Atlantis Found (45 page)

Paintings were spaced every thirty feet along the walls between the doors to the residences. Giordino stopped briefly and examined a landscape in vivid colors. He leaned close and peered at the artist’s scrawled name.

“No way can this be a Van Gogh,” he said skeptically. “It must be a forgery or a reproduction.”

“It’s genuine,” said Pitt, with conviction. He motioned toward the other art hanging on the walls. “These works doubtless come from the museums and the private collections of Holocaust victims that were looted by the Nazis during World War Two.”

“How charitable of them to save art treasures that never belonged to them.”

“The Wolfs plan to carry the great masterworks to the promised land.”

How could the Wolfs be so positive that the second coming of the comet would strike the earth? Pitt wondered. Why wasn’t it possible the comet would miss again, as it had nine thousand years before? There were no ready answers, but once he and Giordino could escape the shipyard with Pat and her daughter, he was determined to find solutions.

After what Giordino estimated as a quarter of a mile, they came to a large door marked “Security, Level K.” They hurried past and finally came to a tastefully decorated reception area with tables, chairs, and sofas in front of a large fireplace. It could have passed for a lobby in any five-star hotel. A man and a woman dressed in green coveralls sat behind a counter beneath a large painting of Noah’s Ark.

“Somebody in authority must have a color-code mania,” Giordino muttered under his breath.

“Ask them where the American epigraphist, who is deciphering the ancient descriptions, is confined,” Pitt instructed.

“How in hell would I know what ‘epigraphist’ is in Spanish?”

“Fake it.”

Giordino rolled his eyes and approached the counter in front of the woman, thinking she might be more helpful.

“We’ve been sent to move Dr. O’Connell and her daughter to another part of the ship,” he said softly, in an attempt to muffle his American accent.

The woman, attractive in a mannish sort of way, with a pale complexion and her hair swept back in a bun, looked up at Giordino and noted his security uniform. “Why wasn’t I notified earlier that she was scheduled to be moved?”

“I was told only ten minutes ago myself.”

“I should verify this request,” said the woman in an official tone.

“Better yet, my superior is on his way. I suggest you wait and settle the matter with him.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“Meanwhile, you might point out the residence where she is being held, so we can prepare her for the move.”

“You don’t know?” the woman asked, suspicion growing in her mind.

“How could we?” Giordino asked innocently, “since she is under your charge as section leader. My partner and I are simply paying you the courtesy of checking with you rather than just going in and taking her. Now, tell me where she is and we’ll wait until my superior shows with the proper authority, if that will make you sleep easier.”

The female section leader yielded. “You will find Dr. O’Connell locked in residence K-37. But I can’t give you the key until I see a signed order.”

“There’s no need for us to enter just yet,” Giordino said, with an indifferent shrug. “We’ll stand outside and wait.” He tilted his head in a gesture for Pitt to follow him, and he began walking back the way they had come. Once out of earshot, he said, “She’s held in K-37. I think we passed residences numbered in the thirties on the way from the elevator.”

“Is her residence guarded?” asked Pitt.

“Wearing this security outfit, I’m supposed to know if guards are posted. No, I wasn’t about to bring up the subject and look like a suspicious idiot.”

“We’d better be quick,” said Pitt. “They must be on our tail by now.”

When they reached K-37, they found a guard standing outside. Giordino walked up casually and said, “You’re relieved.”

The guard, a man who was a good foot taller than the short Etruscan, stared down with a questioning look on his face. “I have another two hours left on my shift.”

“Aren’t you lucky we were sent early.”

“You don’t look familiar,” said the guard uneasily.

“Neither do you.” Then Giordino made as if to turn away. “Forget it. My partner and I will wait in the dining room until your shift ends.”

The guard suddenly changed his tune. “No, no, I could use the extra time to get some sleep.” Without further procrastination, he began walking swiftly toward the elevator.

“A productive performance,” said Pitt.

“I have a persuasive personality,” Giordino said, grinning.

As soon as the guard stepped into the elevator at the end of the long corridor, Pitt kicked his foot hard against the door near the latch and smashed it open. They charged into the residence almost before the door thumped against its stop. A young girl was standing in the kitchen, wearing blue coveralls and in the act of drinking a glass of milk. In fright, she dropped the glass in her hand onto the carpet. Pat came running out of the bedroom, also dressed in blue coveralls, her long red hair spread behind her like a fan. She stopped frozen in the doorway and stared unbelievingly at Pitt and Giordino, her mouth open but unable to utter words, eyes mirroring total confusion.

Pitt grabbed her by the arm as Giordino swept up the girl. “No time for hugs and kisses,” he said quickly. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Where did you two beautiful men come from?” she finally mumbled, incredulous, still unable to understand.

“I don’t know if I care to be described as beautiful,” Pitt said, as he grabbed her around the waist and hustled her toward the shattered door.

“Wait!” she snapped, twisting out from his encircling arm. She darted back inside and reappeared in seconds, clutching a small attaché case to her breast.

The time for caution and furtive movements was gone—if either had truly existed in the men’s minds. Tearing down the long corridor, rushing past workers who were putting the finishing touches on the ship, they were stared at queerly, but no one made a move to stop or question them.

If the alarm was out by now, and Pitt was certain it was, the thought of a confrontation with the merciless Wolfs spurred him on. Getting off the ship, reaching the end of the dock, and disappearing into the cold water of the fjord for a two-mile swim was only half his problem. Though pulled faster than they could swim by the diver propulsion vehicles, Pat and her daughter would probably die of hypothermia before they could reach the ravine and the Skycar.

His fears suddenly mushroomed when the eerie sounds of high-pitched alarms began sounding throughout the shipyard just as they reached the nearest elevator.

Luck was with them this far. The elevator was stopped on Level Six with the doors open. Three men in red coveralls were in the act of unloading office furniture. Without a word of explanation, Pitt and Giordino muscled the startled movers into the foyer, pushed Pat and her daughter inside, and sent the elevator moving downward in the space of fifteen seconds.

While they temporarily caught their breath, Pitt smiled at Pat’s daughter, a pretty young girl with hair the color of shimmering topaz and Capri-blue eyes. “What’s your name, dear heart?”

“Megan,” she said, her eyes wide with fear.

“Take a deep breath and relax,” he said softly. “My name is Dirk, and my burly little munchkin friend is Al. We’re going to take you safely home.”

His words had a soothing effect, and her expression of dire anxiety slowly altered to simple uneasiness. She placed her explicit trust in him, and Pitt began to dread for the second time that night what he might find when they reached their stop and the elevator doors opened. They could not shoot their way out, not with the women beside them.

His fears were groundless, as it turned out. There was no army of guards with drawn guns waiting on the cargo level. “I am totally lost,” he said, looking at a labyrinth of corridors.

Giordino grinned ruefully. “Too bad we didn’t pick up a street map.”

Pitt pointed at a golf cart parked in front of a door marked “Circuit Room.” “Salvation is at hand,” he said, jumping into the driver’s seat and twisting the ignition key. Everyone climbed in, and he punched the accelerator to the floorboard almost before their feet left the deck. Unable to use his little direction finder except for course headings, he made a lucky guess after crossing the tram tracks and found a large freight passageway that opened onto a loading ramp leading down to the dock.

The army of guards with drawn guns he was concerned about had arrived.

They were pouring out of trucks and dispersing on the dock, weapons drawn and at the ready, as they clustered around the loading ramps. Pitt estimated that there were nearly four hundred of them, not counting a thousand already on duty aboard the ship. He instantly sized up their dilemma and shouted, “Hold on! I’m heading back toward the elevator.” He slammed on the brake, spun the cart in a U-turn, and turned back into the freight passageway.

Looking behind, all Giordino could see were black coveralls swirling like ants around the dock. “I hate it when things don’t go right,” he said morosely.

“We’ll never escape—” Pat broke off, clutching her daughter. “Not now.”

Pitt looked at Giordino. “Wasn’t there an old war song called ‘We Did It Before, and We Can Do It Again’?”

“World War Two was before my time,” said Giordino. “But I get your drift.”

They quickly reached the elevator, but Pitt didn’t stop. The doors were still open, and he drove the cart inside just before they began to close. He pressed the button for the sixth level, pulled out the .45 and gestured for Giordino to do the same. As soon as the doors spread open, they came face-to-face with the three furniture movers they had thrown out of the elevator earlier. Still stunned by their eviction, the movers were shouting and gesturing at a man wearing yellow coveralls, who looked to be someone in command. At seeing Pitt and Giordino come charging out of the elevator on the cart like unleashed starving German shepherds, their guns drawn and aimed, the four men froze and threw their hands into the air.

“Into the elevator!” Pitt ordered.

The four men stood blank and uncomprehending until Giordino shouted the command in Spanish.

“Sorry,” said Pitt, suddenly self-conscious. “I got carried away by the drama of the moment.”

“You’re forgiven,” Giordino absolved him.

The routine they’d hastily improvised in the office building was repeated. Six minutes later, they were all on their way again, leaving the four men in their underwear bound with duct tape and lying on the floor of the elevator. As soon as the doors opened wide, Pitt drove the cart onto the main cargo entry deck, stopped, and ran back. He sent the elevator upward and jammed the controls, leaping out before the doors closed. Then he followed the direction signs and drove toward the tram. Three of them now wore the red coveralls of interior ship workers, while the fourth—himself—was dressed in the yellow uniform of a supervisor.

Security guards were already stationed at an intersection just short of the tram station. One of them stepped forward and held up his hand. Pitt brought the cart to an unhurried stop and looked at the guard questioningly.

Not knowing that Pat and her daughter had been whisked from their quarters, the guard was not unduly disturbed at seeing two women in the uniforms of cargo loaders, since many of them had been recruited to operate forklifts and tow vehicles. Pat squeezed her daughter’s arm as a warning not to speak or move. She also turned Megan’s face away from the guard, so he wouldn’t notice her tender age.

Pitt figured the yellow coveralls he had appropriated represented authority, and the respectful look in the guard’s eyes confirmed it.

“What’s going on here?” Giordino demanded, his Spanish improving with practice.

“Two intruders in security guard uniforms have infiltrated the shipyard and are believed to have boarded the
Ulrich Wolf.”

“Intruders? Why didn’t you stop them before they entered the shipyard?”

“I can’t say,” the guard replied. “All I know is that they killed four of our security force guards in an attempt to escape.”

“Four dead,” Giordino said sadly. “A great pity. I hope you catch the murdering swine. Right, group?” He turned to the others and nodded spiritedly.

“Sí, sí,”
Pitt said, agreeing with a vigorous display of disgust.

“We have to check everyone going on or coming off each ship,” the guard persisted. “I must see your identification cards.”

“Do we look like trespassers in security guard uniforms?” Giordino demanded indignantly.

The guard shook his head and smiled. “No.”

“Then let us pass!” Giordino’s friendly voice went suddenly cold and official. “We have a cargo to load and a deadline that we won’t meet sitting around the dock talking to you. I’m already late for a meeting with Karl Wolf. Unless you don’t want to be left behind when the cataclysm hits, I suggest you step aside.”

Properly browbeaten, the guard lowered his weapon and yielded. “I’m sorry to have detained you.”

Not able to translate the exchange, Pitt stepped on the cart’s accelerator pedal only after Giordino elbowed him in the ribs. Thinking it best to appear like ordinary shipyard workers on a job-related assignment, he continued toward the nearest tram station at a moderate pace, drowning an urge to run the cart at its full speed. With one hand on the steering wheel, he dialed the Globalstar phone with the other.

 
SANDECKER pounded the speaker button halfway through the first ring. “Yes?”

“This is the Leaning Pizza Tower calling. Your order is on its way.”

“Do you think you can find the house all right?”

“The issue is in doubt whether we can arrive before the pizza gets cold.”