inca.gold-第25部分

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d　have　been　hard…pressed　to　imagine　him　living　in　a　fashionable　residential　area　of　Maryland　with　a　lovely　artist　wife　and　two　pretty；　smart　teenage　girls　in　private　school；　and　driving　a　top…of…the…line　BMW。
　　　　Nor　would　someone　who　didn't　know　him　guess　that　he　was　chief　of　NUMA's　munications　and　information　network。　Admiral　Sandecker　had　pirated　him　away　from　a　Silicon　Valley　puter　corporation　to　build　a　vast　data　library；　containing　every　book；　article；　or　thesis；　scientific　or　historical；　fact　or　theory；　ever　known　to　be　written　about　the　sea。　What　St。　Julien　Perlmutter's　archive　was　to　ships；　Yaeger's　was　to　oceanography　and　the　growing　field　of　undersea　sciences。
　　　　He　was　sitting　at　his　own　private　terminal　in　a　small　side　office　of　the　puter　data　plex　that　took　up　the　entire　tenth　floor　of　the　NUMA　building　when　his　phone　buzzed。　Without　taking　his　eyes　from　a　monitor　that　showed　how　ocean　currents　affected　the　climate　around　Australia；　he　picked　up　the　receiver。
　　　　〃Greetings　from　the　brain　trust；〃　he　answered　casually。
　　　　〃You　wouldn't　know　gray　matter　if　it　splashed　on　your　shoe；〃　came　the　voice　of　an　old　friend。
　　　　〃Good　to　hear　from　you；　Mr。　Special　Projects　Director。　The　office　topic　of　the　day　says　you're　enjoying　a　fun…filled　holiday　in　sunny　South　America。〃
　　　　〃You　heard　wrong；　pal。〃
　　　　〃Are　you　calling　from　the　Deep　Fathom？〃
　　　　〃Yes；　Al　and　I　are　back　on　board　after　a　little　excursion　into　the　jungle。〃
　　　　〃What　can　I　do　for　you？〃
　　　　〃Delve　into　your　data　bank　and　see　if　you　can　find　any　record　of　a　tidal　wave　that　struck　the　shoreline　between　Lima；　Peru；　and　Panama　City　sometime　in　March　of　1578。〃
　　　　Yaeger　sighed。　〃Why　don't　you　also　ask　me　to　find　the　temperature　and　humidity　on　the　day　of　creation？〃
　　　　〃Just　the　general　area　where　the　wave　struck　will　do；　thank　you。〃
　　　　〃Any　record　of　such　an　event　would　likely　be　in　old　weather　and　maritime　records　I　gleaned　from　Spanish　archives　in　Seville。　Another　remote　possibility　would　be　the　local　inhabitants；　who　might　have　handed　down　legends　of　such　an　event。　The　Incas　were　good　at　recording　social　and　religious　occasions　on　textiles　or　pottery。〃
　　　　〃Not　a　good　lead；〃　Pitt　said　doubtfully。　〃The　Inca　empire　was　smashed　by　the　Spanish　conquest　nearly　forty　years　earlier。　Whatever　records　they　made　in　recalling　the　news　of　the　day　were　scattered　and　lost。〃
　　　　〃Most　tidal　waves　that　e　inland　are　caused　by　seafloor　movement。　Maybe　I　can　piece　together　known　geological　events　of　that　era。〃
　　　　〃Give　it　your　best　try。〃
　　　　〃How　soon　do　you　need　it？〃
　　　　〃Unless　the　admiral　has　you　on　a　priority　project；　drop　everything　else　and　go。〃
　　　　〃All　right；〃　said　Yaeger；　eager　for　the　challenge。　〃I'll　see　what　I　can　e　up　with。〃
　　　　〃Thanks；　Hiram。　I　owe　you。〃
　　　　〃About　a　hundred　times　over。〃
　　　　〃And　don't　mention　this　to　Sandecker；〃　said　Pitt。
　　　　〃I　thought　it　sounded　like　another　one　of　your　shady　schemes。　Mind　telling　me　what　this　is　all　about？〃
　　　　〃I'm　looking　for　a　lost　Spanish　galleon　in　a　jungle。〃
　　　　〃But　of　course；　what　else？〃　Yaeger　said　with　routine　resignation。　He　had　learned　long　before　never　to　anticipate　Pitt。
　　　　〃I'm　hoping　you　can　find　me　a　ballpark　to　search。〃
　　　　〃As　a　matter　of　fact；　through　clean　living　and　moral　thinking；　I　can　already　narrow　your　field　of　search　by　a　wide　margin。〃
　　　　〃What　do　you　know　that　I　don't？〃
　　　　Yaeger　smiled　to　himself。　〃The　lowlands　between　the　west　flank　of　the　Andes　and　the　coast　of　Peru　have　an　average　temperature　of　eighteen　degrees　Celsius　or　sixty…five　degrees　Fahrenheit　and　an　annual　rainfall　that　would　hardly　fill　a　shot　glass；　making　it　one　of　the　world's　coldest　and　driest　low　altitude　deserts。　No　jungle　for　a　ship　to　get　lost　in　there。〃
　　　　〃So　what's　your　hot　spot？〃　asked　Pitt。
　　　　〃Ecuador。　The　coastal　region　is　tropical　all　the　way　to　Panama。〃
　　　　〃A　precision　display　of　deductive　reasoning。　You're　okay；　Hiram。　I　don't　care　what　your　ex…wives　say　about　you。〃
　　　　A　mere　trifle。　I'll　have　something　for　you　in　twenty…four　hours。〃
　　　　〃I'll　be　in　touch。〃
　　　　As　soon　as　he　put　down　the　phone；　Yaeger　began　assembling　his　thoughts。　He　never　failed　to　find　the　novelty　of　a　shipwreck　search　stimulating。　The　areas　he　planned　to　investigate　were　neatly　filed　in　the　puter　of　his　mind。　During　his　years　with　NUMA；　he　had　discovered　that　Dirk　Pitt　didn't　walk　through　life　like　other　men。　Simply　working　with　Pitt　and　supplying　data　information　had　been　one　long；　intrigue…filled；　vicarious　adventure；　and　Yaeger　took　pride　in　the　fact　that　he　had　never　fumbled　the　ball　that　was　passed　to　him。

　　　　As　Pitt　was　making　plans　to　search　for　a　landlocked　Spanish　galleon；　Adolphus　Rummel；　a　noted　collector　of　South　American　antiquities；　stepped　out　of　the　elevator　into　his　plush　penthouse　apartment　twenty　floors　above　Lake　Shore　Drive　in　Chicago。　A　short；　stringy　man　with　a　shaven　head　and　an　enormous　walrus　moustache；　Rummel　was　in　his　midseventies　and　looked　more　like　a　Sherlock　Holmes　villain　than　the　owner　of　six　huge　auto　salvage　yards。
　　　　Like　many　of　his　extremely　wealthy　peers　who　pulsively　amassed　priceless　collections　of　antiquities　from　the　black　market　with　no　questions　asked；　Rummel　was　unmarried　and　reclusive。　No　one　was　ever　allowed　to　view　his　pre…Columbian　artifacts。　Only　his　accountant　and　attorney　were　aware　of　their　existence；　but　they　had　no　idea　of　how　extensive　his　inventory　was。
　　　　In　the　nineteen　fifties　German…born　Rummel　smuggled　a　cache　of　Nazi　ceremonial　objects　across　the　Mexican　border。　The　contraband　included　presentation　daggers　and　knights…cross　medals　awarded　to　Germany's　greatest　World　War　II　heroes；　as　well　as　a　number　of　historic　documents　signed　by　Adolf　Hitler　and　his　maniacal　cronies。　Selling　his　hoard　to　collectors　of　Nazi　artifacts　at　premium　prices；　Rummel　took　the　profits　and　launched　an　auto　junkyard　that　he　built　into　a　scrap　metal　empire；　netting　him　nearly　250　million　dollars　over　forty　years。
　　　　After　a　business　trip　to　Peru　in　1974；　he　developed　an　interest　in　ancient　South　American　art　and　began　buying　from　dealers；　honest　or　criminal。　Source　did　not　matter　to　him。　Corruption　was　as　mon　as　rain　in　a　jungle　among　the　brotherhood　of　artifact　finders　and　sellers　throughout　Central　and　South　America。　Rummel　gave　no　thought　to　whether　his　acquired　pieces　were　legally　excavated　but　sold　out　the　back　door；　or　stolen　from　a　museum。　They　were　for　his　satisfaction　and　enjoyment；　and　his　alone。
　　　　He　walked　past　the　Italian　marble　walls　of　his　foyer　and　approached　a　large　mirror　with　a　thick　gilded　frame　covered　with　naked　cherubs　entwined　around　a　continuous　grapevine。　Twisting　the　head　of　a　cherub　in　one　corner；　Rummel　sprang　the　catch　that　unlatched　the　mirror；　revealing　a　concealed　doorway。　Behind　the　mirror　a　stairway　led　down　into　eight　spacious　rooms　lined　with　shelves　and　filled　with　tables　supporting　at　least　thirty　glass　cases　packed　with　more　than　two　thousand　ancient　pre…Columbian　artifacts。　Reverently；　as　if　walking　down　the　aisle　of　a　church　toward　the　altar；　he　moved　about　the　gallery；　cherishing　the　beauty　and　craftsmanship　of　his　private　hoard。　It　was　a　ritual　he　performed　every　evening　before　going　to　bed；　almost　as　if　he　were　a　father　looking　in　on　his　sleeping　children。
　　　　Rummel's　pilgrimage　finally　ended　at　the　side　of　a　large　glass　case　that　was　the　centerpiece　of　the　gallery。　It　held　the　crowning　treasure　of　his　collection。　Gleaming　under　halogen　spotlights；　the　Golden　Body　Suit　of　Tiapollo　lay　in　splendor；　arms　and　legs　outstretched；　the　mask　sparkling　with　emeralds　in　the　eye　sockets。　The　magnificent　brilliance　of　the　artistry　never　failed　to　move　Rummel。
　　　　Knowing　full　well　it　had　been　stolen　from　the　national　anthropological　museum　in　Seville；　Spain；　seventy…six　years　previously；　Rummel　did　not　hesitate　to　pay　one　million　two　hundred　thousand　dollars　in　cash　when　he　was　approached　by　a　group　of　men　who　claimed　to　be　connected　to　the　Mafia　but　were　in　reality　members　of　a　clandestine　underground　syndicate　that　specialized　in　the　theft　of　precious　art　objects。　Where　they　had　e　upon　the　golden　suit；　Rummel　had　no　idea。　He　could　only　assume　they　had　either　stolen　it　themselves　or　bought　it　from　the　collector　who　had　dealt　with　the　original　thieves。
　　　　Having　had　his　nightly　gratification；　Rummel　turned　off　the　lights；　returned　upstairs　to　the　foyer；　and　closed　the　mirror。　Moving　behind　a　wet　bar　designed　around　a　two　thousand…year…old　Roman　sarcophagus；　he　half…filled　a　small　snifter　from　a　bottle　of　brandy　and　retired　to　his　bedroom　to　read　before　falling　asleep。

　　　　In　another　apartment　directly　level　and　across　the　street　from　Rummel's　building；　United　States　Customs　Agent　David　Gaskill　sat　and　peered　through　a　pair　of　high…powered　binoculars　mounted　on　a　tripod　as　the　artifacts　collector　prepared　for　bed。　Another　agent　might　have　been　bored　after　nearly　a　week　of　stakeout；　but　not　Gaskill。　An　eighteen…year　veteran　of　the　Customs　Service；　Gaskill　looked　more　like　a　football　coach　than　a　special　government　agent；　a　look　he　cultivated　for　his　work。　His　gray　hair　was　curly　and　bed　back。　An　African　American；　his　skin　was　more　doeskin　brown　than　dark　coffee；　and　his　eyes　were　a　strange　mixture　of　mahogany　and　green。　His　massive　bulldog　head　seemed　to　grow　out　of　his　shoulders　on　a　stunted；　tree…trunk　neck。　A　huge　mountain　of　a　man；　he　was　once　an　all…star　linebacker　for　the　University　of　Southern　California。　He　had　worked　hard　to　lose　his　South　Carolina　drawl　and　spoke　with　practiced　diction；　occasionally　being　mistaken　for　a　former　British　citizen　from　the　Bahamas。
　　　　Gaskill　had　been　fascinated　by　pre…Columbian　art　ever　since　a　field　trip　to　the　Yucatan　Peninsula　during　school。　When　stationed　in　Washington；　D。C。；　he　had　handled　dozens　of　investigations　involving　looted　artifacts　from　the　Anasazi　and　Hohokam　cultures　of　the　American　Southwest　desert。　He　was　working　on　a　case　involving　the　smuggling　of　carved　Mayan　stone　panels　when　he　received　a　tip　that　was　passed　along　to　him　by　Chicago　police　from　a　cleaning　woman。　She　had　accidentally　discovered　photographs　protruding　from　a　drawer　in　Rummel's　penthouse　of　what　she　believed　to　be　a　man's　body　covered　in　gold。　Thinking　that　someone　might　have　been　murdered；　she　st