Treasure of Khan (Dirk Pitt 19)

As McCammon headed toward the elevator, Yaeger turned to a keyboard and monitor and began typing in a string of commands. He stopped tapping w

hen he noticed a multipage fax lying in his in-basket. He groaned when he spotted that it originated from the Continental Hotel in Ulaanbaatar.

"When it rains, it pours," he muttered as he skimmed over the fax. Then he set it down and resumed his keystrokes.

In an instant, a beautiful woman materialized on the opposite side of the console. She wore a sheer white blouse and a pleated wool skirt that fell to her knees.

"Good afternoon, Hiram. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to call today."

"You know I can't keep away from you, Max," he replied. A mirage of sorts, Max was in fact a holographic image created by Yaeger as a user-friendly interface to his computer network. Modeled after Yaeger's wife but with the perpetual figure of a twenty-year-old, Max had become very real to Yaeger and others in the NUMA building who relied upon her artificial intelligence for solving complex problems.

"Compliments will get you everywhere," she cooed slyly "What is it today? Big problem or little?"

"Some of both," he replied. "You might be pulling an all-nighter tonight, Max."

"You know I never sleep," she replied, rolling up the sleeves on her blouse. "Where do we begin?"

"I guess," he said, pulling the fax in front of him, "we better start with the boss."

-40-

THE TROPICAL SUN climbed slowly over the hills of lava and coconut palm trees until it bathed the anchored barge in rays of golden light. On board the craft, the rhythmic sounds of a Hawaiian steel guitar band bellowed from a boom box, masking the background hum of a portable generator. Summer, Dirk, and Dahlgren had already risen from their cots in the small covered shack and were preparing for a long day's work underwater. As Dirk topped up the gas tanks on a pair of compressors, Summer finished eating her breakfast of fresh papaya and bananas, washed down with a glass of guava juice.

"Who's on first?" she asked, gazing at the calm morning seas surrounding the barge.

"I believe Captain Jack has assembled a work schedule," Dirk said, nodding toward Dahlgren.

Dressed in swim shorts, flip-flops, and a faded Hawaiian shirt, Dahlgren was bent over inspecting the regulators on a pair of lightweight dive helmets. The captain moniker derived from a tired blue hat he wore on his head. It was the classic captain's hat favored by rich yachtsmen, sporting crossed gold anchors on its prow. Dahlgren's hat, however, looked like it had been run over by an M-l tank. "Aye," Dahlgren barked in a gravelly voice. "We'll work ninety-minute shifts below, two divers at a time, then rotate after a break. Dirk and I will take the first shift, then you can join me below for the second shift while Dirk works on his tan," he said, nodding toward Summer.

"That reminds me, I didn't see a blender on board this plank," Dirk said with disappointment.

"I am sorry to report that the last of the rum rations disappeared last night anyway. For medicinal purposes," Dahlgren added.

As a panicked look crossed Dirk's face, Summer rolled her eyes with a "Why me?" look. "All right, my future AA recruits, let's get to work. If by luck we have found the rudder, then we have a lot of excavating to do. We still need to disassemble and stow away the grid markers, and I'd like to leave some time before the Mariana Explorer returns to survey some additional areas."

Dahlgren stood up and took off his captain's hat and flung it across the deck. The hat spiraled perfectly, striking Summer square in the chest. Reacting with a start, she managed to catch the hat after a bobble.

"There," Dahlgren said. "You make a far better Bligh than I do."

As Dirk laughed, Summer blushed, then retorted, "Careful or I might accidentally cut your surface air while you are downstairs."

Dirk fired up the two air compressors then joined Dahlgren in slipping on a warm-water wet suit. They would dive sharing surface-supplied air from one of the compressors. Eliminating the cumbersome air tanks made it easier to work, while extending their bottom time. Since the water depth was only thirty feet at the wreck site, they could theoretically work all day underwater without fear of the bends.

Summer gathered up the airlift and lowered the big piece of PVC pipe over the side. A hose from the second compressor was attached to the business end of the airlift, which provided the air feed through a controllable valve. Summer slowly lowered the pipe via the air hose till it struck the bottom and the tension slacked on the line.

Dirk slipped on his fins, then glanced at his watch. "See you in ninety minutes," he said to Summer, then pulled his dive helmet over his head.

"I'll leave the lights on," Summer replied, shouting over the drone of the compressors. She moved to the rail and sorted a trio of air lines that would tail the underwater operation. Dirk threw her a wave then stepped off the side of the barge, followed by Dahlgren a second behind.

The bellow of the compressors evaporated as Dirk struck the surface and he submerged into the turquoise water. Clearing his ears, he thrust his head down and kicked to the bottom, quickly locating the airlift. Grabbing the pipe, he chased after Dahlgren, who was swimming toward deeper water. They stopped at a pair of small orange flags that poked up from the sandy bottom. Dirk lifted the airlift, standing it on end, then flipped the control lever to the air line. A rush of compressed air burst into the lower end of the pipe, then gurgled up toward the surface, drawing sand and water with it. Dirk swung the base of the airlift back and forth above the seabed, digging a small hole as he cleared away sand around the marker.

Dahlgren watched for a moment, then took up position a few feet away. In his hands, he carried a stainless steel shaft with a cross handle at one end. He began twisting the metal probe into the sand, driving it down nearly two feet until it struck something solid. His experienced hands could tell by the vibration that the probe had struck wood. Yanking the probe out, he moved over another foot and repeated the process. After a few more probes, he began marking the perimeter of the buried object with small orange flags.

The hole created by the airlift in Dirk's hands grew slowly. He had worked his way down to a flat surface that was heavily encrusted. Looking at the outline of marker flags Dahlgren had started laying down, he realized the object was of an immense size. If it was indeed a rudder, they might have to rethink the entire scale of the remaining ship.

On the deck of the barge, Summer checked the compressors once more, then took a seat in a beach chair across the deck but within sight of the air lines. A cool offshore gust blew across the barge, sending a shiver up her spine. She was thankful the morning sun was quickly warming up the deck.

She happily soaked in the surrounding environment, admiring the rugged Hawaiian coast and delicious smells of the nearby flora that wafted from the lush island. Gazing seaward, the rolling Pacific waters seemed to shine with an exotic intensity from its blue depths. Absently noting a black ship steaming in the distance, she took a deep breath of the fresh sea air and leaned back in her chair.