Clive Cussler: The Mediterranean Caper

Darius said nothing. He displayed no emotion, no sign of fear, only a resignation to a fate that precluded even the remotest possibility of hope. Slowly, very carefully. like a man who hadn’t tasted sleep in days.

he climbed from the sub onto the dock and stood before Zeno, his head bowed.

“It seems I have known you for many years, Darius,” Zeno sounded very tired. “Yet I haven’t really known you at all. God alone knows why you came to be what you are. It is a pity. the gendarmerie lost a good man…“ Zeno hesitated, groping for words, but he could think of nothing else to say. Carefully, almost to the point of meticulousness, he withdrew the cartridge clip from his gun and removed all the shells except one. Then he reinserted the clip and held out the gun, butt first, to Darius.

Nodding, as if in secret understanding, and searching Zeno’s eyes for a sign that never came, Darius took the gun, turned slowly towards the tunnel, and began walking numbly across the dock.

“No goodbye, no regrets, no to hell with you,” Giordino said “uncomprehendingly. “Just like that, he wanders off and blows his brains out. Ten will get you one that Darius makes a break for it.”

“His life ended when he became a traitor,” Zeno said quietly. “Darius knew it then — he knows it now.

An early death was his fate when he dropped from the womb, there was no escaping it. Five minutes to talk with his God and prepare his soul — then he will squeeze the trigger.”

Giordino watched Darius fade into the blackness of the tunnel and said nothing. The finality of Zeno’s words shattered all his doubts over Darius’ intentions. Until the day he. himself, died, Giordino would never understand how anyone could let loose of life so unquestioningly.

He turned back to Pitt. “Time’s a wasting, we’re running out of the money. Gunn is probably having a spastic fit wondering what happened to his precious scientists.”

“Can’t say as I blame him.” The voice came from Knight. who was climbing out of the deck hatch, a sly smile across his face. “Great intellect is hard to come by these days.”

“An egghead comedian,” Giordino groaned. “What has science come to?”

In spite of the pain in his leg, Pitt couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe some of Knight’s Intellect will rub off on you when you escort him and the other eggheads back to the First Attempt. I’m holding you responsible until they’re safely on board.”

“Talk about appreciation,” Giordino groaned again. “After all I’ve done for you.”

“It’s better to give, than to receive,” Pitt said soothingly. “Now hop to it. If you expect to swim out through the submerged tunnels, you and the others will have to retrieve the diving gear from the bottom.”

Woodson crawled from the hatch and walked over to Pitt. “Maybe I better stick with you, Major, until you’re bedded down.”

“No thanks.” Pitt answered, mildly surprised at the look of genuine concern on Woodson’s otherwise expressionless face. “I’m OK. Zac here is going to take me to a hospital full of nymphomaniac nurses, right Zac?”

“Sorry,” Zacynthus smiled. “Not unless the Air Force has changed its enlistment policy. I’m afraid the base hospital at Brady Field has the only decent facilities on the island for plugging bullet holes.”

The litter-bearers arrived and immediately eased Pitt onto the stretcher. “Oh well,” he said, “at least I travel first class.” Then he sat up. "Damn! I almost forgot. One last thing. Where’s Spencer?”

“Here, Major. right here,” The red-bearded marine biologist stepped from behind Woodson. “What can I do for you?”

“Relay my compliments to Commander Gunn and give him a present for me.”

Spencer paled visibly at the sight of Pitt’s bloody leg. “Consider it done.”

Pitt leaned over the side of the stretcher and rested on one elbow. “In the outer cavern, twenty feet down, there are several small fissures along the base of the north wall. One has a flat rock over the entrance. If he hasn’t already muscled his way out, you’ll find a Teaser inside.”

Spencer’s face registered total surprise. “A Teaser!

Are you serious, Major?”

“I ought to know a Tearer when I see one,” Pitt replied jokingly. “See to it that you don’t drop him.”

Spencer let out a long whistle. “Well what do you know. I was beginning to think no such creature existed.” He paused a moment. deep in thought. “Christ, I don’t dare damage him with a spear shaft. A net bag, if only I’d carried a net bag.”

“There’s only one way to catch a Teaser,” Pitt grinned. “Grab him by the fin.”

The pain was going away now. Pitt’s leg felt like it was no longer part of him. The floodlights fused together in one massive blur, hurting his eyes. Everything seemed to slow down. and the voices became far away. Then the stretcher bearers picked Pitt up from the dock, moving. it seemed to him, as though they were wading through glue. He raised his head for the last time that day.

“Zac. one more request.” Pitt’s voice was down to a bare murmur. “What is the girl’s real name?”

Zac looked down at Pitt and smiled with his eyes. “Her name is Amy.”

“Amy.” Pitt repeated. “Never knew a girl by the name of Amy before.” He relaxed and fell back against the stretcher. closing his eyes. The last thing he remembered before the soothing blanket of darkness fully covered him was the sound of a single shot, echoing from somewhere within the depths of the labyrinth.

The sky was a brilliant ceiling of blue as far as the eye could see. The summer air was hot and dripping with unseen humidity encouraged by burning waves from the blazing sun. In blinding radiance, tall white buildings stood like small chiseled mountains and reflected the heat onto the black asphalt pavement below; the traffic was heavy, and the sidewalks were crowded with scurrying office workers on lunch break as Pitt pushed aside the wide glass doors and limped stiffly into the air conditioned lobby of the Bureau of Narcotics building.

For a bachelor, he thought, one of the wonderful things about Washington, D.C. is the overabundance of girls. They come in every size, age, and disposition and swarm like chattering locusts throughout every government office in the city, providing the hungry male with all the advantages of a rich kid running amok in a candy store. Pitt selected his most charming. devil-may-care smile and offered it to a trio of giggling secretaries who exited the elevator. They returned his smile, accompanied with the usual combination of cursory and demure glances that women are prone to allow for strange men, and then wiggled past him into the lobby, sneaking an additional peek at him over their shoulders.

A moment later, playing the role of the wounded Warrior to perfection, Pitt leaned heavily on his cane and limped from the elevator onto the thick carpet of the eighth floor. In the center of the anteroom a dozen girls, displaying an unrestricted forest of nyloned legs, sat at a dozen desks and furiously assaulted a dozen typewriters, never once hesitating to look up at him. He moved slowly over to a well-bosomed blond whose desk top contained a small rectangular sign: “Information.” Then for a moment he stared down at her, admiring the view.

“Excuse me.”

She didn’t hear him over the din of the clacking machines.

“Excuse me,” Pitt repeated loudly.

She turned and noticed him. “May I help you?” The voice was cool, the big hazel eyes unfriendly. Pitt admitted to himself that he had to go along with her icy greeting. The white turtleneck sweater, the green California sport coat, the handkerchief casually fluffed from the breast pocket hardly categorized him as an executive or important Washington bureaucrat.