Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

"Must be a chart of the area around somewhere and a pair of dividers."

Shannon found a navigation kit in a pocket beside her seat and passed it to Pitt. He removed a chart and unfolded it against her back. Using the dividers, careful not to stick the points through the chart paper and st

ab her, Pitt laid out a course to the Peruvian coast.

"I estimate roughly three hundred kilometers to the Deep Fathom."

"What's Deep Fathom?" asked Shannon.

"Our research ship."

"Surely you don't intend to land at sea when one of Peru's largest cities is much closer?"

"She means the international airport at Trujillo," explained Giordino.

"The Solpemachaco has too many friends to suit me," said Pitt. "Friends who have enough clout to order in a regiment of mercenaries at a moment's notice. Once they spread the word we stole a helicopter and sent the pride of their military to a graveyard, our lives won't be worth the spare tire inside the trunk of an Edsel. We'll be safer on board an American ship outside their offshore limit until we can arrange for our U.S. Embassy staff to make a full report to honest officials in the Peruvian government."

"I see your point," agreed Shannon. "But don't overlook the archaeology students. They know the whole story. Their parents are very influential and will see that a true account of their abduction and the pillaging of national treasures hits the news media."

"You're assuming, of course," Giordino said matter-of-factly, "that a Peruvian posse won't cut us off at any one of twenty passes between here and the sea."

"On the contrary," replied Pitt. "I'm counting on it. Care to bet the other assault helicopter isn't chasing our tail rotor as we speak?"

"So we hug the ground and dodge sheep and cows until we cross over water," acknowledged Giordino.

"Precisely. Cuddling with low clouds won't hurt matters either."

"Forgetting a little something, aren't you?" said Shannon wearily, as though reminding a husband who neglected to carry out the trash. "If my math is correct, our fuel tanks will run dry twenty kilometers short of your ship. I hope you aren't proposing we swim the rest of the way."

"We solve that insignificant problem," said Pitt calmly, "by calling up the ship and arranging for it to run full speed on a converging course."

"Every klick helps," said Giordino, "but we'll still be cutting it a mite fine."

"Survival is guaranteed," Pitt said confidently. "This aircraft carries life vests for everyone on board plus two life rafts. I know-- I checked when I walked through the main cabin." He paused, turned, and looked back. Rodgers was checking to see all the students had their shoulder harnesses on properly.

"Our pursuers will be on to us the instant you make contact with your vessel," Shannon persisted bleakly. "They'll know exactly where to intercept and shoot us down."

"Not," Pitt replied loftily, "if I play my cards right."

Setting the office chair to almost a full reclining position, communications technician Jim Stucky settled in comfortably and began reading a paperback mystery novel by Wick Downing. He had finally gotten used to the thump that reverberated throughout the hull of the NUMA oceanographic ship, Deep Fathom, every time the sonar unit bounced a signal off the seafloor of the Peru Basin. Boredom had set in soon after the vessel began endlessly cruising back and forth charting the geology 2500 fathoms below the ship's keel. Stucky was in the middle of the chapter where a woman's body is found floating inside a waterbed when Pitt's voice crackled over the speaker.

"NUMA calling Deep Fathom. You awake, Stucky?"

Stucky jerked erect and pressed the transmit button. "This is Deep Fathom. I read you, NUMA.

Please stand by." While Pitt waited, Stucky alerted his skipper over the ship's speaker system.

Captain Frank Stewart hurried from the bridge into the communications cabin. "Did I hear you correctly? You're in contact with Pitt and Giordino?"

Stucky nodded. "Pitt is standing by."

Stewart picked up the microphone. "Dirk, this is Frank Stewart."

"Good to hear your beer-soaked voice again, Frank."

"What have you guys been up to? Admiral Sandecker has been erupting like a volcano the past twenty-four hours, demanding to know your status."

"Believe me, Frank, it hasn't been a good day."