Pacific Vortex! Part 29

"You are lucky." There was no answering smile on Pitt*s face. "Chances are, Admiral Hunter is praying we'll abort the mission."

"No way," Giordino said seriously. "You people overestimated this big yellow-eyed clown. Bet you a case of good booze we get in and out before it dawns on him that he's been hit by the two greatest submarine thieves in the Pacific."

"If you say so."

"Face it," Giordino said loftily. "n.o.body in their right mind would voluntarily ditch an aircraft in the sea during the dead of night-except you, that is. This Delphi guy probably thinks we're only on a reconnaissance flight. He won't suspect anything before daylight."

"I like your optimism."

"Mom always said I had a way with words."

"What about our pa.s.sengers?"

"n.o.body begged them to come. They're probably back there writing their obituaries anyway. Why disappoint them?"

"Okay, we'll go for it." Pitt reached around the control column and tapped the altimeter. The small white needles lay idly on the bottom pegs. He turned on the landing lights and watched the water hurtle under the fuselage as the air speed indicator quivered at two hundred seventy knots. Then he pulled on a second set of earphones and listened intently for a few moments. "The signals from the underwater marker are nearing their peak," he said. "We had best run over the final landing check."

Giordino sighed lazily, unbuckled his seat belt, moved back to the engineer's panel, and pa.s.sed the checklist to Pitt "Read it back to me."

Pitt read off the numbered items on the printed card while Giordino acknowledged.

"Spark advance selector switches?"

"Twenty percent normal," Giordino answered.

"Mixture levels?"

"Check."

Pitt droned on through the tedious but necessary routine while diverting a cautious eye every few seconds on the sea a bare fifty feet below. Finally he reached the last item on the card.

"Center wing tank line valve and boost switches?"

"Closed and off."

"That's it," Pitt said, flipping the check card over his shoulder onto the cabin floor. "n.o.body will need that again."

Giordino bent over the controls and pointed. "The stars near the horizon straight ahead... they're fading out."

Pitt nodded. "The fog bank."

An ominous smudge soon appeared against the black horizon line. Pitt gradually closed the throttles until the air speed indicator read one hundred twenty knots.

"This is the magic moment," Pitt said quietly. He glanced briefly into Giordino's dark eyes-his friend's face, though unsmiling, was calm and unworried.

"Give me one-hundred-degree flaps," Pitt said. "Then get back in the main cabin with the others and act like a bored streetcar conductor."

"Ill entertain them with a series of my best yawns." Giordino leaned over the copilot's seat and held the ON position of the flaps switch until it registered one hundred degrees. "So long, pal. See you after the bash." He gave Pitt's arm a gentle squeeze, then he turned, and left the c.o.c.kpit cabin.

There was a crosswind; Pitt crabbed the C-54 to compensate for the drift As the plane settled a few feet lower, he could clearly make out the height of the swells in the brilliance from the landing lights.

He silently wished he could have layed her on the surface with no beams showing, but that would have been impossible. Not yet, not yet, he said over and over in his mind. Three more miles. It would take split second timing to ease the plane down short of the marker and the fog and still have momentum left to cany it well into the target area. The air speed was dropping past one hundred five knots. "Easy, baby; don't stall on me just yet" Pitt concentrated on keeping the wings level-if one of the tips dug into a wave crest, the plane would be transformed into a giant cartwheel. He gently nudged the plane lower, dropping behind the rows of waves, attempting to land on the downward side of one, using its slope to slacken the impact The propellers were throwing up huge billows of spray behind the engine nacelles, and die fog was beginning to enshroud the c.o.c.kpit winds.h.i.+eld when the first impact came.

It was like a dap of thunder, only louder. A round, red auxiliary fire extinguisher broke loose from its mounting and sailed over Pitt's shoulder, cras.h.i.+ng into the instrument panel Pitt was just recovering from the shock when the plane bounced over the water like a skipping stone and smacked its aluminum belly for the second time. Then the nose dug into the backside of a swell and the C-54 stopped abruptly in the middle of a great splash.

Pitt stared dazedly through the dripping winds.h.i.+eld at the mist He did it He had brought her down in one piece. The plane was gently rising up and down with the swells. It would float, maybe for a few minutes, maybe for days, depending on how badly the underbelly was ruptured. He exhaled a tremendous sigh and relaxed, noting with satisfaction that the batteries had survived the impact and were keeping the interior of the cabin bathed in a soft light. He flicked off the ignition switches and the landing lights to conserve the battery cells, tore off his seat belt, and hurried through the door to the main cabin.

Dirk Pitt 1 - Pacific Vortex

He found a far more confident group of men this time. Crowhaven was the first to slap his back. The rest whistled and applauded; all, that is, except for the five SEAL's. They were already efficiently going about their business removing the escape hatch and checking each man's equipment.

"Good show, Dirk." Giordino grinned broadly. 1 couldn't have done better myself."

"Coming from you, that's a blue-ribbon compliment" Pitt quickly donned his diving gear, slipping on an air tank and adjusting a face mask. "How long will she float?" asked Crowhaven. "I checked the lower deck," said Giordino as he examined the air tanks on Pitts back. "There's only minor seepage."

"Shouldn't we chop a hole in her so she'll sink?" Crowhaven persisted.

"Not a wise move," Pitt answered. "When Delphi discovers an abandoned aircraft floating around with no crew, he'll think we took to the life rafts. That's why I left all the rescue equipment back at Hickam. It would never do for him to find the life rafts safe and sound and unopened. Hopefully, h.e.l.l be searching for us on the surface while we're below."

"There must be an easier way to make admiral," Crowhaven said acidly.

Pitt went on. "When you get the sub underway, communicate with Admiral Hunter on twelve hundred fifty kilocycles."

Crowhaven's eyes narrowed. "You're putting me on. That's a commercial frequency. I could get my tail in a sling with the Federal Communications Commission if I transmitted over twelve hundred fifty."

"Very likely," Pitt agreed wearily. "But Delphi's got a monitoring system that won't quit He's already invaded our preplanned frequency. Twelve-fifty is your only chance of getting through. Well worry about where the chips fall if we're lucky enough to enjoy the next sunrise."

Pitt pulled on his fins and checked his breathing regulator. Then he leaned out the open hatch and peered into the blackness. The swells were was.h.i.+ng across the leading edge of the wings as the plane took on a slight nose downward att.i.tude. He turned to Giordino.

"Ready with your magic box?"

Giordino held up the signal detector.

"Shall we?"

"Yes, let's."

"Go find us a submarine," Pitt said, nodding out the hatch.

Giordino sat with his back facing the water for a moment while he adjusted his mouthpiece. Then he threw a jaunty wave to Pitt and disappeared backward into the sea.

Silently, one by one, five SEAL's and Crowhaven followed by his men, splashed into the darkness outside the aircraft. Each went through the door grim-faced. Pitt glanced below him and observed the underwater dive lights blinking on and wavering into the distance as each man aimed his beam on the man ahead and began swimming downward into the depths.

Pitt was the last to leave. He took one last look around the interior of the aircraft, and, like a man leaving the house for a weekend vacation, he dutifully opened the cover to the cabin circuit box and switched off the lights.