Night Probe! - Cussler Clive - Страница 50
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"So what's the scam?" grunted Foss Gly. He perched boredly atop a rusty winch mounted on the blue fishing boat's foredeck.
Shaw fought to hold down his temper. "The scam, as you so apathetically put it, is that these cameras were transmitting pictures when you brought them on board. Not only have the people on the NUMA ship been alerted to the fact they're being watched, they also have our faces recorded on videotape."
"How does that concern us?"
"Their project director is probably whistling up a helicopter this minute," Shaw replied. "Before nightfall the tape will be in Washington. And by this time tomorrow they'll probably have identification."
"On you maybe," Gly said grinning. "My partner and I kept our face masks on. Remember?"
"The damage has been done. The Americans will know we're not local divers looting a wreck. They'll be aware of who and what they're up against and will take every precaution."
Gly shrugged and began unzipping his diving suit. "If that mechanical fish hadn't interrupted us, we could have laid the charges, blown the hulk and left them precious little to salvage."
"Bad luck on our part," said Shaw. "How far did you get?"
"We'd barely started when we saw lights coming from over the stern."
"Where are the explosives?"
"Still on the forecastle of the wreck, where we stored them."
"How many pounds?"
Gly thought a moment. "Harris and I made six trips each, towing two hundred-pound sealed containers."
"Twenty- four hundred pounds," Shaw totaled. He turned to Doc Coli. "What if we detonated?"
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"Weight for weight, Trisynol is three times as powerful as TNT." Coli paused to stare across the water at the Ocean Venturer. "The pressure waves from its explosion would break the back of the NUMA ship."
"And the Empress of Ireland?"
"Demolish the bow section and smash in the forepart of the superstructure. At that point the main force would be Absorbed. Further aft, a few bulkheads might buckle, a few decks cave in."
"But the central section of the wreck would remain intact."
"Quite correct," nodded Coli. "Your only accomplishment would be the mass death of innocent men."
"Little sense in pursuing that quarter," Shaw said thoughtfully.
"I'd certainly want no part in it."
"So. Where does that leave us?" asked Gly.
"For the moment, we tread softly," replied Shaw. "Sit back and observe, also find us another boat. The Americans are no doubt on to this one."
A look of contempt crossed Gly's face. "Is that the best you can come up with?"
"I'm satisfied. Unless you've got other ideas."
"I say blow the bastards to bits and end it now," Gly said coldly. "If you lack the stomach, old man, I'll do it."
"Enough!" Shaw snapped, his eyes fixed on Gly. "We're not at war with the Americans, and there is nothing in my instructions that condones murder. Only carnal idiots kill unnecessarily or wantonly. As for you, Inspector Gly, no more debates. You'll do as you're told."
Gly shrugged smugly in acquiescence and said nothing. He didn't have to waste words. What Shaw didn't know, what no one knew, was that he had inserted a radio detonator in one of the Trisynol containers.
With the press of a button he could set off the explosives anytime the mood struck him.
Mercier ate lunch with the President in the family dining room of the White House. He was thankful that his boss, unlike other chief executives, served up cocktails before five o'clock. The second Rob Roy tasted even better than the first, though it didn't exactly complement the Salisbury steak.
"The latest intelligence says the Russians have moved another division up to the Indian border. That makes ten, enough for an invasion force."
The President wolfed down a boiled potato. "The boys in the Kremlin burned their fingers by overrunning Afghanistan and Pakistan. And now they've got a full-fledged Muslim uprising on their hands that has spilled into Mother Russia. I wish they would invade India. It's more than we could hope for."
"We couldn't sit on the sidelines and not become militarily involved."
"Oh, we'd rattle our sabers and make fiery speeches in the United Nations denouncing another example of Communist aggression. Send a few aircraft carriers into the Indian Ocean. Launch another trade embargo."
Mercier picked at his salad. "In other words, the same reaction as we've always given. Stand by and watch-"
"- the Soviets dig their own grave," interrupted the President. "Marching on seven hundred million people who live in poverty would be like General Motors buying a vast welfare department. Believe me, the Russians would lose by winning."
Mercier did not agree with the President, but deep down he knew the nation's leader was probably right. He dropped the subject and turned to a problem closer to home.
"The Quebec referendum for total independence comes up next week. After going down to defeat in '80 and '86, it looks like the third time may be the lucky charm."
The President appeared unconcerned as he scooped up a forkful of peas. "If the French think full sovereignty leads to utopia, they're in for a rude awakening."
Mercier put out a feeler. "We could stop it with a show of force."
"You never give up, do you, Alan?"
"The honeymoon is over, Mr. President. It's only a question of time before congressional opposition and the news media begin labeling you an indecisive leader. The very opposite of what you promised during the campaign."
"All because I won't go to war over the Middle East or send troops into Canada?"
"There are other measures, less drastic, to show a determined front."
"There is no reason to lose one American life over a dwindling oil field in the desert. As for Canada, things will work themselves out."
Mercier came straight out with it. "Why do you want to see a divided Canada, Mr. President?"
The chief executive looked across the table at him coolly. "Is that what you think? That I want to see a neighboring country torn apart and turned into chaos?"
"What else am I to believe?"
"Believe in me, Alan." The President's expression turned cordial. "Believe in what I am about to do."
"How can I?" asked a confused Mercier, "when I don't know what it is?"
"The answer is simple," replied the President with a trace of sadness in his voice. "I'm making a desperate play to save a critically ill United States."
It had to be bad news. From the sour look on Harrison Moon's face, the President knew it couldn't be anything else. He laid aside the speech he was editing and sat back in his chair. "You look like a man with a problem, Harrison."
Moon laid a folder on the desk. "I'm afraid the British have tagged the game."
The President opened the file and found himself staring at an eight-by-ten glossy of a man who gazed back at the camera.
"This was just flown in from the Ocean Venturer," explained Moon. "An underwater survey vehicle was probing the wreck when it was ripped off by a pair of unknown divers. Before communications were broken, this face appeared on the monitors."
"Who is he?"
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