Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

Pitt limped back to the cockpit, slid into the copilot's seat, and picked up the radio microphone. He brushed aside all caution as he pressed the transmit button. To hell with any bought-and-paid-for Solpemachaco cronies who were monitoring the airwaves, he thought.

"NUMA calling Deep Fathom. Talk to me, Stucky."

"Come in, NUMA. This is Deep Fathom. What is your position?"

My, what big eyes you have, and how your voice has changed, Grandma."

"Say again, NUMA."

"Not even a credible effort." Pitt laughed. "Rich Little you ain't." He looked over at Giordino. "We've got a comic impersonator on our party line."

"I think you better give him our position," Giordino said with more than a trace of cynicism in his voice.

"Right you are." Pitt nodded. "Deep Fathom, this is NUMA. Our position is just south of the Magic Castle between Jungleland and the Pirates of the Caribbean."

"Please repeat your position," came the voice of the flustered mercenary who had broken in on Pitt's call to Stucky.

"What's this, a radio commercial for Disneyland?" Stucky's familiar voice popped over the speaker.

"Well, well, the genuine article. What took you so long to answer, Stucky?"

I was listening to what my alter ego had to say. You guys landed in Chiclayo yet?"

"We were sidetracked and decided to head home," said Pitt. "Is the skipper handy?"

"He's on the bridge playing Captain Bligh, lashing the crew in an attempt to set a speed record.

Another knot and our rivets will start falling out."

"We do not have a visual on you. Do you have

us on radar?"

"Affirmative," answered Stucky. "Change your heading to two-seven-two magnetic. That will put us on a converging course."

"Altering course to two-seven-two," Giordino acknowledged.

How far to rendezvous?" Pitt asked Stucky.

"The skipper makes it about sixty kilometers."

"They should be in sight soon." Pitt looked over at Giordino. "What do you think?"

Giordino stared woefully at the fuel gauges, then at the instrument panel clock. The dial read 10:47

A.m. He couldn't believe so much had happened in so little time since he and Pitt had responded to the rescue appeal by the imposter of Doc Miller. He swore it took three years off his life expectancy.

"I'm milking her for every liter of fuel at an airspeed of only forty klicks an hour," he said finally. "A slight tailwind off the shore helps, but I estimate we have only another fifteen or twenty minutes of flight time left. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Let us hope the gauges read on the low side," said Pitt. "Hello, Stucky."

"I'm here."

"You'd better prepare for a water rescue. All predictions point to a wet landing."

"I'll pass the word to the skipper. Alert me when you ditch."

"You'll be the first to know."