cc.floodtide-第46部分

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ed　into　Cabrillo's　eyes。　〃It　was　an　honor　knowing　you；　Mr。　Chairman。〃
　〃And　a　privilege　to　work　with　you；　Mr。　Special　Projects　Director。　If　you　ever　decide　to　leave　NUMA　and　want　a　job　sailing　the　seven　seas　to　exotic　ports；　send　me　your　resume。〃
　〃I　don't　mean　to　criticize；　but　I　didn't　exactly　find　the　cruise　aboard　your　ship　a　benefit　to　my　health。〃　Pitt　paused　and　looked　up　at　the　rusty　sides　of　the　Oregon。　〃Sounds　strange　to　say　so；　but　I'm　going　to　miss　the　old　boat。〃
　〃Likewise；〃　Cabrillo　agreed。
　Pitt　looked　at　him　questioningly。　〃You'll　mend　and　be　back　on　board　in　no　time。〃
　Cabrillo　shook　his　head。　〃Not　after　this　trip。　The　Oregon's　next　voyage　is　to　the　scrap　yard。〃
　〃Why？〃　asked　Giordino。　〃Are　the　ashtrays　full？〃
　〃She's　outlived　her　usefulness。〃
　〃I　don't　understand；〃　said　Pitt。　〃She　looks　perfectly　sound。〃
　〃She's　been　what　is　called　in　the　spy　trade　'promised'；〃　explained　Cabrillo。　〃The　Chinese　are　wise　to　her　facade。　Within　days　every　intelligence　service　around　the　world　will　be　on　the　lookout　for　her。　No；　I'm　afraid　her　days　as　disguised　gatherer　of　classified　information　are　over。〃
　〃Does　that　mean　you're　going　to　dissolve　the　corporation？〃
　Cabrillo　sat　up；　his　eyes　gleaming。　〃Not　in　your　life。　Our　grateful　government　has　already　offered　to　refit　a　new　ship　with　state…of…the…art…technology；　bigger；　more　powerful　engines　and　a　heavier　weapons　system。　It　may　take　a　few　operations　to　pay　off　the　mortgage；　but　the　stockholders　and　I　are　not　about　to　close　down　operations。〃
　Pitt　shook　the　chairman's　hand。　〃I　wish　you　the　best　of　luck。　Perhaps　we　can　do　it　again　sometime。〃
　Cabrillo　rolled　his　eyes。　〃Oh　God；　I　hope　not。〃
　Giordino　took　one　of　his　magnificent　cigars　and　slipped　it　into　Cabrillo's　shirt　pocket。　〃A　little　something　in　case　you　tire　of　your　smelly　old　pipe。〃
　They　waited　as　the　attendants　transferred　Cabrillo　to　the　gumey　and　lifted　him　inside　the　ambulance。　Then　the　door　was　closed　and　the　vehicle　moved　across　the　dock。　They　were　standing　there　watching　for　a　moment　until　it　disappeared　onto　a　street　lined　with　palm　trees　when　a　man　came　up　behind　them。
　
　〃Mr。　Pitt　and　Mr。　Giordino？〃
　Pitt　turned。　〃That's　us。〃
　A　man　in　his　middle　sixties；　with　gray　hair　and　beard；　held　up　a　leather…encased　badge　and　identification。　He　was　wearing　white　shorts；　a　flowered　silk　shirt　and　sandals。　〃I've　been　sent　by　my　superiors　to　take　you　to　the　airport。　An　aircraft　is　waiting　to　fly　you　to　Washington。〃
　〃Aren't　you　a　little　old　to　play　secret　agent？〃　said　Giordino；　studying　the　stranger's　identification。
　〃We　oldies　but　goodies　can　often　pass　unnoticed　where　you　younger　guys　can't。〃
　〃Which　way　to　your　car？〃　asked　Pitt　conversationally。
　The　senior　citizen　pointed　to　a　small　Toyota　van　painted　in　the　wild　colors　of　a　local　taxi。　〃Your　carriage　awaits。〃
　〃I　had　no　idea　the　CIA　cut　your　budget　so　drastically；〃　Giordino　said　sarcastically。
　〃We　make　do　with　what　we've　got。〃
　
　They　piled　into　the　van；　and　twenty　minutes　later　they　were　seated　in　a　military　cargo　jet。　As　the　plane　rolled　down　the　runway　of　Guam's　Air　Force　base；　Pitt　looked　out　the　window　and　saw　the　senior　intelligence　agent　leaning　against　his　van　as　if　confirming　that　Pitt　and　Giordino　had　departed　the　island。　In　another　minute　they　were　flying　above　the　often　overlooked　island　paradise　of　the　Pacific　with　its　volcanic　mountains；　lush　jungle　waterfalls　and　miles　of　white…sand　beaches　graced　with　swaying　coco　palms。　The　Japanese　swarmed　into　the　hotels　and　onto　the　beaches　of　Guam；　but　not　many　Americans。　He　continued　staring　down　as　the　plane　passed　over　the　turquoise　waters　inside　the　reef　surrounding　the　island　and　headed　out　to　sea。
　
　As　Giordino　dozed　off；　Pitt　turned　his　thoughts　to　the　United　States；　sailing　somewhere　on　the　ocean　below　him。　Something　terrible　was　in　the　works；　a　terrible　threat　that　only　one　man　on　earth　could　prevent。　But　Pitt　knew　with　crystallized　certainty　that　nothing；　except　perhaps　an　untimely　death；　would　deflect　Qin　Shang　from　his　purpose。
　
　The　world　may　be　a　place　that　is　scarce　of　honest　politicians；　white　buffalo；　unpolluted　rivers；　saints　and　miracles；　but　there　is　no　shortage　of　depraved　villains。　Some；　like　serial　killers；　may　slay　twenty　or　a　hundred　innocent　victims。　But　given　financial　resources　they　might　kill　many　more。　Those　like　Qin　Shang　who　possessed　enormous　affluence　could　hold　themselves　above　the　law　and　hire　homicidal　cretins　to　do　their　dirty　work　for　them。　The　evil　billionaire　was　not　a　general　who　felt　remorse　over　losing　a　thousand　men　in　battle　to　achieve　an　objective。　Qin　Shang　was　a　cold…blooded　sociopathic　murderer　who　could　drink　a　glass　of　champagne　and　eat　a　hearty　dinner　after　condemning　hundreds　of　illegal　immigrants；　many　of　them　women　and　children；　to　a　horrible　death　in　the　frigid　waters　of　Orion　Lake。
　
　Pitt　was　mitted　to　stopping　Qin　Shang　whatever　the　consequences；　whatever　the　cost；　even　killing　him　if　the　occasion　presented　itself。　He　was　drawn　in　too　deeply　to　struggle　back　over　the　edge。　He　fantasized　what　it　would　be　like　if　they　ever　met。　What　would　the　circumstances　be？　What　would　he　say　to　a　mass　slaughterer？
　
　For　a　long　time；　Pitt　sat　there　staring　up　at　the　cabin　ceiling　of　the　aircraft。　There　was　no　sense　in　anything。　Whatever　Qin　Shang's　plan　had　to　be；　if　nothing　else　it　was　mad。　And　now　Pitt's　own　mind　was　running　amok。　There　is　nothing　to　do；　he　thought　finally；　but　to　sleep　it　off　and　hope　to　see　things　with　a　sane　eye　when　we　reach　Washington。
　
　
　April　23；　2000　Atchafalaya　River；　Louisiana
　
　OF　THE　　MAJOR　　RIVERS　OF　THE　　WORLD；　　THE　　NILE　　CASTS　　A　romantic　spell　from　an　ancient　past；　the　Amazon　conjures　up　images　of　adventure　and　danger；　while　the　Yangtze　entwines　the　soul　with　the　mysteries　of　the　Orient。　Images　of　pharaohs　lounging　on　royal　barges　rowed　by　a　hundred　men　past　the　pyramids　e　to　mind。。。　the　Spanish　conquistadors　struggling　and　dying　in　a　green　hell。。。　Chinese　junks　and　sampans　crowding　water　turned　yellow…brown　with　flowing　silt。　But　it　is　the　Mississippi　that　truly　captures　the　imagination。
　
　Thanks　to　the　stories　of　Mark　Twain　of　big　side…paddle　riverboats　ing　around　the　bend　with　whistles　blowing　as　they　passed　Huck　Finn　and　Tom　Sawyer　on　a　raft；　and　of　battles　up　and　down　the　river　by　Union　and　Confederate　ironclads　during　the　Civil　War；　the　Mississippi's　past　seems　so　near　that　one　has　but　to　pierce　a　thin　veil　to　experience　it。
　
　〃The　Father　of　Rivers；〃　as　the　Indians　called　it；　the　Mississippi　is　the　only　river　in　North　America　that　ranks　in　the　top　ten　of　the　world。　Third　in　length；　third　in　drainage；　fifth　in　volume；　it　stretches　from　the　headwaters　in　Montana　of　its　longest　tributary；　the　Missouri；　3；484　miles　south　to　the　Gulf　of　Mexico。
　
　Almost　as　fluid　as　mercury；　always　searching　for　the　path　of　least　resistance；　the　Mississippi　has　changed　course　many　times　throughout　the　last　five　thousand　years；　especially　after　the　seas　finally　reached　their　present　levels　at　the　end　of　the　last　ice　age。　Between　1900　B。C。　and　700　B。C。　it　flowed　almost　forty　miles　west　of　its　present　course。　Restlessly；　the　river　shifted　back　and　forth　across　the　state　of　Louisiana；　carving　a　channel　before　migrating　and　carving　another。　Almost　half　of　Louisiana　was　formed　by　the　Mississippi　depositing　tremendous　amounts　of　silt　and　clay　carried　from　as　far　north　as　Minnesota　and　Montana。
　
　〃The　water　looks　quiet　today；〃　said　a　man　in　an　elevated　seat　who　gazed　from　the　pilothouse　of　the　George　B。　Larson；　an　Army　Corps　of　Engineers　survey　boat。
　
　Standing　at　the　control　console；　the　boat's　captain；　Lucas　Giraud；　merely　nodded　as　he　piloted　the　craft　past　the　cattle　grazing　on　the　levees　of　the　Mississippi　River　in　southern　Louisiana。
　
　This　was　Cajun　country；　the　last　outpost　of　French　Acadian　culture。　Pickup　trucks　parked　under　spreading　trees　next　to　tar…papered　cabins　raised　on　pylons。　Nearby；　small　Baptist　churches　rose　from　the　damp　countryside；　their　paint…peeled　wooden　sides　overlooking　cemeteries　with　weathered　tombs　rising　above　the　ground。　Soybeans　and　corn　rose　from　the　rich　soil　between　man…made　ponds　for　the　farming　of　catfish。　Little　hardware　and　feed　stores　stood　across　narrow　roads　from　auto　garages　surrounded　by　rusting　wrecked　cars　half…buried　in　green　underbrush　that　sprouted　through　their　broken　windows。
　
　Major　General　Frank　Montaigne　studied　the　passing　scene　as　the　big　survey　boat　cruised　down　the　river　that　was　textured　by　a　light　morning　mist。　He　was　late　fiftyish　and　wore　a　light　gray　suit　and　a　striped　blue　shirt　with　a　burgundy　bow　tie。　A　vest；　embellished　with　a　large　gold　watch　chain　spanning　the　pockets；　was　displayed　through　the　open　coat。　An　expensive　Panama　hat　was　perched　at　a　jaunty　angle　over　steel…gray　hair　that　flowed　back　from　the　temples。　The　eyebrows　had　managed　to　remain　black　and　arched　over　limpid　eyes　that　were　gray…blue。　There　was　a　polished　look　about　him；　burnished　with　a　hardness　that　you　knew　was　there　but　couldn't　see。　His　trademark；　a　cane　carved　from　a　willow　tree　with　a　leaping　frog　for　its　handle；　lay　across　his　lap。
　
　Montaigne　was　no　stranger　to　the　capricious　nature　of　the　Mississippi　River。　To　him　it　was　a　monster　that　was　condemned　to　move　through　a　narrow　passage　for　eternity。　Mostly　it　slept；　but　occasionally　it　went　into　a　rampage；　overflowing　its　banks　and　causing　disastrous　floods。　It　was　the　job　of　General　Montaigne　and　of　the　Army　Corps　of　Engineers；　which　he　represented；　to　control　the　monster　and　protect　the　millions　of　people　who　lived　along　its　banks　and　levees。
　
　As　president　of　the　Mississippi　River　mission；　Montaigne　was　required　to　inspect　the　flood…control　projects　once　a　year　on　an　Army　Corps　towboat　that　was　fitted　out　almost　as　ostentatiously　as　a　cruise　ship。　On　those　trips　he　was　acpanied　by　a　bevy　of　high…ranking　officers　of　the　Army　as　well　as　his　civilian　staff。　Stopping　at　the　many　towns　and　ports　along　the　river；　he　held　conferences　with　the　residents　to　hear　their　input　and　plaints　about　how　the　river　was　affecting　their　lives。
　
　Montaigne　disliked　wining　and　dining　local　officials　while　surrounded　by　the　pomp　of　his　office。　He　much　preferred　unannoun