The Silent Sea (2010) - Cussler Clive - Страница 43
- Предыдущая
- 43/76
- Следующая
It had been one of Perlmutter's research projects a few months back that eventually sent the crew of the Oregon to Libya and led to the rescue of the Secretary of State, Fiona Katamora.
Fine, sir. Yourself?
A bit peckish, as the Brits might say. Dinner's still in the oven, and the aroma is mouthwatering. Perlmutter's second-greatest love was food, and to meet him one could see he dined with gusto. Tell me you're here in the States, and I can finally get a tour of your ship.
Max Hanley and I are here, as a matter of fact, but the Oregon's at sea. There was no reason not to tell Perlmutter where the ship was other than that Juan didn't know if the other man's phones were clean. I was wondering if I could pick your brain.
Good God, man, you're starting to sound like Dirk. All he ever calls for is information. At least his kids have the decency to bring me a little something when they come to pump their old uncle St. Julian for his knowledge.
Max and I are in Washington State, we'll send you some of their famous apples.
Make it Dungeness crab instead, and you have a deal. What do you need to know?
The Chinese Treasure Fleet.
Ah, Admiral Zheng. What about it?
Actually, I'm talking about Admiral Tsai Song.
I'm afraid that's a myth, Perlmutter started, and then stopped speaking for a moment. Did you find evidence that he really existed? He's real?
Are you familiar with the Pine Island Treasure Pit?
Yes, of course, Perlmutter's voice suddenly shot up a couple of octaves. My God. That was Tsai?
There's a secret chamber off the main shaft. He left a plaque there, giving a hint to where they abandoned one of their other ships.
So it wasn't pirate loot at all. I never believed it was, but this is fantastic. Tsai Song's voyage was thought to be nothing more than a story, most likely invented in the eighteenth century as a way of claiming national pride when China was in the throes of unrest due to British meddling.
Kind of 'yLook at us, we once had an empire bigger than yours.'
Exactly. Listen, Captain Cabrillo
Juan, please.
Juan, I'm not really the person you need to be speaking with. All I know is that there was a claim that Tsai sailed to America and back sometime around the end of the 1400s. I am going to put you in touch with Tamara Wright. She's a Chinese history scholar who wrote an excellent book about Admiral Zheng's voyage to India and Africa and has pieced together a history of the Admiral Tsai legend. Can I call you in ten minutes?
Sure. Juan gave him his cell number and glanced at Max. You just witnessed history, my friend. Dirk Pitt told me that in all the years he's known Perlmutter, he's never been able to stump the man.
Not knowing St. Julian, Hanley was underwhelmed. I'll mention it next time I'm at NUMA.
Juan's phone trilled a few minutes later. Bad news, I'm afraid. Tamara's on vacation and won't be back to her office at Dartmouth until next Monday.
For reasons I can't discuss, Juan said, time might be of the essence. We only need a couple of minutes of her time.
That's just it. She's unavailable. The grad student who answered at her office said Tamara left her cell phone behind.
Do you know where she's vacationing? Maybe there's a way we can track her down.
Is it really that important? Perlmutter asked, and then spoke again before Juan could reply, Of course it is or you wouldn't have asked. She's on a Mississippi River jazz cruise aboard the Natchez Belle. I have no idea where they are right now, but you can probably get that information from the cruise line.
I'm already logging on to their website, Cabrillo said. Thank you, Mr. Perlmutter.
You can forget my crab and send me a translation of that plaque, and we'll call it even.
Done and done.
So? Max asked.
Juan spun the laptop so Hanley could see. The image on the screen was a beautiful white paddle wheeler with smoke coming from her two skinny stacks and people waving from her three wedding-cake-like decks. In the background was the famous St. Louis Arch, one of her usual ports of call.
Up for a little riverboat gambling?
I left my derringer at the safe house. Max shot his cuffs. But I should be able to find a few spare aces. Where is she now?
We can catch her in Vicksburg and get back off again in Natchez, Mississippi, Juan said, taking back the computer to book them on the overnight trip and make the flight arrangements to get them there. After that, we'll hook up with the Oregon again in Rio and either head to the assignment in South Africa or see where the Fates blow us.
You're having fun, aren't you? Max was pleased.
Apart from getting shot at and left at the bottom of a two-hundred-foot pit for a while, yeah, I am.
Hanley chuckled. You liked those parts, too.
Juan just grinned.
The Silent Sea
Chapter SEVENTEEN
THE CLOSEST LARGE AIRPORT TO VICKSBURG WAS IN Jackson, Mississippi, fifty miles to the east. The wall of humidity Cabrillo walked into when he stepped out of the terminal made him think he was back in the Amazon. The air shimmered with heat, and he couldn't seem to fill his lungs. Beads of sweat popped up on the dome of Max's balding head, and he had to mop his brow with a bandanna.
My God, he said. What is this place, like, ten miles from the sun?
Eighteen, Juan replied. I read that in the airline magazine.
What made it worse is that both men had donned jackets after retrieving their pistols from the checked baggage.
Rather than bother with the formalities of renting another car, they opted to take a cab instead. Once they found a driver and agreed on a price, the bags went into the trunk and the men settled in the arctic comfort of the taxi's air-conditioning.
With traffic, it took a little over an hour to reach their destination, but they arrived in plenty of time. The Natchez Belle wouldn't leave for its namesake city for another forty minutes.
She was moored behind a structure made up to look like a side-wheel steamer that housed one of the casinos in the shadow of the Vicksburg Bridges, a pair of skeletal steel spans that stretched across the muddy Mississippi. Her boarding gantry was lowered right onto the parking lot. A white tent had been set up nearby, and the brassy beat of jazz music carried to where the men stood, as the cabbie headed back home again. Dozens of people milled around with plates of hors d'oeuvres and drinks in their hands. A few of the boat's staff were in attendance, dressed in period costumes.
What do you know, more gambling. Max no longer noticed the heat.
Forget it, you lost enough in Vegas. You know, it doesn't seem right to me. Vicksburg's the site of one of the most famous battles of the Civil War. I have a hard time putting casinos here. It's like if they put Euro Disney on the Normandy beaches.
A lot of locals agree, I'm sure, but a lot more are grateful for the revenue and jobs.
Juan conceded the point with a nod. It just occurred to me. I have no idea what Tamara Wright looks like. He was reaching for his phone to call Perlmutter when it started to ring.
Chairman, St. Julian here.
Your ears must have been buzzing because I was just reaching for my phone to call you. We don't know what Professor Wright looks like.
She's tall, I'd say six feet, and a light-skinned African American. Her hair was straight the last time I saw her, but that was several years ago. The best way to spot her is she always wears a gold Tijitu pendant.
A what?
It's the Taoist symbol for yin and yang. One half black, the other white. Listen, that's not important. Her grad student just called me again. She says she had another call last night from a man asking about Tamara. She just thought to call me now.
- Предыдущая
- 43/76
- Следующая
