Clive Cussler - The Navigator

“This is not a case of rapture of the deep. I’m looking at a bronze Phoenician cat.”

A feminine squeal of delight filled their earphones. Carina had been listening to the conversation.

“You’ve found it!”

Austin ran the flashlight beam around the cave’s interior. The statue lay faceup, like a corpse stretched out on a funeral bier. The space was about ten feet across and deep, and three or four feet from top to bottom. Austin squeezed through the opening. The figure’s conical hat was dented, and the arms were broken off. Unlike the original statue, the nose was intact.

Austin backed out, and curled his thumb and forefinger in the universal okay signal.

“He’s in good shape for a crushed beer can. Let’s pull him out.”

“There’s line and lift bags in the portside compartment,” Zavala said.

Austin swam to the launch vehicle and pulled a coil of nylon rope from a storage compartment. He tied one end to the rear bumper of the hovering Subvette. Austin tied four open-bottomed lift bags to the line, and went back and attached the free end of the rope to the base of the statue.

He used air from his tank to inflate the bags, then he waved at Zavala, who gunned the thrusters. The line went taut as a violin string. The statue moved several inches. Austin made a throat-slashing motion and swam back to the cavity. The bronze cat attached to the statue’s legs was wedged against an overhead outcropping.

Austin wriggled past the statue and into the cave. His air tanks scraped against the rocks, and there was barely enough space for him to turn around and face out. He pushed down on the statue and told Zavala to start pulling.

The statue moved toward the opening and stopped again. The jagged stub of the left arm had caught in some rocks. Zavala stopped pulling. Austin used his sheath knife to pry the arm away from the pediment.

On the next try, the statue came free, and Austin guided it through the opening, bracing his feet against the back of the cave. The statue slowly emerged from its prison—but as Austin tried to follow, he discovered that he was unable to move his right foot. A section of the cave wall had collapsed and caught his fin.

Pebbles fell like hailstones from the roof as he reached back with his knife and cut the fin strap. Falling rocks pelted his legs, and bounced off his head with enough force to jar his teeth. He reached forward and grabbed the statue’s head a second before it would have eluded his grasp.

The submersible pulled Austin and the Navigator from the cave just before the roof collapsed.

Seeing Austin was clear, Zavala goosed the thrusters. The cave opening disappeared under the disintegrating wall of boulders.

Austin had his hand to his head, where it had been struck by a fist-sized rock.

“Kurt, are you okay?”

“I’d be better if I had a bronze skull.”

Disregarding the throbbing in his head, Austin swam to the statue. The Navigator hung at an angle, partially buoyed by the lift bags. Zavala powered the sub until the Navigator was above the stationary launch vehicle. Austin guided the statue to a platform on the stern end. He detached the line from the submersible. The lift bags kept the full impact of the statue’s weight from sinking the launch vehicle.

Austin slipped behind the controls and prepared to bring the launch vehicle closer to the surface. His fingers were poised above the control panel when his sharp hearing picked up the high-pitched whine of a motor, amplified by its passage through water.

“Carina,” he called over his communicator. “Do you see any boats?”

“There’s one coming straight at us. Very fast.”

Speaking calmly, Austin said, “Listen carefully. Tell Captain Mustapha to haul anchor and leave right now.”

“We can’t leave you,” Carina said.

“We’ll be fine. Get moving.”

The edge in Austin’s tone was impossible to miss. Carina relayed Austin’s message to Mustapha. Austin heard the captain’s muffled reply. Shouts drowned out Mustapha’s words. Then came the sharp rattle of an automatic weapon firing.

The line went dead.

Austin swam back to the Subvette. “Douse the lights,” he said.

Austin was worried about Carina, but he and Zavala knew better than to react too quickly. At the same time, inaction was alien to both of them.

“What now?” Zavala said.

“Bring us up to check out our uninvited guests.”

Zavala elevated the vehicle’s long nose and gave the thrusters minimal power. Austin saw a smaller silhouette on the surface next to that of Mustapha’s boat and motioned for Zavala to stop. The communicator clicked on. They were in contact with the surface boat again.

A Southern drawl came over the communicator.

“How ya doing, fellas? I can see your bubbles. Whyn’t ya join the party?”

“I don’t accept invitations from strangers,” Austin said. “Who’s this?”

“Friend of Ms. Mechadi’s. C’mon up. Your air’s going to run out eventually.”

Zavala unclipped a small slate from his vest and wrote a question mark on it.

Austin paused for a second, thinking. If they did as the stranger wanted, they would get their heads shot off.

He borrowed the slate, and in large block letters he wrote: MOBY-DICK?

Zavala digested what Austin had suggested, and it must have given him a stomachache. He erased the previous message and wrote: OUCH!!

Austin wrote back: SUGGESTIONS?

Zavala shook his head, and scribbled: AHAB, HERE WE COME.

He put the slate away, and dropped the Subvette to the bottom. Zavala spun the submersible around and pointed the nose up at a sharp angle. With a whirr of thrusters, the submersible began its ascent, gaining speed with each foot.

He and Austin braced themselves in their seats.

Chapter 29

MINUTES BEFORE THE SUBVETTE had begun its ascent, Carina had seen the boat round the headland and speed toward Mustapha’s motor cruiser with its bow up on plane, bouncing over the wave tops like a stone skipped across the water.

She had relayed Austin’s urgent message to vacate the premises. Too late. The fast-moving boat had closed the distance. The boat swerved seconds before a collision, and the operator throttled back the powerful inboard engine. The craft bumped sideways into Mustapha’s boat a few feet from where she stood.

One of the men on board let forth with a burst in the air from his machine pistol. She dropped the microphone to the deck.

There were four men all dressed in uniforms of olive drab, and all armed with short-barreled automatic weapons. Aviator sunglasses hid their eyes, and the floppy brims of their military style hats kept their faces mostly hidden in shadow. Only their tight-lipped mouths were visible.

Three men vaulted over the rail onto Mustapha’s boat. The last man to board whipped his hat off to reveal a blond brush cut. Carina recognized Ridley, who had supervised the theft of the Navigator. He grinned broadly, and greeted Carina with a lame Minnie Pearl imitation.

“ How-dee, Ms. Mechadi.”

Her initial shock was replaced by anger. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Heard you were in the neighborhood, Ms. Mechadi. Thought me and the boys might drop by for a friendly visit.”

“Don’t patronize me with that fake hillbilly accent,” Carina said. “Where’s my statue?”

Still maintaining his grin, Ridley stepped over to the rail and stared with flat eyes at the bubbles coming to the surface. “Someone taking a swim, Miss Mechadi?”

“If you’re so curious, jump in and see for yourself.” Carina could feel her temper getting away from her but couldn’t help it.

“I got a better idea,” Ridley said. He picked the microphone off the deck, clicked it on, and talked to Austin.