Clive Cussler - Inca Gold

The word went up and down the Gulf about the owners of The First Attempt catching a human on a fishing line. Interest was fueled by those who embellished the story before passing it on through the Baja net. Yacht owners who tuned in late heard a wild tale about the Hagens catching a killer whale and finding a live man inside.

Some of the larger oceangoing vessels were equipped with radios capable of reaching stations in the United States. Soon reports were rippling out from Baja to as far away as Washington.

The Hagen broadcast was picked up by a Mexican navy radio station in La Paz. The radio operator on duty asked for confirmation, but Hagen was too busy jabbering away with other yacht owners and failed to reply. Thinking it was another of the wild parties in the boating social swing, he noted it in his log and concentrated on official navy signals.

When he went off duty twenty minutes later, he casually mentioned it to the officer in charge of the station.

"It sounded pretty loco," he explained. "The report came in English. Probably an intoxicated gringo playing games over his radio."

"Better send a patrol boat to make an inspection," said the officer. "I'll inform the Northern District Fleet Headquarters and see who we have in the area."

Fleet headquarters did not have to be informed. Maderas had already alerted them that he was heading at full speed toward The First Attempt. Headquarters had also received an unexpected signal from the Mexican chief of naval operations, ordering the commanding officer to rush the search and extend every effort for a successful rescue operation.

Admiral Ricardo Alvarez was having lunch with his wife at the officers' club when an aide hurried to his table with both signals.

"A man caught by a fisherman." Alvarez snorted. "What kind of nonsense is this?"

"That was the message relayed by Commander Maderas of the G-21," replied the aide.

"How soon before Maderas comes in contact with the yacht?"

"He should rendezvous at any moment."

"I wonder why Naval Operations is so involved with an ordinary tourist lost at sea?"

"Word has come down that the President himself is interested in the rescue," said the aide.

Admiral Alvarez gave his wife a sour look. "I knew that damned North American Free Trade Agreement was a mistake. Now we have to kiss up to the Americans every time one of them falls in the Gulf."

So it was that there were more questions than answers when Pitt was transferred from The First Attempt soon after the patrol vessel came alongside. He stood on the deck, partially supported by Hagen, who had stripped off the torn wet suit and lent Pitt a golf shirt and a pair of shorts. Claire had replaced the bandage on his shoulder and taped one over the nasty cut on his forehead.

He shook hands with Joseph Hagen. "I guess I'm the biggest fish you ever caught."

Hagen laughed. "Sure something to tell the grandkids."

Pitt then kissed Claire on the cheek. "Don't forget to send me your recipe for fish chowder. I've never tasted any so good."

"You must have liked it. You put away at least a gallon."

"I'll always be in your debt for saving my life. Thank you."

Pitt turned and was helped into a small launch that ferried him to the patrol boat. As soon as he stepped onto the deck, he was greeted by Maderas and Hidalgo before being escorted to the sick bay by the ship's medical corpsman. Prior to ducking through a hatch, Pitt turned and gave a final wave to the Hagens.

Joe and Claire stood with their arms around each other's waist. Joe turned and looked at his wife with a puzzled expression and said, "I've never caught five fish in my entire life and you can't cook worth sour grapes. What did he mean by your great-tasting fish chowder?"

Claire sighed. "The poor man. He was so hurt and hungry I didn't have the heart to tell him I fed him canned soup doused with brandy."

Curtis Starger got the word in Guaymas that Pitt had been found alive. He was searching the hacienda used by the Zolars. The call came in over his Motorola Iridium satellite phone from his office in Calexico. In an unusual display of teamwork, the Mexican investigative agencies had allowed Starger and his Customs people to probe the buildings and grounds for additional evidence to help convict the family dynasty of art thieves.

Starger and his agents had arrived to find the grounds and airstrip empty of all life. The hacienda was vacant and the pilot of Joseph Zolar's private plane had decided now was a good time to resign. He simply walked through the front gate, took a bus into town, and caught a flight to his home in Houston, Texas.

A search of the hacienda turned up nothing concrete. The rooms had been cleaned of any incriminating evidence. The abandoned plane parked on the airstrip was another matter. Inside, Starger found four crudely carved wooden effigies with childlike faces painted on them.

"What do you make of these?" Starger asked one of the agents, who was an expert in ancient Southwest artifacts.

"They look like some kind of Indian religious symbols."

"Are they made from cottonwood?"

The agent lifted his sunglasses and examined the idols close up. "Yes, I think I can safely say they're carved out of cottonwood."

Starger ran his hand gently over one of the idols. "I have a suspicion these are the sacred idols Pitt was looking for."

Rudi Gunn was told while he was lying in a hospital bed. A nurse entered his room, followed by one of Starger's agents.

"Mr. Gunn. I'm Agent Anthony Di Maggio with the Customs Service. I thought you'd like to know that Dirk Pitt was picked up alive in the Gulf about half an hour ago."

Gunn closed his eyes and sighed with heavy relief. "I knew he'd make it."

"Quite a feat of courage, I hear, swimming over a hundred kilometers through an underground river."

"No one else could have done it."

"I hope the good news will inspire you to become more cooperative," said the nurse, who talked sweetly while carrying a long rectal thermometer.

"Isn't he a good patient?" asked Di Maggio.

"I've tended better."

"I wish to hell you'd give me a pair of pajamas," Gunn said nastily, "instead of this peekaboo, lace-up-the-rear, shorty nightshirt."

"Hospital gowns are designed that way for a purpose," the nurse replied smartly.

"I wish to God you'd tell me what it is."

"I'd better go now and leave you alone," said Di Maggio, beating a retreat. "Good luck on a speedy recovery."

"Thank you for giving me the word on Pitt," Gunn said sincerely.

"Not at all."

"You rest now," ordered the nurse. "I'll be back in an hour with your medication."

True to her word, the nurse returned in one hour on the dot. But the bed was empty. Gunn had fled, wearing nothing but the skimpy little gown and a blanket.

Strangely, those on board the Alhambra were the last to know.

Loren and Sandecker were meeting with Mexican Internal Police investigators beside the Pierce Arrow when news of Pitt's rescue came from the owner of a luxurious powerboat that was tied up at the nearby fuel station. He shouted across the water separating the two vessels.

"Ahoy the ferry!"

Miles Rodgers was standing on the deck by the wheelhouse talking with Shannon and Duncan. He leaned over the railing and shouted back. "What is it?"

"They found your boy!"

The words carried inside the auto deck and Sandecker rushed out onto the open deck. "Say again!" he yelled.

"The owners of a sailing ketch fished a fellow out of the water," the yacht skipper replied. "The Mexican navy reports say it's the guy they were looking for."

Everyone was on an outside deck now. All afraid to ask the question that might have an answer they dreaded to hear.

Giordino accelerated his wheelchair up to the loading ramp as if it were a super fuel dragster. He apprehensively yelled over to the powerboat. "Was he alive?"