Clive Cussler - The Pharaoh's Secret

The Sea Dragon changed course and smoke above them grew thicker and darker.

“The wind is dragging that smoke right across the island,” Joe noted.

“Wonder what she was carrying,” Kurt said. “If it was something toxic…”

He didn’t need to finish the statement.

“That doctor said she was trapped and running out of oxygen,” Joe added. “I had visions of the hospital having fallen down around her ears after an explosion or an earthquake, but I’ll guess she meant they’re hiding from the fumes.”

Kurt took another look through the binoculars. The front of the ship looked as if it had been torn apart by a giant can opener — in fact, it looked like half the ship was gone. The rest of the hull was blackened with soot.

“She must be sitting on the reef,” Kurt said. “Otherwise, she’d have gone down. I can’t see a name. Someone put a call into Palermo and let them know what we’ve found. If they can determine what ship this is, they might be able to figure out what she was carrying.”

“Will do,” Reynolds said.

“And Gary,” Kurt added, lowering the binoculars. “Keep us upwind.”

Reynolds nodded. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He adjusted their course and reduced speed while they called in the news. When they were five hundred yards from the freighter, a crewman called from the front deck.

“Look at this!” the crewman yelled.

Reynolds chopped the throttle to idle and Sea Dragon settled while Kurt stepped out onto the deck. He found the crewman pointing to a half dozen shapes floating in the water. The objects were about fifteen feet in length, roughly torpedo-shaped and colored a dark charcoal gray.

“Pilot whales,” the crewman said, recognizing the species. “Four adults. Two calves.”

“And floating the wrong side up,” Kurt noted. The whales were actually lolling on their sides, surrounded by seaweed, dead fish and squid. “Whatever happened on that island it’s affecting the water too.”

“It’s got to be that freighter,” someone else said.

Kurt agreed, but he didn’t speak. He was busy studying the inanimate cluster of sea life drifting by. He could hear Joe talking to the Italian authorities over the radio, reporting their latest find. He noticed that not all the squid were dead. Some were clinging to each other, wrapping their short little tentacles around the other in a spasmlike embrace.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” the crewman suggested, pulling the top of his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth as if that would stop whatever poison might be floating through the air.

Kurt knew they were fine where they were because they were a quarter mile upwind of the freighter and there wasn’t the slightest scent of smoke in the air. Then again, he had the safety of the crew to think about.

He ducked back into the cabin. “Take us out another mile,” he said. “And keep an eye on that smoke. If the wind shifts, we need to be gone before it reaches us.”

Reynolds nodded, bumped the throttle and spun the wheel. As the boat accelerated, Joe put the radio microphone back in its cradle.

“What’s the word?”

“I told them what we’ve found,” Joe said. “Based on AIS data from last night, they’re guessing the freighter is the M.V. Torino .”

“What’s she carrying?”

“Machine parts and textiles, mostly. Nothing dangerous.”

“Textiles, my eye,” Kurt said. “What’s the ETA on those helicopters?”

“Two, maybe three hours.”

“What happened to getting airborne in thirty minutes?”

“They took off,” Joe said. “But based on our report, they’re returning to Sicily to refuel while a hazardous-materials crew is rounded up.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Kurt replied. Still, his mind was on the fate of the doctor who’d radioed them and the NUMA team members who were still not responding to calls, not to mention the five thousand other men, women and children who lived on Lampedusa. He made a quick decision. The only decision his conscience would allow.

“Let’s get the Zodiac ready, I’m going in to look for our friends.”

Reynolds overheard this and responded instantly. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Possibly,” Kurt said. “But if I wait around for three hours to find out whether our people are living or dead, there’ll be no doubt I’ll end up losing my marbles for sure. Especially if it turns out we could have helped them but sat on our hands instead.”

“I’m with you,” Joe said.

Reynolds shot them a stern gaze. “And how do you propose to not die of whatever it is that apparently affected the rest of the people on that island?”

“We have full-face helmets and plenty of pure oxygen. If we wear them, we should be fine.”

“Some nerve toxins react with the skin,” Reynolds pointed out.

“We have dry suits that are waterproof,” Kurt shot back. “That ought to do the trick.”

“And we can wear gloves and tape up every gap,” Joe added.

“Duct tape?” Reynolds said. “You’re going to bet your lives on the integrity of duct tape?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Joe admitted. “I used it to tape the wing of an airplane back together once. Although that didn’t work out the way we planned.”

“This is serious,” Reynolds said, baffled at what the two seemed intent on doing. “You’re talking about risking your lives for nothing. You have no reason to think anyone is even still alive on that island.”

“Not true,” Kurt replied. “I have two reasons. First, we received that radio call, which was obviously made after the event happened. That doctor and several others were alive — at least at that time they were. In a hospital, no less. They mentioned being sealed-off, presumably to keep this toxin from reaching them. Others could have done the same thing. Including our people. Beyond that, some of the squid aren’t dead out there. They’re flapping around, grabbing onto each other and moving just enough to tell me they’re not ready to be thrown onto a barbecue yet.”

“That’s pretty thin,” Reynolds said.

It was thick enough for Kurt. “I’m not waiting around out here only to find out there were people we could have helped if we’d have moved sooner.”

Reynolds shook his head. He knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. “Okay, fine,” he said. “But what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Keep an ear to the radio and an eye on the pelicans sitting on that buoy,” Kurt said, pointing to a trio of white birds on the channel marker. “If they start to die and drop off into the sea, turn the boat around and get out of here as fast as you can.”

A few miles away, a brooding figure sat in a small Zodiac boat, one that he’d stolen from the doomed freighter. Ammon Ta had escaped the ship by making his way aft to the boat, complete with a radio that the freighter’s crew normally used to inspect the hull.

He’d been no more than a hundred feet from the ship when the blast occurred. Far too close. He should have been killed by the concussion wave, if not incinerated completely, but the dull thud of the explosion had only startled him. The ship hadn’t been obliterated as he’d expected.

Something had gone wrong. His immediate instinct was to reboard the ship, and despite the initial explosion, the freighter was still running flat out and the little boat he’d commandeered was too slow to catch up.

There had been little he could do but watch the ship continue on until it ran aground and finally exploded in the manner he’d intended.

Even then, things didn’t go quite right. Instead of destroying the cryogenically cooled serum, the fire and explosion had atomized it, creating a killing fog as effective as any nerve gas. He watched helpless as the fog spread to the west, engulfing the island. His attempt to hide what he and his superiors were doing had now been broadcast to the entire world.