Clive Cussler - Pacific Vortex!

Giordino bent over the controls and pointed. «The stars near the horizon straight ahead… they're fading out.»

Pitt nodded. «The fog bank.»

An ominous smudge soon appeared against the black horizon line. Pitt gradually closed the throttles until the air speed indicator read one hundred twenty knots.

«This is the magic moment,» Pitt said quietly. He glanced briefly into Giordino's dark eyes — his friend's face, though unsmiling, was calm and unworried.

«Give me one-hundred-degree flaps,» Pitt said. «Then get back in the main cabin with the others and act like a bored streetcar conductor.»

«Ill entertain them with a series of my best yawns.» Giordino leaned over the copilot's seat and held the ON position of the flaps switch until it registered one hundred degrees. «So long, pal. See you after the bash.» He gave Pitt's arm a gentle squeeze, then he turned, and left the cockpit cabin.

There was a crosswind; Pitt crabbed the C-54 to compensate for the drift As the plane settled a few feet lower, he could clearly make out the height of the swells in the brilliance from the landing lights.

He silently wished he could have layed her on the surface with no beams showing, but that would have been impossible. Not yet, not yet, he said over and over in his mind. Three more miles. It would take split second timing to ease the plane down short of the marker and the fog and still have momentum left to cany it well into the target area. The air speed was dropping past one hundred five knots. «Easy, baby; don't stall on me just yet» Pitt concentrated on keeping the wings level — if one of the tips dug into a wave crest, the plane would be transformed into a giant cartwheel. He gently nudged the plane lower, dropping behind the rows of waves, attempting to land on the downward side of one, using its slope to slacken the impact The propellers were throwing up huge billows of spray behind the engine nacelles, and die fog was beginning to enshroud the cockpit windshield when the first impact came.

It was like a dap of thunder, only louder. A round, red auxiliary fire extinguisher broke loose from its mounting and sailed over Pitt's shoulder, crashing into the instrument panel Pitt was just recovering from the shock when the plane bounced over the water like a skipping stone and smacked its aluminum belly for the second time. Then the nose dug into the backside of a swell and the C-54 stopped abruptly in the middle of a great splash.

Pitt stared dazedly through the dripping windshield at the mist He did it He had brought her down in one piece. The plane was gently rising up and down with the swells. It would float, maybe for a few minutes, maybe for days, depending on how badly the underbelly was ruptured. He exhaled a tremendous sigh and relaxed, noting with satisfaction that the batteries had survived the impact and were keeping the interior of the cabin bathed in a soft light. He flicked off the ignition switches and the landing lights to conserve the battery cells, tore off his seat belt, and hurried through the door to the main cabin.

He found a far more confident group of men this time. Crowhaven was the first to slap his back. The rest whistled and applauded; all, that is, except for the five SEAL's. They were already efficiently going about their business removing the escape hatch and checking each man's equipment.

«Good show, Dirk.» Giordino grinned broadly. 1 couldn't have done better myself.»

«Coming from you, that's a blue-ribbon compliment» Pitt quickly donned his diving gear, slipping on an air tank and adjusting a face mask. «How long will she float?» asked Crowhaven. «I checked the lower deck,» said Giordino as he examined the air tanks on Pitts back. «There's only minor seepage.»

«Shouldn't we chop a hole in her so she'll sink?» Crowhaven persisted.

«Not a wise move,» Pitt answered. «When Delphi discovers an abandoned aircraft floating around with no crew, he'll think we took to the life rafts. That's why I left all the rescue equipment back at Hickam. It would never do for him to find the life rafts safe and sound and unopened. Hopefully, hell be searching for us on the surface while we're below.»

«There must be an easier way to make admiral,» Crowhaven said acidly.

Pitt went on. «When you get the sub underway, communicate with Admiral Hunter on twelve hundred fifty kilocycles.»

Crowhaven's eyes narrowed. «You're putting me on. That's a commercial frequency. I could get my tail in a sling with the Federal Communications Commission if I transmitted over twelve hundred fifty.»

«Very likely,» Pitt agreed wearily. «But Delphi's got a monitoring system that won't quit He's already invaded our preplanned frequency. Twelve-fifty is your only chance of getting through. Well worry about where the chips fall if we're lucky enough to enjoy the next sunrise.»

Pitt pulled on his fins and checked his breathing regulator. Then he leaned out the open hatch and peered into the blackness. The swells were washing across the leading edge of the wings as the plane took on a slight nose downward attitude. He turned to Giordino.

«Ready with your magic box?»

Giordino held up the signal detector.

«Shall we?»

«Yes, let's.»

«Go find us a submarine,» Pitt said, nodding out the hatch.

Giordino sat with his back facing the water for a moment while he adjusted his mouthpiece. Then he threw a jaunty wave to Pitt and disappeared backward into the sea.

Silently, one by one, five SEAL's and Crowhaven followed by his men, splashed into the darkness outside the aircraft. Each went through the door grim-faced. Pitt glanced below him and observed the underwater dive lights blinking on and wavering into the distance as each man aimed his beam on the man ahead and began swimming downward into the depths.

Pitt was the last to leave. He took one last look around the interior of the aircraft, and, like a man leaving the house for a weekend vacation, he dutifully opened the cover to the cabin circuit box and switched off the lights.

The dark, tepid Pacific water closed over Pitt's head; he momentarily allowed his body to go limp in the weightless dimension of the sea. The circular beam c from his dive light illuminated the diver twenty feet below, who was looking over his shoulder to see if Pitt was trailing his kicking fins. It suddenly occurred to Pitt that being last man in line might be dangerous. The suffocating blackness plunged him into a profound sense of anxiety; he was certain that every type of predator imaginable was sneaking into position for a quick bite of his legs. Every few seconds he spun around, flashing the light in all directions, but met no monsters of the night. The only odd-looking creature in his field of vision was his fellow human swimming unconcerned below.

Pitt's apprehension eased somewhat when the bottom loomed up through his face mask — for all he knew he might have been swimming upside down. The rocks took on morbid shapes with ghostlike faces, but they seemed like old friends when he reached down and touched their coarse, solid features. A nervous squid, the first sign of sealife, dashed across his narrow angle of sight and vanished. Then the rock formations tapered away and the seafloor became sandy; Pitt's adrenaline surged through his body as a huge black shape rose up under the swaying concert of light beams.

The Starbuck lay just as he'd left her, looking like a great spectral monster in the blackness. Kicking his fins, Pitt swam past the Navy men to the head of the line and, grasping Giordino by the arm, peered into his friend's face mask. The face inside was softly distorted by the dive light but Giordino's eyes were bright and, in spite of the mouthpiece, his grin was clear and distinct as he gave a «thumbs up» sign.