cyclops-第2部分

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　　　　The　helmsman　and　the　duty　officer　looked　on　in　amazed　silence　as　Church　and　Worley　faced　each　other　with　unblinking　eyes；　the　atmosphere　in　the　wheelhouse　charged　with　tension。　Any　rift　that　was　between　them　in　the　past　weeks　was　hurled　wide　open。
　　　　The　duty　officer　made　a　move　as　if　to　intervene。　Worley　twisted　his　head　and　snarled；　〃Keep　to　your　business　and　mind　the　helm。〃
　　　　Church　rubbed　his　bruised　arms　and　glared　at　the　captain。　〃I　protest　your　refusal　to　respond　to　an　SOS　and　I　insist　it　be　entered　in　the　ship's　log。〃
　　　　〃I　warn　you
　　　　〃I　also　wish　it　noted　that　you　ordered　the　radio　operator　not　to　transmit。〃
　　　　〃You're　out　of　bounds；　mister。〃　Worley　spoke　coldly；　his　lips　pressed　in　a　tight　line；　his　face　bathed　in　sweat。　〃Consider　yourself　under　arrest　and　confined　to　quarters。〃
　　　　〃You　arrest　any　more　of　your　officers；〃　Church　snapped；　his　anger　out　of　control；　〃and　you'll　have　to　run　this　jinx　ship　by　yourself。〃
　　　　Suddenly；　before　Worley　could　reply；　the　Cyclops　lurched　downward　into　a　deep　trough　between　the　swells。　From　instinct；　honed　by　years　at　sea；　everyone　in　the　wheelhouse　automatically　grabbed　at　the　nearest　secure　object　to　keep　his　footing。　The　hull　plates　groaned　under　the　stress　and　they　could　hear　several　cracking　noises。
　　　　〃Mother　of　God；〃　muttered　the　helmsman；　his　voice　edged　with　panic。
　　　　〃Shut　up！〃　Worley　growled　as　the　Cyclops　righted　herself。　〃She's　seen　worse　seas　than　this。〃
　　　　A　sickening　realization　struck　Church。　〃The　Crogan　Castle；　the　ship　that　sent　the　distress　signal；　said　her　prow　was　stove　in　and　her　superstructure　damaged。〃
　　　　Worley　stared　at　him。　〃So　what？〃
　　　　〃Don't　you　see；　she　must　have　been　struck　by　a　giant；　rogue　wave。〃
　　　　〃You　talk　like　a　crazy　man。　Go　to　your　cabin；　mister。　I　don't　want　to　see　your　face　until　we　reach　port。〃
　　　　Church　hesitated；　his　fists　clenched。　Then　slowly　his　hands　relaxed　as　he　realized　any　further　argument　with　Worley　was　a　waste　of　breath。　He　turned　without　a　word　and　left　the　wheelhouse。
　　　　He　stepped　onto　the　deck　and　stared　out　over　the　bow。　The　sea　appeared　deceptively　mild。　The　waves　had　diminished　to　ten　feet　and　no　water　was　ing　over　the　deck。　He　made　his　way　aft　and　saw　that　the　steam　lines　that　ran　the　winches　and　auxiliary　equipment　were　scraping　against　the　bulwarks　as　the　ship　rose　and　fell　with　the　long；　slow　swells。
　　　　Then　Church　went　below　and　checked　two　of　the　ore　holds；　probing　his　flashlight　at　the　heavy　shorings　and　stanchions　installed　to　keep　the　manganese　cargo　from　shifting。　They　groaned　and　creaked　under　the　stress；　but　they　seemed　firm　and　secure。　He　could　not　see　any　sign　of　trickling　grit　from　the　ship's　motion。
　　　　Still；　he　felt　uneasy；　and　he　was　tired。　It　took　all　his　willpower　to　keep　from　heading　to　the　snug　confines　of　his　bunk　and　gratefully　closing　his　eyes　to　the　grim　set　of　problems　surrounding　the　ship。　One　more　inspection　tour　down　to　the　engine　room　to　see　if　any　water　was　reported　rising　in　the　bilges。　A　trip　that　proved　negative；　seeming　to　confirm　Worley's　faith　in　the　Cyclops。
　　　　As　he　was　walking　down　a　passageway　toward　the　wardroom　for　a　cup　of　coffee　a　cabin　door　opened　and　the　American　consul　general　to　Brazil；　Alfred　Gottschalk；　hesitated　on　the　threshold；　talking　to　someone　inside。　Church　peered　over　Gottschalk's　shoulder　and　saw　the　ship's　doctor　bent　over　a　man　lying　in　a　bunk。　The　patient's　face　looked　tired　and　yellow…skinned；　a　youngish　face　that　belied　the　thick　forest　of　white　hair　above。　The　eyes　were　open　and　reflected　fear　mingled　with　suffering　and　hardship；　eyes　that　had　seen　too　much。　The　scene　was　only　one　more　strange　element　to　be　added　to　the　voyage　of　the　Cyclops。
　　　　As　officer　of　the　deck　before　the　ship　departed　Rio　de　Janeiro；　Church　had　observed　a　motor　caravan　arrive　on　the　dock。　The　consul　general　had　stepped　out　of　a　chauffeur…driven　town　car　and　directed　the　loading　of　his　steamer　trunks　and　suitcases。　Then　he　looked　up；　taking　in　every　detail　of　the　Cyclops　from　her　ungainly　straight…up…and…down　bow　to　the　graceful　curve　of　her　champagne…glass　stern。　Despite　his　short；　rotund；　and　almost　ical　frame；　he　radiated　that　indefinable　air　of　someone　accustomed　to　the　upper　rungs　of　authority。　He　wore　his　silver…yellow　hair　cropped　excessively　short；　Prussian　style。　His　narrow　eyebrows　very　nearly　matched　his　clipped　moustache。
　　　　The　second　vehicle　in　the　caravan　was　an　ambulance。　Church　watched　as　a　figure　on　a　stretcher　was　lifted　out　and　carried　on　board；　but　he　failed　to　discern　any　features　because　of　heavy　mosquito　netting　that　covered　the　face。　Though　the　person　on　the　stretcher　was　obviously　part　of　his　entourage；　Gottschalk　took　little　notice；　turning　his　attention　instead　to　the　chain…drive　Mack　truck　that　brought　up　the　rear。
　　　　He　gazed　anxiously　as　a　large　oblong　crate　was　hoisted　in　the　air　by　one　of　the　ship's　loading　booms　and　swung　into　the　forward　cargo　partment。　As　if　on　cue；　Worley　appeared　and　personally　supervised　the　battening　down　of　the　hatch。　Then　he　greeted　Gottschalk　and　escorted　him　to　his　quarters。　Almost　immediately；　the　mooring　lines　were　cast　off　and　the　ship　got　under　way　and　was　heading　out　to　sea　through　the　harbor　entrance。
　　　　Gottschalk　turned　and　noticed　Church　standing　in　the　passageway。　He　stepped　from　the　cabin　and　closed　the　door　behind　him；　his　eyes　narrowed　with　suspicion。　〃Something　I　can　help　you　with；　Lieutenant。　。　。〃
　　　　〃Church；　sir。　I　was　just　finishing　an　inspection　of　the　ship　and　heading　for　the　wardroom　for　a　cup　of　coffee。　Would　you　care　to　join　me？〃
　　　　A　faint　expression　of　relief　passed　over　the　consul　general's　face　and　he　smiled。　〃Might　as　well。　I　can　never　sleep　more　than　a　few　hours　at　a　stretch。　Drives　my　wife　crazy。〃
　　　　〃She　remain　in　Rio　this　trip？〃
　　　　〃No；　I　sent　her　on　ahead　to　our　home　in　Maryland。　I　terminated　my　assignment　in　Brazil。　I　hope　to　spend　the　rest　of　my　State　Department　service　in　Washington。〃
　　　　Gottschalk　appeared　unduly　nervous　to　Church。　His　eyes　darted　up　and　down　the　passageway；　and　he　constantly　dabbed　a　linen　handkerchief　at　his　small　mouth。　He　took　Church　by　the　arm。
　　　　〃Before　we　have　coffee；　would　you　be　so　kind；　Lieutenant；　as　to　escort　me　to　the　baggage　cargo　hold？〃
　　　　Church　stared　at　him。　〃Yes；　sir；　if　you　wish。〃
　　　　〃Thank　you；〃　said　Gottschalk。　〃I　need　something　from　one　of　my　trunks。〃
　　　　If　Church　thought　the　request　unusual；　he　said　nothing；　simply　nodded　and　started　off　toward　the　forward　part　of　the　ship　with　the　fat　little　consul　general　huffing　in　his　wake。　They　made　their　way　topside　and　walked　along　the　runway　leading　from　the　aft　deckhouses　toward　the　forecastle；　passing　under　the　bridge　superstructure　awkwardly　suspended　on　steel　stiltlike　stanchions。　The　steaming　light；　suspended　between　the　two　forward　masts　that　formed　a　support　for　the　skeletal　grid　connecting　the　coaling　derricks；　cast　a　weird　glow　that　was　reflected　by　the　eerie　radiance　of　the　approaching　swells。
　　　　Stopping　at　a　hatch；　Church　undogged　the　latches　and　motioned　Gottschalk　down　a　ladder；　illuminating　the　way　with　his　flashlight。　When　they　reached　the　bottom　deck　of　the　cargo　hold；　Church　found　the　switch　and　flicked　on　the　overhead　lights；　which　lit　the　area　with　an　unearthly　yellow　glow。
　　　　Gottschalk　shouldered　past　Church　and　walked　directly　to　the　crate；　which　was　secured　by　chains　whose　end　links　were　padlocked　into　eyebolts　protruding　from　the　deck。　He　stood　there　for　a　few　moments；　a　reverent　expression　on　his　face　as　he　stared　at　it；　his　thoughts　wandering　in　another　place；　another　time。
　　　　Church　studied　the　crate　up　close　for　the　first　time。　There　were　no　markings　on　the　stout　wooden　sides。　He　judged　its　measurements　at　nine　feet　long　by　three　feet　high　by　four　feet　wide。　He　couldn't　begin　to　guess　the　weight；　but　knew　the　contents　were　heavy。　He　recalled　how　the　winch　had　strained　when　it　hoisted　the　crate　on　board。　Curiosity　overcame　his　mask　of　unconcern。
　　　　〃Mind　if　I　ask　what's　inside？〃
　　　　Gottschalk's　gaze　remained　on　the　crate。　〃An　archeological　artifact　on　its　way　to　a　museum；〃　he　said　vaguely。
　　　　〃Must　be　valuable；〃　Church　probed。
　　　　Gottschalk　did　not　answer。　Something　along　the　edge　of　the　lid　struck　his　eye。　He　pulled　out　a　pair　of　reading　spectacles　and　peered　through　the　lenses。　His　hands　trembled　and　his　body　stiffened。
　　　　〃It's　been　opened！〃　he　gasped。
　　　　〃Not　possible；〃　said　Church。　〃The　top　is　so　tightly　secured　by　chains　that　the　links　have　made　indentations　on　the　edges　of　the　wood。〃
　　　　〃But　look　here；〃　he　said；　pointing。　〃You　can　see　the　pry　marks　where　the　lid　was　forced　up。〃
　　　　〃Those　scratches　were　probably　caused　when　the　crate　was　sealed。〃
　　　　〃They　were　not　there　when　I　checked　the　crate　two　days　ago；〃　said　Gottschalk　firmly。　〃Someone　in　your　crew　had　tampered　with　it。〃
　　　　〃You're　unduly　concerned。　What　crew　member　would　have　any　interest　in　an　old　artifact　that　must　weigh　at　least　two　tons？　Besides；　who　else　but　you　has　the　key　to　the　padlocks？〃
　　　　Gottschalk　dropped　to　his　knees　and　jerked　one　of　the　locks。　The　shackle　came　off　in　his　hand。　Instead　of　steel；　it　was　carved　from　wood。　He　looked　frightened　now。　As　if　hypnotized；　he　slowly　rose；　looked　wildly　about　the　cargo　partment；　and　uttered　one　word。
　　　　〃Zanona。〃
　　　　It　was　as　if　he　triggered　a　nightmare。　The　next　sixty　seconds　were　locked　in　horror。　The　murder　of　the　consul　general　happened　so　quickly　that　Church　could　only　stand　frozen　in　shock；　his　mind　unprehending　of　what　his　eyes　witnessed。
　　　　A　figure　leaped　from　the　shadows　onto　the　top　of　the　crate。　He　was　dressed　in　the　uniform　of　a　Navy　seaman；　but　there　was　no　denying　the　racial　characteristics　of　his　coarse；　straight　black　hair；　the　prominent　cheekbones；　the　unusually　dark；　expressionless　eyes。
　　　　Without　uttering　a　sound；　the　South　American　Indian　plunged　a　spearlike　shaft　through　Gottschalk's　chest　until　the　barbed　point　protruded　nearly　a　foot　beyond　the　shoulder　blades。　The　consul　general　did　not　immediately　fall。　He　slowly　turned　his　head　and　stared　at　Church；　his　eyes　wide　and　devoid　of　recognition。　He　tried　to　say　something；　but　no　words　came　out；　only　a　sickening；　gurgling　kind　of　cough　that　turned　his　lips　and　chin　red。　As　he　began　to　sag　the　Indian　pu