Treasure of Khan (Dirk Pitt 19)

"My compliments, Captain. Your skill at the helm was as artistic as Rachmaninoff on the piano," Pitt said.

"I couldn't bear the thought of seeing my old ship go down," Popovich replied, staring at the Vereshchagin nostalgically. "I started out scrubbing decks on that babushka," he grinned. "Captain Kharitonov is also an old friend. I would hate to see him get in trouble with the state."

"Thanks to you, the Vereshchagin will sail the waters of Baikal again. I trust that Captain Kharitonov will be in command when she does."

"I pray so as well. He told me over the radio that it was an act of sabotage. Perhaps it was one of these environmental groups. They act like they own Baikal."

For the first time, Pitt considered the thought. Sabotage it appeared to be, but by whom? And for what purpose? Perhaps Sarghov would know the answer.

In Listvyanka, a flurry of activity roused the town in the late hour as the locals rushed to offer assistance following the near tragedy. Several small fishing boats acted as shuttles, running crew members to shore and back, while others assisted in tying up the grounded ship for safety. An adjacent fish-packing plant, its floors still damp from minor flooding only hours earlier, was opened up for the crew and scientists to gather and rest. Coffee and vodka were served with zeal by the local fishing wives, accompanied by fresh smoked omul to those with a late-night appetite.

Pitt and Popovich were welcomed with a cheer and applause as they entered the warehouse. Captain Kharitonov gratefully thanked both men, then, with uncharacteristic emotion, threw a bear hug around his old friend Popovich in appreciation.

"You saved the Vereshchagin. I am most grateful, comrade."

"I am glad to have been of help. It was Mr. Pitt who wisely recognized the worth of utilizing my ferry, however."

"I just hope next time I won't need to call on you in the middle of the night, Ivan." Pitt smiled, glancing down at the bedroom slippers Popovich still wore on his feet. Turning to Captain Kharitonov, Pitt asked, "Has all the crew been accounted for?"

An unsettled look crossed the captain's face. "The bridge watchman Anatoly has not been seen. And Dr. Sarghov is also missing. I had hoped he might be with you."

"Alexander? No, he was not with us. I haven't seen him since we turned in after dinner."

"He was not aboard any of the lifeboats," Kharitonov replied.

A subdued-looking Giordino and Gunn approached Pitt with their heads hung down.

"That's not all who's missing," Giordino said, overhearing the conversation. "The entire oil survey team that we rescued has vanished. Not a one made it into any of the lifeboats, and they were not in their cabins."

"I was able to check all of their cabins but the fisherman's," Gunn added with a nod.

"No one saw them leave the ship?" Pitt asked.

"No," Giordino said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gone without a trace. It's as if they never existed."

-6-

WHEN THE SUN CRAWLED up the southeast horizon several hours later, the precarious state of the Vereshchagin became clearly apparent in the dawn's light. The engine room, stern hold, and lower-berth cabins were completely submerged, while water sloshed over nearly a third of the main deck. Just how many more minutes the ship would have stayed afloat had she not been towed ashore was a game of pure conjecture, but the answer was obvious to all: Not very long. Standing near the remains of a tourist kiosk that was leveled by the seiche wave, Pitt and Captain Kharitonov surveyed the grounded research ship. Off her stern, Pitt watched as a pair of shiny black nerpa popped to the surface and swam over the stern rail. Small doe-eyed seals that inhabit the lake, they floated lazily about the flooded stern deck before vanishing under the water in search of food. As Pitt waited for the nerpa to resurface, he gazed at the ship's waterline, noting a small smudge of red paint amidships that had rubbed off a dock or small boat.

"A salvage repair crew from Irkutsk will not arrive until tomorrow," Kharitonov said with a grim expression. "I will have the crew activate the portable pumps, though I suppose there is little purpose until we can determine the exact cause of the damage."

"More pressing is the disappearance of Alexander and the oil survey team," Pitt replied. "Since they have not been found ashore, we must assume they didn't make it out alive. The flooded portion of the ship must be searched for their remains."

The captain nodded with reluctant acceptance. "Yes, we must locate my friend Alexander. I am afraid we will have to wait for a police dive team to give us the answer."

"I don't think you'll have to wait that long, Captain," Pitt said, nodding toward an approaching figure.

Fifty yards away, Al Giordino marched along the waterfront toward the two men, toting a red-handled pair of bolt cutters over his shoulder.

"Found these at a garage sale in town," Giordino said, hoisting the bolt cutters off his shoulder. The long handles stretched half his height from the ground to his waist.

"Should allow us access to the verboten portions of the ship," Pitt said.

"You? You will investigate the damage?" Kharitonov asked, surprised at the Americans' initiative.

"We need to find out if Alexander and the others are still aboard," Giordino said with a stern look.