Clive Cussler - Lost Empire

“Ten, twelve knots,” Sam replied, laughing. This close to the water’s surface it felt much faster. “Better make your way forward. I’m going to need your eyes.”

“Aye, captain.” She made her way to the bow. “Fifty yards to go,” she called. “Steady on.”

To starboard Sam watched a four-foot wave crash over an exposed sandbar. “Surge coming,” he warned Remi and turned the wheel a few degrees to meet it. The wave hit them on the starboard bow, pushing the dhow sideways. The bow started to swing around off course. Sam muscled the wheel hard to starboard, compensating until the surge passed and the bow found the line again.“Looking good. Steady on,” Remi called. “Twenty yards.”

Sam leaned over the starboard rail and looked down. The indigo water was thirty to forty feet deep, but six feet to the right he could see the white sand bottom through the turquoise water. He leaned to port and saw the same.“We haven’t got much room to spare,” Sam called forward. “How does it look ahead?”

“Narrower still. Want a little drag?”

“Sure.”

Remi shimmied around on her belly, retrieved the Danforth anchor from its mount, tossed it over the bow, and let the line stream between her hands until she felt it skipping along the bottom. She hauled in a few inches of line and secured it to the pulpit rail. The dhow began slowing until they were moving in a jerk-and-surge fashion.“Ten yards,” Remi called.

And then, as if the sun had suddenly been eclipsed, the dhow slipped inside the inlet. To the left and right, walls of green closed in around them; above, a ragged ribbon of blue sky. Sam looked aft and felt a surge of vertigo as the entrance to the inlet seemed to close like an iris door on a spaceship.

“Turn coming up,” Remi called. “Forty-five degrees to starboard.”Sam faced forward again. “Ready when you are.”

“Three . . . two . . . one . . .Turn!”

Sam gave the wheel a quarter spin to port and held it.

“Starboard turn!” Remi shouted.

Sam spun the wheel again.

“Hold it there,” Remi ordered. A few seconds passed. “Okay, start easing back to port. Keep going . . . more . . . Good. Steady on.”

As if on cue, the current died away until the dhow was skimming ahead at a walking pace. The inlet widened out slightly, leaving fifteen feet on both beams.

“Haul anchor,” Sam called. “I think we’re okay.”

Remi retrieved the Danforth and returned to the cockpit. From the banks came the sounds of the jungle easing into twilight: the plaintive squawks of parrots, the croaking of frogs, and the buzz of insects.“It’s so peaceful,” Remi said, looking around. “A little spooky but peaceful.”

Sam grabbed the map from its compartment and unfolded it on the roof of the cabin. Remi clicked on a flashlight. Sam skimmed his index finger around the island. “We need the circumference.”

Remi retrieved the dividers and walked them around the coastline, occasionally marking headlands and landmarks with a pencil. Once done, she scribbled some calculations in the margins, then said, “Big Sukuti is nine miles, give or take. Little Sukuti, about five.”

Sam studied his watch for a moment. “We’ll reach the other mouth in twenty minutes. If that Rinker makes another patrol right away, it’ll be passing the northern side of this inlet about twenty minutes after that. If it doesn’t show up, it probably means no more patrols for the night or they’re only doing them every few hours.”“That’s a big if,” Remi replied. “If the latter, it means we might run into them somewhere along the coastline. We’d better hope we see them before they see us.”

Sam nodded. “Do me a favor. Find every nook and cranny along the coast. We’ll need to be ready to hide on a moment’s notice.”

It took Remi ten minutes to finish the task. She said, “There’re plenty to choose from but no depth markings; I can only be certain of six or seven being deep enough for our draft.”“We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“So, about your master plan . . .”

“Wish I had one,” Sam replied. “There’re too many variables. We have to assume they’ll be moving the bell sooner rather than later-either shipping it somewhere or dumping it somewhere. For that, they have three choices: one of the Rinkers, the Njiwa , or Okafor’s helicopter. We’ll start with the Njiwa. Whatever they do, that’s where the bell will stay until they decide to move it. If they use a Rinker or the Njiwa, I say we put on our pirate hats and stage a hijacking.”“And if it’s the helicopter?”

“Same plan. We just put on our flying scarves.”

“Sam, my dear, you don’t have much time logged on helicopters.”

“I think I can manage the four or five miles to the mainland. We’d be across the channel in six minutes-probably before they could even organize a posse. We find a secluded clearing somewhere, put her down, and-”Remi smiled. “Play it by ear?” Sam shrugged and smiled back. “It’s the best chance we have,” Remi agreed, “but you’ve left out a lot of big, potentially disastrous ifs.”

“I know-”

“For example, what if we’re spotted? We’ll be outgunned and outmanned.”

“I know-”

“And, of course, the biggest if: What if the bell’s already been moved?”

Sam paused. “Then the game’s over. If we don’t intercept it here, it’s gone for good. Remi, we’re a democracy. If it’s not unanimous, we don’t go.”

“I’m in, Sam, you know that. On one condition, though.” “Name it.”

“We take out some insurance.”

THE SUN WAS SETTING by the time the mouth of the inlet came into view: a rough oval of golden orange light at the end of the tunnel. When they were ten feet away, Remi steered the dhow toward the right-hand bank and jostled the throttle until the overhanging limbs draped over them. Standing atop the cabin, Sam manhandled the thicker branches around the mast and boom until the dhow was nestled against the bank. He crawled forward to the pulpit and peeked through the foliage.“Got a perfect view,” he called back.

The sun had dropped behind Big Sukuti, casting the western half of the island, including the inlet, in twilight. Sam added, “If they’re doing another circuit, they’ll be here in fifteen or twenty minutes.”“I’m going to pack our gear and do some scrounging.”

Remi went below. Sam could hear her moving about in the cabin. She returned to the cockpit, sat down, and began humming “Summer Wind” by Frank Sinatra. They got through “Hotel California” by the Eagles, “In the Midnight Hour” by Wilson Pickett, and were halfway through “Hey Jude” by the Beatles when Sam raised his hand for silence.Ten seconds passed.

“What is it?” Remi asked.

“Nothing, I guess. No, there . . . Hear it?”

Remi listened for a few moments, then there it was, the faint rumble of a marine engine. “The pitch sounds right,” she said.

“It’s coming from the northwest. Our guest may be en route.”

Of the scenarios they’d considered-a delayed second patrol, meeting the Rinker along the northern coast, or an immediate patrol that would pass before they headed out from the inlet-the third was ideal. By knowing the Rinker’s route and its average speed, they could be reasonably sure of their foe’s location at any given time. Barring the unforeseen, they would reach the docks long before the Rinker did.

Lying on his belly, binoculars raised, Sam kept his eyes focused on the headland a quarter mile away. The grumble of the engine grew in intensity until finally the Rinker’s bow appeared. As expected, it was occupied by a driver and a spotter; also as expected, the boat turned southeast, following the coastline.A spotlight glowed to life.