Lost City - Cussler Clive - Страница 16

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Austin leaned over the diagram, his eyes taking in every detail. "Suppose the people under the glacier made it to the observatory. The air trapped in this passageway would keep the water from inundating the observatory area."

"That's true," Lessard said with little enthusiasm.

"If there is air, they could still be alive."

"Also true, but their supply of air is limited. This may be a case of the living envying the dead."

Austin didn't have to be reminded of the gruesome fate that awaited Skye and the others. Even if they had survived the flood, they faced a slow and uneasy death from lack of oxygen. He concentrated on the diagram and noticed that the main tunnel continued on for some distance beyond the observatory. "Where does this go?"

"It continues about 1.5 kilometers, rising gradually to another entrance."

"Another culvert?"

"No. There is an opening like a mine entrance in the side of the mountain."

"I'd like to see it," Austin said. A plan was forming in his mind. It was based on conjecture and assumption, and would need a healthy dose of luck to work, but it was all he had.

"It's on the other side of the glacier. The only way to get to it is by air, but I can show you where it is from here."

Minutes later, they were on the flat roof of the power plant. Lessard pointed to a ravine on the far side of the glacier. "It's right near that little valley."

Austin followed the pointing finger with his eyes, and then glanced toward the sky. A big helicopter was lumbering toward the power plant.

"Thank God!" Lessard said. "At last, someone has answered my call for help."

Hurrying downstairs, the two men emerged from the power plant as the helicopter dropped out of the sky. The truck driver and another man Austin assumed to be the plant's third shift were outside, watching the helicopter touch down on a landing pad a few hundred feet from the plant's front door. As the rotors whirled to a halt, three men emerged from the chopper. Austin frowned. This was no rescue party. All three men were wearing dark suits that had middle management written all over them.

"It is my superior, Monsieur Drouet. He never comes here," Lessard said, unable to contain the awe in his voice.

Drouet was a portly man with a Hercule Poirot mustache. He hustled over and in an accusatory tone said, "What is going on, Lessard?"

While the plant supervisor explained the situation, Austin checked his watch. The hands seemed to be flying around the dial.

"What effect has this incident had on production?" Drouet said.

Austin's smoldering temper erupted. "You might be more interested in what effect it has on the people trapped inside that glacier."

The man tilted his chin, managing to look down his nose at Austin even though he was shorter by several inches.

"Who are you?" he said, like the caterpillar addressing Alice from the mushroom.

Lessard intervened. "This is Mr. Austin with the American government."

"American?" Austin could swear he heard the man sniff. "This is none of your business," Drouet said.

"You're wrong. It is very much my business," Austin replied in a level voice that cloaked his anger. "My friend is in that tunnel."

Drouet was unmoved. "I have to wait for orders from my superior after I report to him. I'm not without sympathy. I'll order a rescue attempt immediately."

"That's not soon enough," Austin said. "We have to do something now." \

"Nevertheless, it's the best I can do. Now, if you'll excuse me."

With that, he and the other suited men filed into the power plant. Lessard glanced at Austin, shook his head sadly and trailed after them.

Austin was trying to stifle the impulse to drag the bureaucrat back by the collar when he heard the sound of an engine and saw a dot in the sky. The dot grew larger and became a helicopter, smaller than the first. It shot across the lake, circled once around the power plant, then set down next to the other chopper in a cloud of dust.

Even before the rotors stopped, a slim, dark-complexioned man hopped out and gave Austin a wave. Joe Zavala strode over with an easy lope and a slight athletic swing to his shoulders, his relaxed walk

a holdover from his boxing days, when he fought professionally as a middleweight to earn his way through college. His handsome, un-marred features testified to the success of his time in the ring.

The gregarious, soft-spoken Zavala had been recruited by Admiral Sandecker as soon as he graduated from the New York Maritime College, and he had been an invaluable member of the Special Assignments Team, working with Austin on many jobs. He had a brilliant mechanical mind and was a skilled pilot, with thousands of hours flying helicopters, small jets and turboprop aircraft.

Several days earlier, they had traveled to France together. While Austin flew on to the Alps to hook up with the Mummichug, Joe had stopped in Paris. As an expert in the design and building of underwater vehicles, he had been asked to join a panel on manned versus unmanned submersibles sponsored by IFREMER, the French Institute of Marine Research and Exploration.

Austin had called Zavala on his cell phone after learning about the tunnel accident. "Sorry to break up your trip to Paris," he had said. "You broke up more than that. I met a member of the National Assembly who showed me the town." "What's his name?"

"Her name is Denise. After a tour of Paris, we decided to head for the mountains where the young lady has a chalet. I'm in Chamonix." Austin was not surprised to hear Zavala's story. With his soulful eyes and thick black hair combed straight back, Joe resembled a younger version of screen and TV actor Ricardo Montalban. The combination of good looks, good-humored charm and intelligence made him an object of desire to many of the single women around Washington, and the same qualities attracted females wherever he went. Sometimes it could be a distraction, especially on a mission, but in this case it was a godsend. Chamonix was only a few mountains away. "Even better. I need your help."

Zavala could tell by the urgency in his friend's voice that the situation was serious. "I'm on my way," Zavala said.

Reunited on the barren hill overlooking the lake, they shook hands and Austin apologized again for putting a damper on his friend's love life. A slight smile cracked the ends of Zavala's lips.

"No problem, pal. Denise is a fellow public servant and understood completely when I said duty called." He glanced at the helicopter. "She also pulled strings to get me transportation."

"I owe your young lady a bottle of champagne and some flowers."

"I always knew that you were a true romantic at heart." Zavala gazed around and said, "Beautiful scenery, even if it's a little bleak. What's going on?"

Austin headed for the helicopter. "I'll fill you in on the way."

MOMENTS LATER, they were airborne. As they flew over the glacier, Austin gave Zavala a Reader's Digest-style condensed version of events.

"Hell of a mess," Zavala said when he heard the story. "Sorry about your friend. Skye sounds like someone I'd like to meet."

"I hope you'll have that pleasure," Austin said, although he knew the odds were long and becoming longer with every passing minute.

He directed Zavala to the valley Lessard had pointed out from the roof of the power plant. Zavala landed at a spot of ground that was more or less level among the ledges and crags. They took an electric torch from the helicopter's emergency kit and walked up a gradual slope. The damp cold radiating from the glacier penetrated their thick jackets. A concrete casing framed the entrance to the tunnel. The area in front of the opening was washed out and dozens of miniature canyons ran down the slope. They stepped into a tunnel similar in size to those Austin had seen behind the power plant. The

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