Clive Cussler - Inca Gold

"The Mexicans said he was in pretty poor shape, but came around after the boat owner's wife pumped some soup into him."

"Pitt's alive!" gasped Shannon.

Duncan shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe he made it through to the Gulf!"

"I do," murmured Loren, her face in her hands, the tears flowing. The dignity and the poise seemed to crumble. She leaned down and hugged Giordino, her cheeks wet and flushed red beneath a new tan. "I knew he couldn't die."

Suddenly, the Mexican investigators were forgotten as if they were miles away and everyone was shouting and hugging each other. Sandecker, normally taciturn and reserved, let out a resounding whoop and rushed to the wheelhouse, snatched up the Iridium phone and excitedly called the Mexican Navy Fleet Command for more information.

Duncan frantically began poring over his hydrographic charts of the desert water tables, impatient to learn what data Pitt had managed to accumulate during the incredible passage through the underwater river system.

Shannon and Miles celebrated by breaking out a bottle of cheap champagne they had found in the back of the galley's refrigerator, and passing out glasses. Miles reflected genuine joy at the news, but Shannon's eyes seemed unusually thoughtful. She stared openly at Loren, as a curious envy bloomed inside her that she couldn't believe existed. She slowly became aware that perhaps she had made a mistake by not displaying more compassion toward Pitt.

"That damned guy is like the bad penny that always turns up," said Giordino, fighting to control his emotions.

Loren looked at him steadily. "Did Dirk tell you he asked me to marry him?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. He thinks a lot of you."

"But you don't think it's a good idea, do you?"

Giordino slowly shook his head. "Forgive me if I say a union between you two would not be made in heaven."

"We're too headstrong and independent for one another. Is that what you mean?"

"There's that, all right. You and he are like express trains racing along parallel tracks, occasionally meeting in stations but eventually heading for different destinations."

She squeezed his hand. "I thank you for being candid."

"What do I know about relationships?" He laughed. "I never last with a woman more than two weeks."

Loren looked into Giordino's eyes. "There is something you're not telling me."

Giordino stared down at the deck planking. "Women seem to be intuitive about such things."

"Who was she?" Loren asked hesitantly.

"Her name was Summer," replied Giordino honestly. "She died fifteen years ago in the sea off Hawaii."

"The Pacific Vortex affair. I remember him telling me about it."

"He went crazy trying to save her, but she was lost."

"And he still carries her in his memory," said Loren.

Giordino nodded. "He never talks about her, but he often gets a faraway look in his eyes when he sees a woman who resembles her."

"I've seen that look on more than one occasion," Loren said, her voice melancholy.

"He can't go on forever longing for a ghost," said Giordino earnestly. "We all have an image of a lost love who has to be put to rest someday."

Loren had never seen the wisecracking Giordino this wistful before. "Do you have a ghost?"

He looked at her and smiled. "One summer, when I was nineteen, I saw a girl riding a bicycle along a sidewalk on Balboa Island in Southern California. She wore brief white shorts and a soft green blouse tied around her midriff. Her honey-blond hair was in a long ponytail. Her legs and arms were tanned mahogany. I wasn't close enough to see the color of her eyes, but I somehow knew they had to be blue. She had the look of a free spirit with a warm sense of humor. There isn't a day that goes by I don't recall her image."

"You didn't go after her?" Loren asked in mild surprise.

"Believe it or not, I was very shy in those days. I walked the same sidewalk every day for a month, hoping to spot her again. But she never showed. She was probably vacationing with her parents and left for home soon after our paths crossed."

"That's sad," said Loren.

"Oh, I don't know." Giordino laughed suddenly. "We might have married, had ten kids and found we hated each other."

"To me, Pitt is like your lost love. An illusion I can never quite hold on to."

"He'll change," Giordino said sympathetically. "All men mellow with age."

Loren smiled faintly and shook her head. "Not the Dirk Pitts of this world. They're driven by an inner desire to solve mysteries and challenge the unknown. The last thing any of them wants is to grow old with the wife and kids and die in a nursing home."

The small port of San Felipe wore a festive air. The dock was crowded with people. Everywhere there was an atmosphere of excitement as the patrol boat neared the entrance to the breakwaters forming the harbor.

Maderas turned to Pitt. "Quite a reception."

Pitt's eyes narrowed against the sun. "Is it some sort of local holiday?"

"News of your remarkable journey through the earth has drawn them."

"You've got to be kidding," said Pitt in honest surprise.

"No, senor. Because of your discovery of the river flowing below the desert, you've become a hero to every farmer and rancher from here to Arizona who struggles to survive in a harsh wasteland." He nodded at two vans with technicians unloading television camera equipment. "That's why you've become big news."

"Oh, God." Pitt groaned. "All I want is a soft bed to sleep in for three days."

Pitt's mental and physical condition had improved considerably upon receiving word over the ship's radio from Admiral Sandecker that Loren, Rudi, and Al were alive, if slightly the worse for wear. Sandecker also brought him up to date on Cyrus Sarason's death at the hands of Billy Yuma and the capture of Zolar and Oxley, along with Huascar's treasure, by Gaskill and Ragsdale with the help of Henry and Micki Moore.

There was hope for the little people after all, Pitt thought stoically.

It seemed like an hour, though it was only a few minutes before the Porqueria tied up to the Alhambra for the second time that day. A large paper sign was unfolded across the upper passenger deck of the ferryboat, the letters still dripping fresh paint. It read, WELCOME BACK FROM THE DEAD.

On the auto deck a Mexican mariachi street band was lined up, playing and singing a tune that seemed familiar. Pitt leaned over the railing of the patrol boat, cocked an ear, and threw back his head in laughter. He then doubled over with pain as his merriment caused a burst of fire inside his rib cage. Giordino had pulled off the ultimate coup.

"Do you know the song they're playing?" asked Maderas, mildly alarmed at Pitt's strange display of mirth and agony.

"I recognize the tune, but not the words," Pitt gasped through the hurt. "They're singing in Spanish."

Miralos andando

Vealos andando

Lleva a tu novia favorita, tu companero real

Bajate a la represa, dije la represa

Juntate con ese gentio andando, oiga la musica y la cancion

Es simplemente magnifico camarada, esperando en la represa

Esperando por el Roberto E. Lee.

"Miralos andando," repeated Maderas, confused. "What do they mean, `Go to the dam'?"

"Levee," Pitt guessed. "The opening words of the song are, `Go down to the levee.' "

As the trumpets blared, the guitars strummed, and the seven throats of the band warbled out a mariachi version of "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee," Loren stood among the throng that had mobbed on board the ferry and waved wildly. She could see Pitt search the crowd until he found her and happily waved back.

She saw the dressing wrapped around his head, the left arm in a sling, and the cast on one wrist. In his borrowed shorts and golf shirt he looked out of place among the uniformed crew of the Mexican navy. At first glance, he appeared amazingly fit for a man who had survived a journey through hell, purgatory, and a black abyss. But Loren knew Pitt was a master at covering up exhaustion and pain. She could see them in his eyes.