Giordino stared coldly at the coroner. "Do you want an identification or not?"
The coroner, a little man with bleary eyes and a great bush of gray hair, barely knew enough English to understand Giordino, but he nodded silently to his assistant who pulled down the zipper.
Loren paled and turned away, but Sandecker moved close beside Giordino.
"Is it. . ."
Giordino shook his head. "No, it's not Dirk. It's that psycho creep, Tupac Amaru."
"Good Lord, he looks as if he was churned through an empty cement mixer."
"Almost as bad," said Duncan, shuddering at the ghastly sight. "The rapids must have beat him against every rock between here and Cerro el Capirote."
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Giordino muttered acidly.
"Somewhere between the treasure cavern and the Gulf," said Duncan, "the river must erupt into a rampage."
"No sign of another body?" Sandecker asked Hidalgo.
"Nothing, senor. This is the only one we found, but we have orders to continue the search for the second man."
Sandecker turned away from Amaru. "If Dirk hasn't been cast out into the Gulf by now, he must still be underground."
"Maybe he was washed up on a beach or a sandbank," offered Shannon hopefully. "He might still be alive."
"Can't you launch an expedition down the subterranean river to find him?" Rodgers asked the admiral.
Sandecker shook his head slowly. "I won't send a team of men to certain death."
"The admiral is right," said Giordino. "There could be a dozen cascades like the one Pitt and I went over. Even with a Hovercraft like the Wallowing Windbag, it's extremely doubtful anyone can gain safe passage through a hundred kilometers of water peppered with rapids and rocks."
"If that isn't enough," added Duncan, "there's the submerged caverns to get through before surfacing in the Gulf. Without an ample air supply, drowning would be inescapable."
How far do you think he might drift?" Sandecker asked him.
"From the treasure chamber?"
"Yes."
Duncan thought a moment. "Pitt might have a chance if he managed to reach a dry shore within five hundred meters. We could tie a man on a guideline and safely send him downstream that far, and then pull them back against the current."
"And if no sign of Pitt is found before the guideline runs out?" asked Giordino.
Duncan shrugged solemnly. "Then if his body doesn't surface in the Gulf, we'll never find him."
"Is there any hope for Dirk?" Loren pleaded. "Any hope at all?"
Duncan looked from Giordino to Sandecker before answering. All eyes reflected abject hopelessness and their faces were etched with despair. He turned back to Loren and said gently, "I can't lie to you, Miss Smith." The words appeared to cause him great discomfort. "Dirk's chances are as good as any badly injured man's of reaching Lake Mead outside of Las Vegas after being cast adrift in the Colorado River at the entrance to the Grand Canyon."
The words came like a physical blow to Loren. She began to sway on her feet. Giordino reached out and grabbed her arm. It seemed that her heart stopped, and she whispered, "To me, Dirk Pitt will never die."
"The fish are a little shy today," said Joe Hagen to his wife, Claire.
She was lying on her belly on the roof of the boat's main cabin, barely wearing a purple bikini with the halter untied, reading a magazine. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and laughed. "You couldn't catch a fish if it jumped up and landed in the boat."
He laughed. "Just wait and see."
"The only fish you'll find this far north in the Gulf is shrimp," she nagged.