White Death - Cussler Clive - Страница 41
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Shafts of light streamed in from breaks in the trees overhead.
Then, quite suddenly, they could see the sparkle of water. At a sig- nal from Nighthawk, they got down on their hands and knees and made their way to the edge of the lake.
After a moment, Nighthawk stood and walked to the water's edge, with Green following. An elderly Cessna floatplane was tied up at a rickety dock. Nighthawk inspected the plane, finding nothing out of
place. He removed the cowling and gasped when he saw the engine. "Josh, look at this!"
Green peered at the engine. "Looks like someone took an ax to it." The hoses and connections hung loose where they had been cut.
The engine was scarred in a dozen places where it had been hit with something hard.
"This is why no one could fly out of here," Nighthawk said. He pointed to a foot-worn trail that led away from the floatplane dock. "That path leads to the village."
Within minutes, they were making their way to the edge of a clearing. Nighthawk held out his hand for them to stop. Then he squatted on his haunches and peered with sharp eyes through the bushes. "There's no one here," he said finally.
"Are you sure?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Nighthawk said. He walked unafraid into the open, with Green hesitantly taking up the rear.
The village consisted of a dozen or so sturdy-looking log houses, most with porches. They were built on both sides of a swath of packed-down dirt in a rough approximation of a small town's Main Street, complete with one structure that had a general-store sign on it. Green expected someone to burst out the front door at any mo- ment, but the store and every other house in the village were as still as tombs.
"This is my house, where my parents and my sister lived," Nighthawk said, stopping in front of one of the larger structures.
He went up on the porch and went inside. After a few minutes, he came out, shaking his head. "No one. Everything is in place. Like they just stepped out for a minute."
"I poked my head in a couple of the other places," Green said.
"Same thing. How many people lived here?"
"Forty or so."
"Where could they have gone?"
Nighthawk walked to the edge of the lake a few yards away. He
stood, listening to the quiet lap of the waves. After a moment, he pointed to the opposite shore and said, "Maybe over there?" Green squinted across the lake. "How can you be sure?" "My mother wrote that there was funny stuff going on across the lake. We've got to check it out."
"What kind of funny stuff?" "She said big helicopters were coming in and unloading material
night and day. When the village men went over to investigate, they were run off by guards. Then one day, some guys with guns came over to the village and looked around. They didn't hurt anyone, but my mother figured they'd be back."
"Wouldn't it be better to go tell the authorities? They could send someone in by plane."
"I don't think there's time," Nighthawk said. "Her letter is more than two weeks old. Besides, I can feel danger and death in the air." Green shuddered. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, and the only person who could get him out was raving like a medicine man in a B movie.
Sensing his friend's nervousness, Nighthawk smiled and said,
'Don't worry, I'm not going native. That's a good suggestion about the cops. I'd feel better if we checked things out first. C'mon," he said, and they headed back to the knoll they had climbed a few minutes before. They came to a natural overhang of rock. Nighthawk pulled away some branches that covered the opening. Lying upside-down on a crude rack was a birch-bark canoe. Nighthawk ran his hand lov- ingly over the shiny surface.
"I made this myself. Used only traditional materials and tech- niques."
"It's beautiful," Green said. "Straight out of Last of the Mohicans." Better. I've gone all over the lake in it."
They dragged the canoe to the beach, dined on beef jerky and rested as they waited for the sun to go down.
With the approach of dusk, they threw their packs into the canoe, pushed it into the water and started paddling. Night had fallen by the time they drew close to the shore. They had to stop when the canoe hit something solid in the water.
Nighthawk reached down, thinking they had hit a rock. "It's some kind of metal cage. Like a bait box." He scanned the water with his sharp eyes. "The water is filled with them. I smell fish, lots of them. It must be some sort of hatchery operation."
They found a breach in the floating barricade and pointed the canoe toward land. Something stirred and splashed in the metal cages, confirming Nighthawk's theory of a fish hatchery. Eventually they came to the outer end of a floating dock lit by dim ankle-high lights they had seen from the water. Tied up to a series of finger piers were several Jet Skis and powerboats. Next to the smaller watercraft was a large catamaran. It had a conveyor belt running down the middle, and Nighthawk guessed that it was used in the hatchery operation.
"I've got an idea," Green said. Working systematically, he pulled the ignition keys from the Jet Skis and the boats and threw them into the water. Then they tucked the canoe in between the other craft, covered it with a borrowed tarp and climbed onto the pier.
Where the dock joined the shore, it continued as a blacktop walk- way that led inland. Nighthawk and Green decided to keep to the woods. After walking a few minutes, they encountered a wide dirt track, as if a big bulldozer had plowed its way through the forest. They followed the swath and came up on a row of trucks and earth- moving machinery arranged in neat rows behind a huge storage building. Using the shed as a shield, they peered around the corner and saw that they were at the edge of an open area carved out of the woods. It was brightly illuminated by a ring of portable halogen lights. Mechanized shovels were flattening down the dirt, and great road-building machines were laying down swathes of blacktop. Work crews armed with shovels were smoothing out the hot asphalt in preparation for it to be flattened down by the steamrollers.
Nighthawk said, "What do we do next, Professor?"
"How long do we have until daybreak?"
"About five hours to first light. It would be smart to be back on the lake before then."
Green sat with his back against a tree. "Let's keep an eye on what's going on until then. I'll take the first watch." Shortly after midnight, Ben took over. Green stretched out on the ground and closed his eyes. The cleared area was now almost deserted except for a few armed men lounging around. Nighthawk blinked his eyes and reached over to tap Green's shoulder.
"Uh, Josh-" Green sat up and looked toward the plaza. "What the hell-?"
Beyond the clearing, where there were only woods before, was a huge dome-shaped structure whose mottled surface glowed bluish white. It seemed to have appeared by magic.
"What is that thing?" Ben whispered. "And where did it come from?"
"You got me," Green said.
"Maybe it's a hotel."
"Naw," Green said. "Too functional-looking. Would you stay in a place like that?"
"I grew up in a log cabin. Any place bigger than that is a hotel." "I don't mean to disparage your home territory, but can you see fishermen and hunters flocking here? That thing belongs in Las Vegas."
"We're talking North Pole, man. Looks like an overgrown igloo." Green had to admit the dome had the same contours as the Eskimo shelters he had seen in National Geographic. But instead of hard snow, the surface appeared to be a translucent plastic material. Huge hangar doors were set into the base of the dome, overlooking the open area, which was being built as a plaza.
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