Clive Cussler - Trojan Odyssey

"We might make it if Al can keep the engine running and Patrick slows the flooding in the bow, which isn't likely. It's gaining faster than the pumps can handle."

"We're also taking water from the bullet holes that penetrated below the waterline."

"There's a large canvas tarp in the storage locker below. If we could lower it over the bow like a mask, that might slow the water enough for the pumps to catch up."

Pitt could see the forward section of the boat was almost two feet down at the bow. "I'll work on it."

"Don't take too long," Gunn cautioned. "I'll keep us in reverse to slow the flooding."

Pitt leaned over the engine room hatch. "Al, how's the party down there?"

Giordino appeared and looked up. He was standing knee-deep in brown crud water, his clothes were soaked and his hands, arms and face were coated in oil. "Barely staying ahead of the game, and believe you me, it ain't no party."

"Can you give me a hand topside?"

"Give me five minutes to unclog the bilge pump. The crud plugs it if I don't clean out the filters every few minutes."

Pitt dropped down and made his way past the cabins to the storage locker, where he found a large folded canvas tarpaulin. It was heavy and bulky, but he managed to drag it up a ladder and through a hatch on the forward deck. Giordino soon joined him, looking like he'd fallen in a tar pit, and together they spread out the canvas and tied all four ends with a nylon line. Two of the ends they weighted with fractured parts from the engine struck by the rocket. When ready, Pitt turned and motioned for Gunn to reduce the speed astern.

Together, he and Pitt threw the canvas off the crunched bow into the water, holding on to all four ends of the line. They waited until the weighted side of the tarp sank slowly through the crud. Then Pitt called to Gunn.

"Okay, move ahead slowly!"

They stood on opposite sides of the bow and pulled in the lines until the weighted end hung beneath the remains of the bow. Next they tied off the lower lines and pulled on the upper ends until the tarp was spread over the damaged section, greatly reducing the flow of water inside. Soon as the lines were secured, Pitt pulled up the forward deck hatch and checked with Dodge.

"How's it look, Patrick?"

"That did the trick," Dodge replied, wearily but happy. "You've reduced the flooding by a good eighty percent. The pump should be able to hold its own now."

"I have to get back to the engine room," said Giordino. "It's not a pretty sight down there."

"Neither are you," Pitt said, smiling, as he put his arm around Giordino's shoulder. "Let me know if you need a hand."

"You'd only get in the way. I'll have things under control in another couple of hours."

Then Pitt entered the pilothouse. "We can get under way now, Rudi. Our patch seems to be working."

"Lucky for us the computerized navigation controls survived intact. I've programmed in a course for Barra del Colorado in Costa Rica. An old naval buddy of mine retired down there and lives next to a sport-fishing lodge. We can tie up at his dock and make the necessary repairs for the trip across the sea to the NUMA boatyard at Fort Lauderdale."

"A wise choice." Pitt gestured toward the huge and mysterious containership across the water. "We might find trouble if we run in there. Better safe than sorry."

"You're right. Once Nicaraguan authorities find out we sank a yacht in their backyard, we'd all be arrested." He dabbed a cloth at a trickle of blood that was oozing from a cut on one cheek. "What's the story on the woman you rescued?"

"Soon as she's conscious, I'll find out."

"Do you want to contact the admiral and give him a report, or should I?"

"I'll take care of it." Pitt entered the galley and sat down at a computer used by the crew mostly for entertainment, e-mail home and occasional research on the Internet via satellite. He typed in the name of the yacht, Epona, and waited. Within a minute, an image of a horse and a brief description came on the screen. Pitt absorbed it in his memory, shut down the terminal and left the galley.

He met Renee in the passageway separating the cabins. "How's she doing?"

"If it was up to me, I'd throw her arrogant ass into the sea."

"That bad?"

"Worse. Within seconds of coming awake, she began giving me a hard time. Not only is she demanding, but she only speaks in Spanish." Renee paused to smile smugly. "It's an act."

"How can you tell?"

"My mother was an Ybarra. I speak better Spanish than our guest."

"She won't reply in English?" asked Pitt.

Renee shook her head. "Like I said, it's an act. She wants us to believe she was only a poor Mexican who slaved in the galley. Her makeup and designer bikini are dead giveaways. This broad has class. She's no scullery maid."

Pitt pulled his old .45 Colt from a holster on his belt. "Let me play Let's Make a Deal with her." He stepped into the cabin with the mystery guest, approached her and gently pushed the muzzle against her nose. "I'm sorry to have to kill you, sweet stuff, but we can't leave any witnesses around. You understand."

The amber-brown eyes flew wide and crossed, staring at the gun. Her lips suddenly trembled as she felt the cold, hard barrel and looked into Pitt's inscrutable green eyes. "No, no, please!" she cried out in English. "Don't kill me! I have money. Let me live and I'll make you rich."

Pitt looked up at Renee, who was standing with her mouth open, not completely certain whether Pitt was not actually going to shoot the woman. "Do you want to be rich, Renee?"

Renee caught onto the game and came on stage. "We already have a ton of gold hidden aboard the boat."

"Don't forget the rubies, emeralds and diamonds," chided Pitt.

"We might find it in our hearts not to feed her to the sharks for a couple of days if she tells us about the fake pirate ship, and why the pirates chased us half the night so they could murder all of us and sink our boat."

"Yes. Yes, please!" the woman gasped. "I can only tell you what I know!"

Pitt saw a strange glint in her eyes that did not indicate trust. "We're listening."

"The yacht belonged to my husband and me," she began. "We were on a cruise from Savannah through the Panama Canal and up to San Diego, when we were approached by what we thought was an innocent fishing boat whose captain asked for medical supplies so they could treat an injured crewman. Unfortunately, my husband, David, fell for the ruse and before we could react, the pirates had boarded our boat."

"Before we continue," said Pitt, "my name is Dirk Pitt and this is Renee Ford."

"I'm rude for not thanking you for saving me. I'm Rita Anderson."

"What happened to your husband and crew?"

"They were murdered and their bodies thrown in the sea. I was spared because they thought I would be useful in luring passing boats."

"How was that?" asked Renee.

"They thought that seeing a woman on the deck in a bikini would attract them close enough to be attacked and captured."

"That was their only motive in keeping you alive?" asked Pitt doubtfully.

She nodded silently.

"Do have any idea of who they were or where they came from?"

"They were local Nicaraguan bandits turned pirates. My husband and I had been warned not to sail through this area, but the sea along the coast looked peaceful."

"Odd that local pirates knew how to fly a helicopter," Renee muttered under her breath.

"How many boats did they capture and destroy using your yacht?" Pitt pressed Rita.

"Three that I'm aware of. Once the crew was murdered and the boat ransacked for valuables, it was scuttled."

"Where were you when we collided with your yacht?" inquired Renee.

"So that's what happened?" she answered vaguely. "I was locked in my cabin. I heard sounds of explosions and gunfire. Then came a great shock and the boat shuddered, followed by fire. The last thing I remember before I blacked out was the wall of my cabin crashing in around me. When I woke up, I was here on your boat."