cyclops-第4部分

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　　　　〃How's　the　buoyancy？〃
　　　　〃You'll　have　to　adjust　for　an　extra　five　hundred　pounds　from　the　dampness。〃
　　　　LeBaron　nodded　thoughtfully。　〃She'll　lighten　in　the　heat　of　the　day。〃
　　　　〃The　controls　should　feel　more　responsive。　The　elevator　cables　were　showing　signs　of　rust；　so　I　had　them　replaced。〃
　　　　〃What's　the　weather　look　like？〃
　　　　〃Low　scattered　clouds　most　of　the　day。　Little　chance　of　rain。　You'll　be　bucking　a　five…mile…an…hour　head　wind　from　the　southeast　on　the　way　out。〃
　　　　〃And　a　tail　wind　on　the　return　trip。　I　prefer　that。〃
　　　　〃Same　radio　frequency　as　the　last　trip？〃
　　　　〃Yes；　we'll　report　our　position　and　condition；　using　normal　voice　munication；　every　half　hour。　If　we　spot　a　promising　target　we'll　transmit　in　code。〃
　　　　The　crew　chief　nodded。　〃Understood。〃
　　　　Without　further　conversation　LeBaron　climbed　the　ladder　to　the　gondola　and　settled　in　the　pilot's　seat。　He　was　joined　by　his　copilot；　Joe　Cavilla；　a　sixty…year…old；　sad…eyed；　dour　individual　who　seldom　opened　his　mouth　except　to　yawn　or　sneeze。　His　family　had　immigrated　to　America　from　Brazil　when　he　was　sixteen　and　he　had　joined　the　Navy；　flying　blimps　until　the　last　airship　unit　was　formally　disbanded　in　1964。　Cavilla　had　simply　showed　up　one　day；　impressed　LeBaron　with　his　expertise　in　lighter…than…air　craft；　and　was　hired。
　　　　The　third　member　of　the　crew　was　Buck　Caesar。　He　wore　a　constant　smile　on　a　gentle；　middle…aged　face　that　had　the　texture　of　cowhide；　but　his　gaze　was　shrewd；　and　the　body　held　the　firmness　of　boxer。　He　sat　hunched　over　a　small　table　contemplating　his　charts；　drawing　a　series　of　squares　near　a　sector　of　the　Bahama　Channel。
　　　　Blue　smoke　burst　from　the　exhaust　stacks　as　LeBaron　turned　over　the　engines。　The　ground　crew　untied　a　number　of　canvas　sacks　containing　ballast　shot　from　the　gondola。　One　crewman；　the　〃butterfly　catcher；〃　held　up　a　windsock　on　a　long　pole　so　LeBaron　could　note　the　exact　direction　of　the　wind。
　　　　LeBaron　gave　a　hand　signal　to　the　crew　chief。　A　wooden　chock　was　pulled　from　the　landing　wheel；　the　nose　coupling　was　released　from　the　mooring　mast；　and　the　men　holding　the　bow　ropes　heaved　to　one　side　and　let　go。　When　the　airship　was　free　and　clear　of　the　mast；　LeBaron　eased　the　throttles　forward　and　spun　the　large　elevator　wheel　next　to　his　seat。　The　Prosperteer　pointed　her　ic…opera　snout　upward　at　a　fifty…degree　angle　and　slowly　drove　into　the　sky。
　　　　The　ground　crew　watched　until　the　huge　airship　gradually　faded　from　view　over　the　blue…green　waters　of　the　straits。　Then　their　interest　turned　briefly　to　the　limousine　and　the　vague　feminine　shape　behind　the　tinted　windows。
　　　　Jessie　LeBaron　shared　her　husband's　passion　for　outdoor　adventure；　but　she　was　an　orderly　woman；　who　preferred　organizing　charity　balls　and　political　fund　raisers　over　a　time…wasting　hunt　for　dubious　treasure。　Vibrant　and　bouncy；　with　a　mouth　that　had　a　repertory　of　a　dozen　different　smiles；　she　was　six　months　past　fifty　but　looked　closer　to　thirty…seven。　Jessie　was　slightly　heavy…bodied　but　firm；　her　facial　skin　was　creamy　smooth；　and　she　had　allowed　her　hair　to　turn　a　natural　salt…and…pepper。　The　eyes　were　large　and　dark　and　bore　no　trace　of　the　blank　look　usually　left　by　plastic　surgery。
　　　　When　she　could　no　longer　see　the　blimp；　Jessie　spoke　into　the　limousine's　inter。　〃Angelo；　please　drive　back　to　the　hotel。〃
　　　　The　chauffeur；　a　somber　Cuban　with　the　etched　face　of　a　postage　stamp　engraving；　touched　two　fingers　to　the　brim　of　his　cap　and　nodded。
　　　　The　ground　crew　watched　the　long　Cadillac　turn　and　head　through　the　deserted　front　gate　of　the　former　naval　base。　Then　someone　produced　a　volleyball。　Quickly　they　drew　out　the　boundaries　and　set　up　a　net。　After　choosing　up　sides；　they　began　batting　the　ball　back　and　forth　to　fight　the　boredom　of　waiting。
　　　　Inside　the　air…conditioned　truck；　the　crew　chief　and　a　radio　operator　acknowledged　and　recorded　the　reports　from　the　blimp。　LeBaron　religiously　transmitted　every　thirty　minutes；　never　varying　more　than　a　few　seconds；　describing　his　approximate　position；　any　changes　in　weather；　and　vessels　passing　below。
　　　　Then；　at　half　past　two　in　the　afternoon；　the　reports　stopped。　The　radio　operator　tried　to　raise　the　Prosperteer；　but　there　was　no　response。　Five　o'clock　came　and　went　with　still　no　word。　Outside；　the　ground　crew　wearily　ceased　their　play　and　crowded　around　the　door　to　the　radio　partment　as　the　uneasiness　inside　began　to　grow。　At　six　o'clock；　with　no　sign　of　the　blimp　over　the　sea；　the　crew　chief　put　in　a　call　to　the　Coast　Guard。
　　　　What　no　one　knew；　or　possibly　suspected；　was　that　Raymond　LeBaron　and　his　friends　on　board　the　Prosperteer　had　vanished　in　a　mystery　that　went　far　beyond　any　mere　treasure　hunt。




　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　



　　　　Ten　days　later；　the　President　of　the　United。　States　stared　pensively　out　the　window　of　his　limousine　at　the　passing　landscape　and　idly　drummed　his　fingers　on　one　knee。　His　eyes　didn't　see　the　picturesque　estates　amid　the　horse　country　of　Potomac；　Maryland。　He　took　scant　notice　of　the　sun　gleaming　on　the　coats　of　the　Thoroughbreds　roaming　the　rolling　pastures。　The　images　that　reflected　in　his　mind　coursed　around　the　strange　events　that　had　literally　hurled　him　into　the　White　House。
　　　　As　the　Vice　President　he　was　sworn　into　the　nation's　highest　office　when　his　predecessor　was　forced　to　resign　after　admitting　to　a　mental　illness。　Mercifully；　the　news　media　did　not　launch　a　full…blown　investigation。　Of　course　there　were　the　routine　interviews　with　White　House　aides；　congressional　leaders；　and　noted　psychiatrists；　but　nothing　smelling　of　intrigue　or　conspiracy　emerged。　The　former　President　left　Washington　and　retired　to　his　farm　in　New　Mexico；　still　respected　with　great　sympathy　from　the　public；　and　the　truth　remained　locked　in　the　minds　of　a　very　few。
　　　　The　new　Chief　Executive　was　an　energetic　man　who　stood　slightly　over　six　feet　and　weighed　a　solid　two　hundred　pounds。　His　face　was　square　jawed；　with　firm　features　and　a　brow　that　was　usually　furrowed　in　a　thoughtful　frown；　yet　his　intense　gray　eyes　could　be　deceptively　limpid。　The　silver　hair　was　always　neatly　trimmed　and　parted　on　the　right　side　in　the　homespun　style　of　a　Kansas　banker。
　　　　He　was　not　handsome　or　flamboyant　in　the　eyes　of　the　public；　but　emitted　an　appealing　style　and　charm。　Though　he　was　a　professional　politician；　he　somewhat　naively　viewed　the　government　as　a　giant　team　with　himself　as　the　coach　who　sent　in　plays　during　the　game。　Highly　regarded　as　a　mover　and　shaker；　he　surrounded　himself　with　a　cabinet　and　staff　of　gifted　men　and　women　who　made　every　effort　to　work　in　harmony　with　Congress　rather　than　enlisting　a　band　of　cronies　who　were　more　concerned　with　fortifying　their　personal　power　base。
　　　　His　thoughts　slowly　focused　on　the　local　scenery　as　his　Secret　Service　driver　slowed　down　and　turned　off　River　Road　North　through　a　large　stone　gate　bordered　by　a　white　rail　fence。　A　uniformed　security　guard　and　a　Secret　Service　agent　wearing　the　standard　dark　sunglasses　and　business　suit　stepped　from　the　gatehouse。　They　simply　peered　in　the　car　and　nodded　in　recognition。　The　agent　spoke　into　a　small　radio　transmitter　strapped　to　his　wrist　like　a　watch。
　　　　〃The　Boss　is　on　his　way。〃
　　　　The　limousine　rolled　up　the　tree…lined　circular　drive　of　the　Congressional　Country　Club；　past　the　tennis　courts　on　the　left　teeming　with　the　staring　wives　of　the　members；　and　eased　to　a　stop　under　the　portico　of　the　clubhouse。
　　　　Elmer　Hoskins；　the　advance　man；　stepped　forward　and　opened　the　rear　door。　〃Looks　like　a　good　day　for　golf；　Mr。　President。〃
　　　　〃My　game　couldn't　get　worse　if　we　were　standing　in　snow；〃　the　President　said；　smiling。
　　　　〃I　wish　I　could　shoot　in　the　low　eighties。〃
　　　　〃So　do　I；〃　said　the　President　as　he　followed　Hoskins　around　the　side　of　the　clubhouse　and　down　to　the　pro　shop。　〃I've　added　five　strokes　to　my　score　since　taking　over　the　Oval　Office。〃
　　　　〃Still；　not　bad　for　someone　who　only　plays　once　a　week。〃
　　　　〃That　and　the　fact　it　bees　increasingly　difficult　to　keep　my　mind　on　the　game。〃
　　　　The　club　pro　came　over　and　shook　his　hand。　〃Reggie　has　your　clubs　and　is　waiting　on　the　first　tee。〃
　　　　The　President　nodded　and　they　climbed　into　a　golf　cart　and　set　off　over　a　path　that　curved　around　a　large　pond　and　onto　one　of　the　longest　golf　courses　in　the　nation。　Reggie　Salazar；　a　short；　wiry　Hispanic；　stood　leaning　on　a　huge　leather　bag　packed　with　golf　clubs　that　came　up　to　his　chest。
　　　　Salazar's　appearance　was　deceiving。　Like　a　small　Andes　Mountains　burro；　he　could　lug　a　fifty…pound　bag　of　irons　around　eighteen　holes　without　losing　a　breath　or　showing　a　drop　of　sweat。　When　he　was　only　a　boy　of　thirteen　he　had　carried　his　ailing　mother　in　his　arms　with　a　three…year…old　sister　strapped　to　his　back　across　the　California/　Baja　border　thirty　miles　to　San　Diego。　After　the　illegal　alien　amnesty　was　granted　in　1985　he　worked　around　golf　courses；　being　a　top　caddy　on　the　professional　tour。　He　was　a　genius　at　learning　the　rhythm　of　a　course；　claiming　it　spoke　to　him；　and　unerringly　picking　the　right　club　for　a　difficult　shot。　Salazar　was　also　a　wit　and　a　philosopher；　blurting　adages　that　would　have　made　Casey　Stengel　envious。　The　President　had　drawn　him　in　a　congressional　tournament　five　years　before　and　they　became　good　friends。
　　　　Salazar　always　dressed　like　a　field　laborer　denim　jeans；　western　shirt；　GI　boots；　and　a　rancher's　wide　brimmed　straw　hat。　It　was　his　trademark。
　　　　〃Saludos；　Mr。　President；〃　he　greeted　in　border　English；　his　dark　coffee…brown　eyes　glistening。　〃Do　you　wish　to　walk　or　ride　the　cart？〃
　　　　The　President　pressed　Salazar's　outstretched　hand。　〃I　could　use　the　exercise；　so　let's　walk　for　a　while　and　maybe　ride　the　back　nine。〃
　　　　He　teed　off　and　hit　a　lofting　ball　with　a　slight　hook　that　stopped　rolling　180　yards　up　and　near　the　border　of　the　fairway。　As　he　strolled　from　the　tee　the　problems　of　running　the　country　melted　away　and　his　mind　began　planning　the　next　shot。
　　　　He　played　in　silence　until　he　dropped　his　putt　in　the　cup　for　a　par。　Then　he　relaxed　and　handed　his　putter　to　Salazar。　〃Well；　Reggie；　any　suggestions　for　dealing　with　Capitol　Hill？〃
　　　　〃Too　many　black　ants；〃　Salazar　replied　with　an　elastic