Clive Cussler - Pacific Vortex!

The nearest diver, a blond man with Scandinavian features, gazed up at Pitt's arrival. «Madness, sheer madness.»

Lieutenant Commander Samuel Crowhaven was definitely a very unhappy man. «A promising career in the submarine service and I have to throw it away by smashing into the ocean in the middle of the night.»

«No great danger. It's really no different than driving a car into a garage,» Pitt said soothingly. «I wouldn't worry too much…»

Crowhaven was genuinely surprised. «Like driving a car into a… you've got to be kidding.»

«Easing this bird down on the water is my responsibility, Commander. If I were you, I'd worry about what comes next.»

«I'm an engineering officer on a submarine,» Crow-haven said morosely. I'm not cut out to play commando.»

«I promise not to murder you and your men on landing,» Pitt said quietly. «And Giordino will get you to the Starbuck. After that, it's your show.»

«Are you sure she's dry?»

«Except for the forward torpedo compartment, she was dry when I left her.»

If nothing's been touched, I can have the torpedo room pumped clean and the sub underway inside of four hours.»

«The schedule allows for four and a half. That only leaves you a safety margin of thirty minutes.»

«Not much time.»

«It's all you've got.»

Crowhaven shook his head sorrowfully. «Suicidal, that's what it is.»

«You realize, of course, that you may have to fight your way into the sub.»

«As I've said, I'm no commando. That's why I invited those steely eyed killers from the SEAL's.»

Pitt looked at tibe five men Crowhaven jerked his thumb at. Members of the Navy's select security force. There was no denying that they were a hard-looking lot They sat off by themselves, constantly checking and rechecking their equipment and weapons— big, silent, purposeful-looking men, highly trained for fighting on land or underwater. Pitt turned back to Crowhaven.

«And the others?»

«Submariners,» Crowhaven said proudly. «Not many to operate a submarine the size of the Starbuck, but if anyone can bring it back to Pearl Harbor, they can. Providing one of the reactors is doing its thing. If we have to start cold, well never get her clear in time.» «You'll have a reactor,» Pitt said confidently. He put up a calm front. In truth, there was no way of knowing whether the sub was still there, or if the port reactor was still pounding its atoms. Wait and hope: the phrase crossed his mind again. There was little else he could do except face the obstacles when the time came. «But if you have problems, get your men out of there by 0430.»

«I'm no hero,» Crowhaven said dolefully. Pitt patted him on the shoulder, turned, and walked back to the cockpit

Admiral Hunter glanced at his watch for the twentieth time in the last hour. He mashed out the cigarette he'd been nervously puffing, rose from his chair, and crossed the busy operations room to peer at the huge map covering the wall. Behind him Denver was slouched in a stiff-backed chair, his feet balanced on the back of another chair. Denver didn't fool Hunter for a moment with his display of indifference. When the message came on the progress of the aircraft, he jerked upright almost instantly.

«Big Daddy, this is the Kid. Do you read? Over.» Pitt's voice crackled through the amplifier mounted over the radio set.

Hunter and Denver were both leaning over the operator before he acknowledged.

«Big Daddy here, Kid. Go ahead. Over.»

«Prepare crew for pit stop. Am going for the checkered flag. Over.» It was Pitt's signal that he was descending to wave top level and beginning his final dash prior to ditching the plane in the water over the seamount

The operator answered in the microphone. «Trophy awaits winner. Over.»

«See you in the winner's circle, Big Dad.»

The voice over the speaker stopped in midword.

Hunter snatched the microphone. «Come in, Kid. This is Big Daddy. Over.»

There was a pause. Then the voice came in stronger with a slight change in tone. «Sorry, Big Daddy, for the delay. What are your instructions? Over.»

«Instructions?» asked Hunter slowly. «You request instructions?»

«Yes, please comply.»

As if in a trance, Hunter set the microphone down and switched off the transmission switch.

«Dear God, they're onto us,» he said mechanically.

Denver couldn't hide his shock. «That wasn't Pitfs voice,» he said incredulously. «Delphi's transmitter must have invaded the frequency.»

Hunter slowly sunk into a chair. 1 should have never gone along on this insane scheme. Now there's no way Crowhaven can communicate with us once he's entered the Starbuck.»

«He could transmit in code through the communications computers,» Denver offered.

«Have you forgotten?» Hunter said impatiently. The communications computers weren't installed in time for the Starbuck's sea trials. The radio can only be operated on standard frequencies. Until the marines move in on Delphi's transmitter, he'll be monitoring every open frequency on the air. Even if Delphi isn't wise to our exact plans as of this moment, hell know he's been had the instant Crowhaven begins sending…»

«And attack the Starbuck or blow it to pieces,» Denver finished.

Hunter's voice dropped until it was barely distinguishable. «God help them,» he murmured. «He's the only one who can now.»

Pitt ripped off his earphones and hurled them on the cockpit floor. «The bastard's cut us off,» he snapped. «If Delphi guesses what we're about, he'll lay a trap sure as hell.»

«A wonderful feeling knowing that Tve got friends like you,» Giordino said with a sarcastic smile.

«You are lucky.» There was no answering smile on Pitt*s face. «Chances are, Admiral Hunter is praying we'll abort the mission.»

«No way,» Giordino said seriously. «You people overestimated this big yellow-eyed clown. Bet you a case of good booze we get in and out before it dawns on him that he's been hit by the two greatest submarine thieves in the Pacific.»

«If you say so.»

«Face it,» Giordino said loftily. «Nobody in their right mind would voluntarily ditch an aircraft in the sea during the dead of night — except you, that is. This Delphi guy probably thinks we're only on a reconnaissance flight. He won't suspect anything before daylight.»

«I like your optimism.»

«Mom always said I had a way with words.»

«What about our passengers?»

«Nobody begged them to come. They're probably back there writing their obituaries anyway. Why disappoint them?»

«Okay, we'll go for it.» Pitt reached around the control column and tapped the altimeter. The small white needles lay idly on the bottom pegs. He turned on the landing lights and watched the water hurtle under the fuselage as the air speed indicator quivered at two hundred seventy knots. Then he pulled on a second set of earphones and listened intently for a few moments. «The signals from the underwater marker are nearing their peak,» he said. «We had best run over the final landing check.»

Giordino sighed lazily, unbuckled his seat belt, moved back to the engineer's panel, and passed the checklist to Pitt «Read it back to me.»

Pitt read off the numbered items on the printed card while Giordino acknowledged.

«Spark advance selector switches?»

«Twenty percent normal,» Giordino answered.

«Mixture levels?»

«Check.»

Pitt droned on through the tedious but necessary routine while diverting a cautious eye every few seconds on the sea a bare fifty feet below. Finally he reached the last item on the card.

«Center wing tank line valve and boost switches?»

«Closed and off.»

«That's it,» Pitt said, flipping the check card over his shoulder onto the cabin floor. «Nobody will need that again.»