"Not exactly." Giordino reached up and opened the cargo door. "After I bloodied his nose and blackened one eye, he got up off the ground and kicked me in the crotch. I walked lopsided for a week."
"You make him sound devious."
"Let's just say that Pitt has a ton of balls, the brains to go with them, and an uncanny knack for knocking the shit out of any obstacle, man made or otherwise, that gets in his way. He is a soft touch for.kids and animals, and helps little old ladies up escalators. To my knowledge, he's never stolen a dime in his life nor used his sly talents for personal gain. Beyond all that, he's one helluva guy."
"Do you think he might have gone too far this time?"
"You mean his stock in a nonexistent aircraft?"
Steiger nodded.
"If Pitt tells you there's a Santa Claus, hang your stocking on the mantel, because you better believe it."
Pitt crouched on his knees in an aluminum rowboat and fine-tuned the TV monitor. Steiger sat toward the bow and struggled with the oars. Giordino was in another boat, about twenty feet forward, nearly hidden behind a pile of battery-powered transmitters.
14
As he rowed, he kept a wary eye on the cable that crept over the stern and disappeared into the water. At the other end was a TV camera enclosed in a watertight case.
"Wake me when a good horror movie comes on," Giordino said, yawning, across the water.
"Keep rowing," Steiger grunted. "I'm beginning to gain on you."
Pitt did not join in the idle banter. His concentration was focused on the screen. A frigid afternoon breeze rolled down the mountain slopes and turned the glassy surface of the lake into a mild chop, making it difficult for Giordino's and Steiger's aching arms to keep the two boats on an even course.
Since early morning the only objects that had strayed past the monitor were scattered mounds of rocks embedded in the muddy bottom, rotting remains of long-dead trees whose leafless branches seemed to clutch at the passing camera, and a few startled rainbow trout who gave the intruding camera a respectable berth.
"Wouldn't it have been easier to conduct a search with scuba equipment?" Steiger said, cutting into Pitt's fixed scrutiny.
Pitt rubbed his strained eyes with the palms of his hands. "TV is far more efficient. Also, the lake is two hundred feet deep in spots. A diver's bottom time at that depth is measured in mere minutes. Add to that the fact that fifty feet beneath the surface the water turns almost to freezing and you have one damned uncomfortable situation. A man would be lucky if his body could withstand the cold more than ten minutes."
"And if we find something?"
"Then I'll put on a wet suit and go over the side for a look-see, but not one second before."
Something materialized on the monitor and Pitt leaned forward for a closer look, shielding the outside light with a black cloth.
"I think we just picked up Giordino's horror movie," he said.
"What is it?" Steiger demanded excitedly.
"Looks like an old log cabin."
"A log cabin?"
"See for yourself."
Steiger bent around Pitt's shoulder and gazed at the screen. The camera, one hundred forty feet below the boats, relayed through the icy water a picture of what seemed to be a distorted structure. The sun's wavering light through the choppy surface and the hazy visibility at that depth combined to give it a ghostlike image.
"How in the world did that get there?" asked a bewildered Steiger.
"No great secret," said Pitt. "Table Lake is man made. The state dammed up the stream that flows through this valley in 1945. An abandoned lumber mill that stood near the old streambed was submerged when the water rose. The cabin we see must have been one of the old bunkhouses."
Giordino rowed back for a look. "All that's missing is a 'for sale' sign."
"Amazingly well preserved," murmured Steiger.
"Thanks to the near-freezing fresh water," Pitt added. Then, "So much for the local tourist attraction. Shall we continue?"