inca.gold-第72部分

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quickly。
　　　　Never　knowing　who　or　what　he　might　encounter　in　the　dark；　or　when；　Pitt　investigated　most　of　the　ship　on　his　hands　and　knees；　scurrying　from　nook　to　cranny　like　a　crab；　using　whatever　cover　was　available。　The　ship　seemed　as　deserted　as　a　cemetery；　but　by　no　stretch　of　his　imagination　did　he　believe　for　a　moment　the　killers　had　abandoned　the　ship。
　　　　The　rules　had　not　changed。　Loren　and　Rudi　Gunn　had　been　removed　from　the　ferry　alive　because　Sarason　had　a　reasonably　good　hunch　Pitt　was　still　alive。　The　mistake　was　trusting　the　murder　to　a　man　fired　with　vengeance。　Amaru　was　too　sick　with　hate　to　take　Pitt　out　cleanly。　There　was　too　much　satisfaction　in　making　the　man　who　took　away　his　manhood　suffer　the　tortures　of　the　damned。　Loren　and　Rudi　Gunn　had　a　sword　hanging　over　their　heads；　but　it　wouldn't　fall　until　the　word　went　out　that　Pitt　was　absolutely　and　convincingly　terminated。
　　　　The　ten　minutes　were　up。　There　was　nothing　left　for　him　but　to　cause　a　distraction　so　Padilla　and　his　crew　could　paddle　the　raft　into　the　darkness。　Once　he　was　certain　they　were　away　Pitt　would　try　to　swim　to　shore。
　　　　What　saved　him　in　the　two　seconds　after　he　detected　the　soft　sounds　of　bare　feet　padding　across　the　deck　was　a　lightning　fall　to　his　hands　and　knees。　It　was　an　obsolete　football　tackle　that　no　longer　worked　with　more　sophisticated　training　techniques。　The　movement　was　pure　reflex。　If　he　had　swung　around；　flicked　on　the　flashlight　and　squeezed　the　trigger　at　the　dark　mass　that　burst　out　of　the　night；　he　would　have　lost　both　hands　and　his　head　under　the　blade　of　a　machete　that　sliced　the　air　like　an　aircraft　propeller。
　　　　The　man　that　tore　out　of　the　dark　could　not　halt　his　forward　momentum。　His　knees　struck　Pitt's　crouching　body　and　he　flew　forward　out　of　control　as　if　launched　by　a　huge　spring　and　crashed　heavily　onto　the　deck；　the　machete　spinning　over　the　side。　Rolling　to　one　side；　Pitt　beamed　the　light　on　his　assailant　and　pulled　the　trigger　of　the　Colt。　The　report　was　deafening；　the　bullet　entering　the　killer's　chest　just　under　the　armpit。　It　was　a　killing　shot。　A　short　gasp　and　the　body　on　the　deck　shriveled　and　went　still。
　　　　〃A　nice　piece　of　work；　gringo；〃　Amaru's　voice　boomed　through　a　loudspeaker。　〃Manuel　was　one　of　my　best　men。〃
　　　　Pitt　did　not　waste　his　breath　on　a　reply。　His　mind　rapidly　turned　over　the　situation。　It　suddenly　became　clear　to　him　that　Amaru　had　followed　his　movements　once　he　reached　the　open　decks。　The　need　for　stealth　was　finished。　They　knew　where　he　was；　but　he　couldn't　see　them。　The　game　was　over。　He　could　only　hope　Padilla　and　his　men　were　going　over　the　side　unnoticed。
　　　　For　effect；　he　fired　three　more　shots　in　the　general　direction　Amaru's　voice　came　from。
　　　　〃You　missed。〃　Amaru　laughed。　〃Not　even　close。〃
　　　　Pitt　stalled　by　firing　one　shot　every　few　seconds　until　the　gun　was　empty。　He　had　run　out　of　delaying　tactics　and　could　do　no　more。　His　situation　was　made　even　more　desperate　when　Amaru；　or　one　of　his　men；　turned　on　the　ferryboat's　navigation　and　deck　lights；　leaving　him　as　exposed　as　an　actor　on　an　empty　stage　under　a　spotlight。　He　pressed　his　back　against　a　bulkhead　and　stared　at　the　railing　outside　the　galley。　The　raft　was　gone　the　lines　were　cut　and　dangling。　Padilla　and　the　rest　had　slipped　into　the　darkness　before　the　lights　came　on。
　　　　〃I'll　make　you　a　deal　you　don't　deserve；〃　said　Amaru　in　a　congenial　tone。　〃Give　up　now　and　you　can　die　quickly。　Resist　and　your　death　will　e　very　slowly。〃
　　　　Pitt　didn't　require　the　services　of　a　mediator　to　explain　the　depth　of　Amaru's　intent。　His　options　were　somewhat　limited。　Amaru's　tone　reminded　him　of　the　Mexican　bandit　who　tried　to　coax　Walter　Huston；　Humphrey　Bogart；　and　Tim　Holt　from　their　gold　diggings　in　the　motion　picture　Treasure　of　the　Sierra　Madre。
　　　　〃Do　not　waste　our　time　making　up　your　mind。　We　have　other〃

　　　　Pitt　wasn't　in　the　mood　to　hear　more。　He　was　as　certain　as　he　could　ever　be　that　Amaru　was　trying　to　hold　his　attention　while　another　of　the　murderers　crept　close　enough　to　stick　a　knife　somewhere　it　would　hurt。　He　did　not　have　the　slightest　intention　of　waiting　to　be　made　sport　of　by　a　gang　of　sadists。　He　sprinted　across　the　deck　and　leaped　over　the　side　of　the　ferry　for　the　second　time　that　evening。
　　　　A　gold…medal　diver　would　have　gracefully　soared　into　the　air　and　performed　any　number　of　jackknifes；　twists；　and　somersaults　before　cleanly　entering　the　water　15　meters　（50　feet）　below。　He'd　have　also　broken　his　neck　and　several　vertebrae　after　crashing　into　the　bottom　silt　only　two　meters　below　the　surface。　Pitt　had　no　aspirations　of　ever　trying　out　for　the　U。S。　diving　team。　He　went　over　the　side　feet　first　before　doubling　up　and　striking　the　water　like　a　cannonball。
　　　　Amaru　and　his　remaining　two　men　ran　to　the　edge　of　the　top　deck　and　looked　down。
　　　　〃Can　you　see　him？〃　asked　Amaru；　peering　into　the　dark　water。
　　　　〃No；　Tupac；　he　must　have　gone　under　the　hull。〃
　　　　〃The　water　is　turning　dirty；〃　exclaimed　another　voice。　〃He　must　have　buried　himself　in　the　bottom　mud。〃
　　　　〃This　time　we're　not　taking　any　chances。　Juan；　the　case　of　concussion　grenades　we　brought　from　Guaymas。　We'll　crush　him　to　pulp。　Throw　them　about　five　meters　from　the　hull；　especially　in　the　water　around　the　paddlewheels。〃
　　　　Pitt　made　a　crater　in　the　seafloor。　He　didn't　impact　hard　enough　to　cause　any　physical　damage；　but　enough　to　stir　up　a　huge　cloud　of　silt。　He　uncoiled　and　swam　away　from　the　Alhambra；　unseen　from　above。
　　　　He　was　afraid　that　once　he　cleared　the　cover　of　murk　he　might　still　be　seen　by　the　killers。　This　was　not　to　be。　A　freshening　breeze　from　the　south　turned　the　water　surface　into　a　light　chop　that　caused　a　refraction　the　lights　from　the　ferryboat　could　not　penetrate。
　　　　He　swam　underwater　as　far　as　he　could　until　his　lungs　began　to　burn。　When　he　came　to　the　surface；　he　broke　it　lightly；　trusting　in　the　ski　mask　to　keep　his　head　invisible　in　the　black　water。　A　hundred　meters　（328　feet）　and　he　was　beyond　the　reach　of　the　lights　illuminating　the　ferry。　He　could　barely　distinguish　the　dark　figures　moving　about　on　the　upper　deck。　He　wondered　why　they　weren't　shooting　into　the　water。　Then　he　heard　a　dull　thud；　saw　the　white　water　rise　in　a　towering　splash　and　felt　a　surge　of　pressure　that　squeezed　the　air　out　of　him。
　　　　Underwater　explosives！　They　were　trying　to　kill　him　with　the　concussion　from　underwater　explosives。　Four　more　detonations　followed　in　quick　succession。　Fortunately；　they　came　from　the　area　amidships；　near　the　paddlewheels。　By　swimming　away　from　one　end　of　the　boat；　Pitt　had　distanced　himself　from　the　main　force　of　the　detonations。
　　　　He　doubled　over　with　his　knees　in　front　of　his　chest　to　absorb　the　worst　of　the　impact。　Thirty　meters　closer　and　he　would　have　been　pounded　into　unconsciousness。　Sixty　meters　（200　feet）　and　he　would　have　been　crushed　to　putty。　Pitt　increased　the　gap　between　himself　and　the　ferry　until　the　eruptions　came　with　the　same　sensual　squeeze　as　from　a　strong　woman。
　　　　He　looked　up　at　a　clear　sky　and　checked　the　north　star　for　his　approximate　bearings。　At　14　kilometers　（8。7　miles）　away；　the　desolate　west　coast　of　the　Gulf　was　the　closest　land。　He　tore　off　the　ski　mask　and　rolled　over。　Face　toward　the　carpet　of　stars　across　the　sky；　he　began　a　fortable　backstroke　toward　the　west。
　　　　Pitt　was　in　no　condition　to　try　out　for　the　swimming　team　either。　After　two　hours；　his　arms　felt　as　if　they　were　lifting　twenty…pound　weights　with　each　stroke。　After　six　hours；　his　muscles　protested　with　aches　he　didn't　believe　possible。　And　then　finally；　and　most　thankfully；　fatigue　began　to　dull　the　pain。　He　used　the　old　Boy　Scout　trick　of　removing　his　pants；　tying　the　ankles　into　knots　and　swinging　them　over　his　head　to　catch　the　air；　making　a　reasonably　efficient　float　for　rest　stops　that　became　more　numerous　as　the　night　wore　on。
　　　　There　was　never　any　question　of　stopping　and　letting　himself　drift　in　the　hope　of　being　spotted　by　a　fishing　boat　in　daylight。　The　vision　of　Loren　and　Rudi　in　the　hands　of　Sarason　was　more　than　an　ample　stimulus　to　drive　him　on。
　　　　The　stars　in　the　eastern　sky　were　beginning　to　fade　and　blink　out　when　his　feet　hit　bottom；　and　he　staggered　out　of　the　water　onto　a　sandy　beach　where　he　collapsed　and　immediately　fell　asleep。

　　　　Ragsdale；　wearing　an　armored　body　suit　beneath　a　pair　of　workman's　coveralls；　casually　walked　up　to　the　side　door　of　a　small　warehouse　with　a　For　Lease　sign　in　the　front　window。　He　laid　the　empty　toolbox　he　carried　on　the　ground；　took　a　key　from　his　pocket；　and　opened　the　door。
　　　　Inside；　a　bined　team　of　twenty　FBI　and　eight　Customs　agents　had　assembled　and　were　making　last…minute　preparations　for　the　raid　on　the　Zolar　International　building　directly　across　the　street。　Advance　teams　had　alerted　local　law　enforcement　to　the　operation　and　scouted　the　entire　industrial　plex　for　unusual　activity。
　　　　Most　of　the　men　and　the　four　women　wore　assault　suits　and　carried　automatic　weapons；　while　several　professional　experts　in　the　art　and　antiquities　field　wore　street　clothes。　The　latter　were　burdened　with　suitcases　crammed　with　catalogues　and　photographs　of　known　missing　art　objects　targeted　for　seizure。
　　　　The　plan　called　for　the　agents　to　split　off　into　specific　assignments　once　they　entered　the　building。　The　first　team　was　to　secure　the　building　and　round　up　the　employees；　the　second　was　to　search　out　any　stolen　cache；　while　the　third　was　to　investigate　the　administration　offices　for　any　paper　trail　that　led　to　theft　operations　or　illegal　purchases。　Working　separately；　a　mercial　business　team　specializing　in　art　handling　was　standing　by　to　crate；　remove　and　store　the　seized　goods。　The　U。S。　Attorney's　Office；　working　on　the　case　for　both　the　FBI　and　Customs；　had　insisted　the　raid　be　carried　out　in　a　faultless　manner　and　that　confiscated　objects　be　treated　with　a　velvet　touch。
　　　　Agent　Gaskill　was　standing　at　an　operations　board　in　the　center　of　the　mand　post。　He　turned　at　Ragsdale's　approach　and　smiled。　〃Still　quiet？〃
　　　　The　FBI　agent　sat　down　in　a　canvas　chair。　〃All　clear　except　for　the　gardener　trimming　the　hedge　around　the　building。　The　rest　of　the　grounds　are　as　quiet　as　a　churchyard。〃
　　　　Damned　clever　of　the　Zolars　to　u