Clive Cussler - Treasure of Khan

Giordino accelerated the helicopter north, skimming low over the now-calm lake. A white object materialized in the water ahead, and Giordino slowed the Kamov as they reached the bobbing chamber.

"Bet the air in that tank is starting to get a little foul," he said.

"They'd need several more hours before any real danger of carbon dioxide poisoning," Pitt replied.

"How long before the Vereshchagin arrives?"

"About ninety minutes. But I'm afraid we can't hang around and keep them company until then,"

Giordino said, tapping a fuel dial that was heading low.

"Well, if you'd kindly return to the deck, I'll let them know they haven't been abandoned."

"You just can't get enough of the cold lake water, can you?" he asked, lowering the helicopter till it hovered just a few feet above the water.

"Sort of like your affinity for pure Rocky Mountain springwater," Pitt countered. "Just make sure Alexander doesn't run us over," he said, pulling the faceplate back over his head.

With a short wave, he leaped out of the door, splashing into the water just a few feet from the chamber.

As Giordino swung the helicopter toward the approaching research ship, Pitt swam over to the chamber and pulled himself up to the view port and peered inside.

Theresa let out a gasp when she saw Pitt's faceplate pressed up against the view port.

"He's still alive," she said with amazement after recognizing the green eyes.

The others crowded around the porthole and waved at Pitt, not knowing he had been washed away nearly three miles before returning via the helicopter.

Pitt pointed a gloved finger at the occupants, then curled it toward his thumb and held it to the view port.

"He's asking if we're okay," Roy deciphered.

Tatiana, sitting closest to the view port, nodded yes and returned the gesture. Pitt then pointed toward his wristwatch and held up his index finger.

Tatiana nodded again in understanding. "One hour," she said to the others. "Help is on the way."

"Guess we might as well get comfortable," Wofford said. Together with Roy, they rearranged the mattresses on the angled floor, allowing everyone to sit comfortably.

Outside, Pitt swam around the chamber, checking it for damage and signs of leakage. Satisfied that the chamber wasn't sinking, he climbed aboard the exposed top section and waited. In the clear afternoon air, Pitt easily spotted the Vereshchagin in the distance and tracked its progress as it steamed toward them.

Giordino already had a large crane positioned over the side when the research ship pulled alongside a little over an hour later. The original transport cables were still attached to the decompression chamber, so Pitt had only to gather them together and slide them over the crane's hook. Pitt sat straddled atop the chamber as if riding a giant white stallion while it was hoisted onto the stern of the Vereshchagin. When its skids kissed the deck, Pitt jumped down and spun open the locked entry hatch. Gunn ran up and poked his head in, then helped pull out Theresa and Tatiana, followed by the three men.

"Man, does that taste good," Wofford said as he sucked in a deep breath of fresh air.

The Russian fisherman, climbing out last, staggered to the ship's rail and peered over the side, searching for his old fishing boat.

"You can tell him she's at the bottom, crushed by the wave," Pitt said to Tatiana.

The captain shook his head and sobbed as Tatiana translated the news.

"We couldn't believe you appeared after the wave passed," Theresa marveled at Pitt. "How did you survive?"

"Sometimes, I'm just lucky," he grinned, then he opened his duffel bag to reveal the dive equipment inside.

"Thank you again," Theresa said, joined by a chorus of praise from the other survey crew members.

"Don't thank me," Pitt said, "thank Al Giordino here and his flying decompression chamber."

Giordino stepped over from the crane and bowed in mock appreciation. "Hope the ride wasn't too rough in that tin can," he said.

"You saved our lives, Mr. Giordino," Theresa said, shaking his hand gratefully and not letting go.

"Please, call me Al," the gruff Italian said, softening under the gaze of the pretty Dutch woman.

"Now I know what that steel ball in a pinball machine feels like," Roy muttered.

"Say, you don't suppose they'd have any vodka aboard?" Wofford groaned, rubbing his back.

"Does it rain in Seattle?" Gunn replied, overhearing the comment. "Right this way, ladies and gentlemen.

We'll have the ship's doctor check you over, and then you can rest and relax in a cabin or have a drink in the galley. Listvyanka's a mess, so we probably won't be able to put you to shore until tomorrow anyway."

"Al, why don't you lead the way to sick bay. I'd like a word with Rudi first," Pitt said.

"My pleasure," Giordino said, holding Theresa's arm and guiding her and the others along the port passageway to the ship's tiny medical station.

Rudi stepped over to Pitt and patted him on the shoulder. "Al told us about your sojourn in the water. If I'd known you were going to be one with the wave, I would have strung some current-measuring devices on your back," he grinned.

"I'll be happy to share my experience in fluid dynamics with you over a tequila," Pitt replied. "What is the extent of damages around the shoreline?"

"From what we could see at a distance, Listvyanka weathered the storm in one piece. The docks are chewed up and there are a couple of boats sitting on the main street now, but the rest of the damage appeared to be confined to a few commercial shops along the waterfront. We've heard of no reported fatalities over the radio, so the advance warning apparently did the trick."

"We'll need to stay on our toes for potential aftershocks," Pitt said. "I've got an open satellite line to the National Earthquake Information Center in Golden, Colorado. They'll give us a shout if they detect a subsequent quake the second they see it."

As dusk settled over the lake, the Vereshchagin steamed into the port village of Listvyanka. On the forward deck of the research ship, the crew lined the rails to observe the ruin. The wave had struck like a hammer, flattening small trees and shredding the smaller buildings that had stood along the water's edge.

But most of the town and port had survived with minimal loss. The research ship dropped anchor in the dark a mile from the damaged shoreline docks, which glistened under a battery of temporary lights strung along the shore. The hum of an old Belarus tractor drifted over the water as the townspeople began working late into the night to clean up the flood damage.

In the ship's galley, Roy, Wofford, and the fishing boat captain sat in a corner chugging shots with a Russian crewman who generously shared his bottle of Altai vodka. Pitt, Giordino, and Sarghov sat across the room, finishing a dinner of baked sturgeon with Theresa and Tatiana. After their dishes were cleared away, Sarghov produced an unmarked bottle and poured a round of after-dinner drinks.

"To your health," Giordino said, toasting both ladies, his glass meeting a clink from Theresa's.

"Which is much improved on account of you," Theresa replied with a laugh. Taking a sip of the liquid, her smile waned as her eyes suddenly bugged out.

"What is this stuff?" she rasped. "Tastes like bleach."

Sarghov laughed with a deep bellow. "It's samogon. I acquired it in the village from an old friend. I believe it is similar to a liquid in America called moonshine."

The rest of the table laughed as Theresa pushed the half-filled glass away from her. "I believe I shall stick to vodka," she said, now grinning with the others.

"So tell me, what are a couple of gorgeous young ladies doing out hunting for oil on big, bad Lake Baikal?" Pitt asked after downing his glass.