear-splitting thunder spouting from the automatic weapons in the hands of the SEAL’s, four minutes of groans and cries that amplified and echoed around the steel-walled interior of the sunken submarine.

Delphi’s men were firing their strange silent guns until cut down by no less than six to eight solid hits from the SEAL’s rapid fire weapons. He wondered how it was possible for anyone to stand up to such punishment unless they had gone mad. Three men were killed outright and the other four

had died since his message to Hunter. Nothing could have saved them. As for his side, one SEAL was dead; one of those bastards tying on the deck had struck him through the left temple, and three more were wounded seriously. Gritting their teeth against the pain, they were secure in the knowledge that he, Crowhaven the Wizard, was going to raise this big steel deathtrap and get them proper medical treatment faster than a speeding bullet.

But he was already fourteen minutes behind schedule. He was sorry he’d put his foot in his mouth by promising Admiral Hunter to have the Starbuck underway by 0400. It was the suction-six months of lying on the bottom of the ocean had built up a staggering suction around the hull. All the ballast vents had been blown; but it hadn’t been enough to break away from the clutching grip of the seafloor. He began to wonder bleakly if they were going to meet the same fate as the Starbuck’s original crew.

His second in command, a scowling chief petty officer, approached.

“There’s nothing left to dump, Commander. Main ballast tanks are empty, and all diesel fuel and freshwater tanks have been blown. She still won’t budge, sir.”