"You could grab one and play Tarzan," said Gunn, injecting some humor into a potentially dangerous situation.

"Only if I saw Jane--"

Gunn tensed at Pitt's sudden pause. "What is it? Are you okay?"

When Pitt answered, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. "I almost grabbed what I took to be a thick vine. But it was a snake the size of a drainpipe with a mouth like an alligator."

"What color?"

"Black with yellowish brown spots."

"A boa constrictor," explained Gunn. "He might give you a big hug, but he's not poisonous. Pet him on the head for me."

"Like hell," Pitt snorted. "If he so much as looks cross-eyed at me, he meets Madame LaFarge.

"Who?"

"My machete."

"What else do you see?"

"Several magnificent butterflies, a number of insects that look like they belong on an alien planet, and a parrot too shy to ask for a cracker. You wouldn't believe the size of the flowers growing out of nooks in the trees. There are violets the size of my head."

Conversation dropped off as Pitt chopped his way through a low tree with dense branches. He was sweating like a prizefighter in the last round of a championship match, and his clothes were soaked through from the heavy moisture clinging to the leaves of the trees. As he raised the machete, his arm brushed a vine armored with thorns that shredded his shirt sleeve and sliced his forearm as neatly as claws on a cat. Luckily, the cuts were not deep or painful, and he disregarded them.

"Stop the winch," he said as he felt firm ground beneath his feet. "I'm down."

"Any sign of the galleon?" Gunn asked anxiously.

Pitt did not immediately answer. He tucked the machete under his arm and turned a complete circle, unclipping the safety harness as he surveyed his surroundings. It was like being at the bottom of a leafy ocean. There was scarcely any light, and what little was available had the same eerie quality a diver would experience at 60 meters (196 feet) beneath the surface of the sea. The dense vegetation blotted out most of the color spectrum from the little sunlight that reached him, leaving only green and blue mixed with gray.

He was pleasantly surprised to find the rain forest was not impassable at ground level. Except for a soft carpet of decomposing leaves and twigs, the floor beneath the canopy of trees was comparatively free of growth, with none of the heaps of moldering vegetation he had expected. Now that he was standing in the sunless depths he could easily understand why plant life that grew close to the ground was scarce.

"I see nothing that resembles the hull of a ship," he said. "No ribs, no beams, no keel."

"A bust," said Gunn, the disillusionment coming through in his voice. "The mag must have read a natural iron deposit."

"No," Pitt replied, striving to keep his voice calm, "I can't say that."

"What are you telling us?"

"Only that the fungi, insects, and bacteria that call this place home have made a meal out of every organic component of the ship. Not too surprising when you figure that they had four hundred years to devour it down to the keel."

Gunn went silent, not quite comprehending. Then it struck him like a lightning bolt.

"Oh, my God!" he yelped. "We found it. You're actually standing on the wreck of the galleon."

"Dead center."

"You say all sign of the hull is gone?" Giordino cut in.

"All that remains is covered by moss and humus, but I think I can make out some ceramic pots, a few scattered cannon shot, one anchor, and a small pile of ballast stones. The site reads like an old campsite with trees growing through the middle of it."

"Shall we hang around?" asked Giordino.

"No, get your tails to Manta and refuel. I'll poke around for the jade box until you get back."

"Can we drop you anything?"

Tags: Clive Cussler Dirk Pitt Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net