Lost City - Cussler Clive - Страница 69
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The patrol boat continued blissfully on its way for another half hour before Austin decided to call the Coast Guard for help. Minutes later, the 110-foot British Coast Guard boat Scapa picked up the Mayday from a boat broadcasting a position. The Scapa responded with
its full thirty-knot speed. Based on past experience, the boat's skipper thought the call was from a fisherman in trouble. As he gazed from the deck of the Scapa at the inflatable boat caught in the spotlight, Captain John Bruce thought that he had seen some strange sights in his twenty years of patrol in the Orkney Islands. But this was one for the books.
The rigid inflatable off the port bow was about thirty feet in length, Bruce estimated. Most of the shivering passengers on board were dressed in lime coveralls. The captain didn't know of any local prisons, but the circumstances, to say the least, were highly suspicious. Decades at sea had taught Captain Bruce to be careful. He ordered his crew to stand by with weapons ready.
As the patrol boat pulled alongside the inflatable, the captain raised an electric megaphone to his lips and said: "Please identify yourself."
A man came to the side and waved to get the captain's attention.
He had broad shoulders, rugged bronze features and his hair was platinum, almost silver in color.
"Kurt Austin of the National Underwater and Marine Agency," he said, his voice carrying clearly without artificial magnification over the sound of boat engines. "These people are suffering from exhaustion and possible hypothermia. Can you help us out?"
The captain reacted with caution, despite the obvious earnestness in Austin's face. He had heard of NUMA, the far-reaching American ocean science organization, and had occasionally come across one of its vessels on a mission. But he couldn't reconcile the sorry bunch crowded into the small boat with the sleek turquoise-hulled research ships with which he was familiar.
Captain Bruce was a burly Scotsman with a freckled bald head, light blue eyes and a firm chin that correctly advertised the determination of its owner. He let his eye roam from stem to stern. There was no faking the weariness and anxiety he saw in the faces of those crowding the inflatable. Captain Bruce ordered a boat lowered and the passengers taken on board. He warned the deck crew to keep their weapons ready and a close eye on the boarders.
It took several trips to move the passengers from one boat to another. Seen from up close, it was clear that the bedraggled passengers were no threat. As they stepped onto the deck, the medic gave them a quick physical checkup. Then they were each given a blanket to wrap themselves in and directed to the mess hall for hot soup and coffee.
Austin took the last boat over, accompanied by an attractive red-haired woman and two men, one with a dark complexion and the other so tall he stuck out of the boat like a mast.
Austin shook the captain's hand and introduced the others. "This is Paul and Gamay Morgan-Trout and Joe Zavala," he said. "We're all with
NUMA."
"I didn't know NUMA had any operations going in the Orkneys," the captain said, shaking hands all around.
"Technically speaking, we don't." Austin told the others that he would join them in the mess in a few minutes and he turned back to the captain. "The passengers were having a rough time and some of them are suffering from exposure. On top of that, we were lost in the fog, so we called for help. Sorry to bother you."
"No bother, lad. That's our job."
"Thanks anyway. I have another favor to ask. Could you radio a message to Rudi Gunn at NUMA headquarters in Washington? Tell him Austin and company are well and will be in touch."
"I'll have someone get right on it."
"In that case I could use some hot soup myself," Austin said with a smile. He turned around as he walked off and said casually, "By the way, there are two bodies on board the inflatable."
"Dead bodies?"
"Very dead. I wonder if your crew could bring them over before you put the boat in tow."
"Yes, of course," Captain Bruce said.
"Thanks again, Captain," Austin said. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders like a Navajo Indian and strode off toward the galley.
The captain had an annoyed expression in his eyes. He was not used to having people usurp his command. Then he broke into a chuckle. After years at sea dealing with different crews and situations, he was a good judge of men. Bruce detected that what some might have seen as insouciance in Austin's carefree manner was a supreme self-confidence. He ordered his men to retrieve the bodies and take them to the dispensary. Then he told his crew to tie a towline on the boat.
He returned to the bridge and sent Austin's message off to NUMA. He had just finished filing a report with the Coast Guard command when the medic called on the intercom. The captain listened to the medic's excited voice, then left the bridge and went down to the dispensary. Two body bags were lying on gurneys. The medic gave Captain Bruce scented petroleum jelly to dab under his nostrils.
"Brace yourself," the medic said and unzipped one of the body bags.
The captain had seen and smelled dead bodies in various levels of sea decomposition, and the strong animal odor that issued from the bag didn't bother him as much as the sight that greeted his eyes. His ruddy face turned ash gray. The captain was a good Presbyterian who neither drank nor swore. This was one of those times when he wished he were less devout.
"What in God's name is that thing?" he said in a hoarse whisper.
"The stuff of nightmares," the medic said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"What about the other one?" the captain said.
The medic unzipped the second bag. The body was that of a handsome gray-haired man in his fifties or sixties.
"Zip them both up," the captain ordered. When the medic complied, the captain said, "What did they die of?"
"Both these, er, men were killed by gunshots."
Captain Bruce thanked the medic and then headed to the mess hall. The frightened faces he had seen earlier were smiling, thanks to generous infusions of food and rum. Austin sat at a table talking with Paul and Gamay.
Austin had been listening, deep in thought, as they took turns filling him in on their kidnapping and imprisonment. He saw Captain Bruce and gave him a warm smile. "Hello, Captain. As you can see, your hospitality has not gone unappreciated."
"Glad to hear that," the captain said. "I wonder if I might have a word with you in private, Mr. Austin."
Austin took in the seriousness of the captain's expression. He had a good idea of why the captain wanted to see him. "Of course."
The captain led him to a ready room near the mess hall and told him to take a seat.
"I've got some questions to ask you."
"Go right ahead."
"It's about those bodies. Who or what are they?"
"One of them is a Scottish chemist named MacLean Angus MacLean I'm not sure who the other one is, or was. I've been told that he is a mutant, the result of a scientific experiment gone wrong."
"What kind of experiment could produce a monster like that poor devil?"
"I'm not privy to the details."
The captain shook his head in disbelief. "Who shot them?"
"They were killed trying escape from an island, where they were being held prisoner." He gave the position.
"The forbidden island} I've patrolled these waters for two decades and have never set foot on the place. What in God's name were you doing there?"
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