The Mediterranean Caper (Dirk Pitt 2)

“It’s not an uncommon occurrence in an area that’s free of outer reefs.”

“It’s a good sign,” Pitt said thoughtfully.

“How so?”

“Plenty of room for a sub to maneuver without surface detection.”

“At night maybe,” Gunn said. “Too obvious during the day. The water visibility is almost a hundred feet. Anyone standing on the bluffs within a mile in either direction could easily look down and spot a three hundred foot hull that was crawling over the bottom.”

“It shouldn't be too difficult to spot a diver either,” Pitt turned and gazed up at the villa, nestled like a fortress on the craggy side of the mountain.

“You’re mad to take a chance like this,” Gunn said slowly. “Von Till can see any movement you make.

I’ll bet a dime to a donut that He’s had a pair of binoculars trained on us every second since we upped anchor.”

“I’m betting on it too,” Pitt murmured. He lost; himself for a moment in the beauty of the scene. The azure arms of the Aegean encircled the ancient island seascape in a dazzling reflection of sun and water. Only the voice of the crashing surf answered the steady hum of the ship’s engines, punctuated occasionally by the shriek of a solitary gull. Above the rocky cliffs, a herd of cattle grazed on a sloping green pasture, like tiny immovable shapes in a Rembrandt landscape. And below, in sheltered coves among the lesser cliffs, piles of sun-bleached driftwood lay dead and still on tiny shell carpeted beaches.

Pitt nearly lingered too long. He tugged his mind back to the job at hand. That mysterious area of calm water was coming up now, only three quarters of a mile away off the port bow. He laid a hand on Gunn’s shoulder and pointed.

“The flat pond.”

Gunn nodded. “OK, got it. At our present speed we should be alongside in ten minutes. Is your team ready?”

“All set and primed,” Pitt answered briefly. “They know what to expect. I’ve got them stationed along the starboard cabin deck; out of sight to any prying eyes from the villa.”

Gunn replaced his cap. “Be sure you order them to leap plenty clear of the hull. Getting sucked into a prop can be a very

messy business.”

“I doubt that they have to be ordered,” Pitt said quietly. “They’re all good men. You told me so yourself.”

“Damn right,” Gunn snorted. He turned to Pitt. “I’m going to keep the ship close-in to the shoreline for another three miles. We might fool von Till into thinking we’re on a routine sounding course to chart the shallows. It might work, I don’t know. For your sake I hope he’s taken in.”

“Well soon find out.” Pitt checked his watch against the ship’s chronometer. “What time do you make your rendezvous?”

"I'll run a series of doglegs on the return course and arrive back here at 1410. That gives you exactly fifty minutes to find the sub and get out.” Gunn dug a cigar out of a breast pocket and lit it “You and my men be waiting for the ship, you hear me?”

Pitt didn’t answer immediately. A broad smile broke across his lips, and his vivid green eyes seemed to be laughing.

Gunn looked puzzled. “What did I say that’s so funny?”

“For a moment you reminded me of my mother. She always used to say that when my ship came in I’d probably be waiting at the bus depot”

Gunn ruefully shook his head. “If you don’t come back at least I’ll know where to look. Well, let’s get on with it. You had better climb into your diving gear.”

Pitt simply waved in acknowledgment, left the hot confine of the wheelhouse and dropped down the ladder to the First Attempt’s starboard cabin deck. He found five deeply tanned men waiting for him, probably. Pitt reflected, the five most eager and intelligent men he’d ever known. Like himself, they wore only black bikini swim trunks. All were busily engaged in adjusting breathing regulators and strapping on air tanks; each man rechecked the other’s equipment, making certain the tank valves and harness webbing were in their proper position.

The nearest diver, Ken Knight, looked up at Pitt’s arrival. “I have your gear all ready for you, Major. I hope a single hose regulator will be OK, NUMA didn’t issue us any doubles this trip.”

“A single hose will do fine,” Pitt replied. He pulled on a pair of fins and strapped a knife to his right calf; then he slipped a mask over his head and adjusted the snorkel. The mask was the wide-angle type that gave the wearer a one hundred and eighty degree range of vision. Next came the air tank and the regulator. He was about to struggle with the tank harness when suddenly the forty pound outfit was swept from the deck and held at his back by two massive, hairy arms.

“How you could ever get through a day without my services,” said the voice of Giordino pompously, “is a mystery to me.”

“The real mystery is why l put up with your jackhammer mouth and overabundant ego,” Pitt said sourly.

“There you go, picking on me again,” Giordino tried to sound wounded but couldn’t quite pull it off. He turned and looked down at the passing water and, after a long pause, muttered very slowly; “Christ! Look at the clarity of that water. It’s sharper than a goldfish bowl.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Pitt unsheathed the barbed tip of a six foot pole spear and checked the elasticity of the rubber sling attached to the butt end. “Have you studied your lesson?”