cussler.blueandgold-第4节

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。　The　sight　of　land　reassured　and　terrified　Francesca　at　the　same　time。　Her　terror　rose　a　few　degrees　when　Carlos　shuddered　as　if　an　electric　current　had　gone　through　him。　He　grabbed　Francesca's　hand　and　held　it　in　a　death　grip。
　
　〃Can't　make　San　Pedro；〃　he　said；　his　voice　a　wet　rattle。
　
　〃You've　got　to；〃　Francesca　said。
　
　〃No　use。〃
　
　〃Damn　it；　Carlos；　you　and　your　partner　got　us　into　this　mess；　and　you're　going　to　get　us　out　of　it！〃
　
　He　smiled　vacantly。　〃What　are　you　going　to　do；　senhora；　shoot　me？〃
　
　Her　eyes　blazed。　〃You'll　wish　I　had　if　you　don't　get　this　thing　down。〃
　
　He　shook　his　head。　〃Emergency　landing。　Our　only　chance。　Find　a　place。〃
　
　The　big　cockpit　window　offered　a　view　of　the　thick…grown　rain　forest。　Francesca　had　the　feeling　she　was　flying　over　a　vast　unbroken　field　of　broccoli。　She　scanned　the　endless　greenery　again。　It　was　hopeless。　Wait。　Sunlight　glinted　off　something　shiny。
　
　〃What's　that？〃　she　said；　pointing。
　
　Carlos　disconnected　the　auto　pilot　and　auto　throttles；　took　the　wheel　in　his　hands；　and　steered　toward　the　reflection；　which　came　from　the　sun　glinting　off　a　giant　waterfall。　A　narrow；　meandering　river　came　into　view。　Alongside　the　river　was　an　irregularly　shaped　clearing　of　yellow　and　brown　vegetation。
　
　Flying　almost　on　automatic　himself；　Carlos　passed　the　open　area　and　set　up　a　thirty…degree　banking　turn　to　the　right。　He　ex　tended　the　wing　flaps　and　put　the　plane　in　a　boxlike　flight　pat　tern。　With　a　hard　right　he　prepared　the　plane　for　its　final　approach。　They　were　at　eighteen　hundred　feet；　descending　on　a　long；　shallow　glide。　Carlos　extended　the　wing　flaps　to　slow　them　down　further。
　
　〃Too　low！〃　he　growled。　The　treetops　were　rushing　at　them。　With　superhuman　strength　born　of　desperation　he　reached　out　and　gave　the　throttles　more　power。　The　plane　began　to　rise。
　
　Through　blurred　vision　he　scoped　the　final　approach。　His　heart　fell。　It　was　a　terrible　landing　field；　small　and　lumpy；　the　size　of　a　postage　stamp。　They　were　doing　a　hundred　and　sixty　miles　per　hour。　Too　fast。
　
　A　soggy　gasp　escaped　from　his　throat。　His　head　lolled　onto　his　shoulder。　Blood　gushed　from　his　mouth。　The　fingers　that　had　clutched　the　wheel　so　tightly　were　curled　in　a　useless　death　grip。　It　was　a　tribute　to　his　skill　that　in　his　last　moments　he　had　trimmed　the　plane　perfectly。　The　jet　maintained　trim；　and　when　it　hit　the　ground；　it　bounced　into　the　air　a　few　times　like　a　stone　skipped　across　water。
　
　There　was　an　ear…splitting　shriek　of　tortured　metal　as　the　bottom　of　the　fuselage　made　contact　with　the　earth。　The　friction　between　the　plane　and　the　solid　earth　slowed　it　down；　but　it　was　still　going　more　than　a　hundred　miles　an　hour；　the　fuselage　cut　ting　through　the　ground　like　the　blade　of　a　plow。　The　wings　snapped　off；　and　the　fuel　tanks　exploded；　leaving　twin　black　and　orange　swaths　of　fire　in　the　plane's　wake　for　another　thousand　feet　as　it　hurtled　toward　a　bend　in　the　river。
　
　The　plane　would　have　disintegrated　if　the　grass…covered　ground　had　not　given　way　to　the　soft；　marshy　mud　along　the　riverbank。　Stripped　of　its　wings；　its　blue　and　white　skin　splattered　with　mud；　the　plane　looked　like　a　giant　wormlike　creature　trying　to　burrow　into　the　mire。　The　plane　skidded　over　the　surface　of　the　muck　and　finally　came　to　a　lurching　stop。　The　impact　hurled　Francesca　forward　into　the　instrument　panel；　and　she　blacked　out。
　
　
　　Except　for　the　crackle　of　burning　grass；　the　ripple　of　river　water；　and　the　hiss　of　steam　where　the　hot　metal　touched　the　water；　all　was　silent。
　
　　Before　long；　ghostly　shadows　emerged　from　the　forest。　As　quiet　as　smoke；　they　moved　in　closer　to　the　shattered　wreckage　of　the　plane。
　
　San　Diego；　California；　2001
　
　1　WEST　OF　ENCINITAS　ON　THE　Pacific　coast；　the　graceful　motor　yacht　Nepenthe　swung　at　anchor；　the　grandest　craft　in　a　flotilla　that　seemed　to　include　every　sailboat　and　powerboat　in　San　Diego。　With　her　fluid　drawn…out　lines；　the　spearlike　sprit　jutting　from　the　thrusting　clipper　bow；　and　her　flaring　transom；　the　two…hundred…foot…long　Nepenthe　looked　as　if　she　were　made　of　fine　white　china　floating　on　a　Delft　sea。　Her　paint　glistened　with　a　mirror　finish；　and　her　bright　work　sparkled　under　the　California　sun。　Flags　and　pennants　snapped　and　fluttered　from　stem　to　stern。　Bobbing　balloons　occasionally　broke　loose　to　soar　into　the　cloudless　sky。
　
　In　the　yacht's　spacious　British　Empire…style　salon　a　string　quartet　played　a　Vivaldi　piece　for　the　eclectic　gathering　of　black　clad　Hollywood　types；　corpulent　politicians；　and　sleek　TV　anchors　who　milled　around　a　thick…legged　mahogany　table　devouring　pate；　beluga　caviar；　and　shrimp　with　the　gusto　of　famine　victims。
　
　Outside；　crowding　the　sun…drenched　decks；　children　sat　in　wheelchairs　or　leaned　on　crutches；　munching　hot　dogs　and　burgers　and　enjoying　the　fresh　sea　air。　Hovering　over　them　like　a　mother　hen　was　a　lovely　woman　in　her　fifties。　Gloria　Ekhart's　generous　mouth　and　cornflower…blue　eyes　were　familiar　to　mil　lions　who　had　seen　her　movies　and　watched　her　popular　sit　on　TV。　Every　fan　knew　about　Ekhart's　daughter　Elsie；　the　pretty；　freckle…faced　young　girl　who　scooted　around　the　deck　in　a　wheel　chair。　Ekhart　had　given　up　acting　at　the　peak　of　her　career　to　de　vote　her　fortune　and　time　to　helping　children　like　her　own。　The　influential　and　well…heeled　guests　chugging　down　Dom　Perignon　in　the　salon　would　be　asked　later　to　open　their　checkbooks　for　the　Ekhart　Foundation。
　
　Ekhart　had　a　flair　for　promotion；　which　was　why　she　leased　the　Nepenthe　for　her　party。　In　1930；　when　the　vessel　slid　off　the　ways　at　the　G。　L。　Watson　boatyard　in　Glasgow；　she　was　among　the　most　graceful　motor　yachts　ever　to　sail　the　seas。　The　yacht's　first　owner；　an　English　earl；　lost　her　in　an　all…night　poker　game　to　a　Hollywood　mogul　with　a　penchant　for　cards；　marathon　parties；　and　underage　starlets。　She　went　through　a　succession　of　equally　indifferent　owners；　winding　up　in　a　failed　attempt　as　a　fishing　boat。　Smelling　of　dead　fish　and　bait；　the　rotting　yacht　languished　in　the　back　corner　of　a　boatyard。　She　was　rescued　by　a　Silicon　Valley　magnate　who　tried　to　recoup　the　millions　he　spent　restoring　the　vessel　by　leasing　her　out　for　events　such　as　the　Ekhart　fund…raiser。
　
　A　man　wearing　a　blue　blazer　with　an　official　race　badge　pinned　to　the　breast　pocket　had　been　peering　through　binoculars　at　the　flat　green　expanse　of　the　Pacific。　He　rubbed　his　eyes　and　squinted　into　the　lenses　again。　In　the　distance　thin　white　plumes　were　etched　against　the　blue　sky　where　it　met　the　water。　He　lowered　the　binoculars；　raised　an　aerosol　canister　with　a　plastic　trumpet　attached；　and　pressed　the　button　three　times。
　
　Hawnk。　。　。　hawnk。　。　。　hawnk。
　
　The　klaxon's　blaring　squawk　echoed　across　the　water　like　the　mating　call　of　a　monster　gander。　The　flotilla　took　up　the　signal。　A　cacophony　of　bells；　whistles；　and　horns　filled　the　air　and　drowned　out　the　cry　of　hungry　gulls。　Hundreds　of　spectators　excitedly　reached　for　their　binoculars　and　cameras。　Boats　heeled　dangerously　as　passengers　shifted　to　one　side。　On　the　Nepenthe　the　guests　wolfed　down　their　food　and　poured　from　the　salon　sipping　from　glasses　of　bubbly。　They　shaded　their　eyes　and　looked　off　in　the　distance；　where　the　feathery　plumes　were　thickening　into　bantam　rooster　tails。　Carried　on　the　breeze　was　a　sound　like　an　angry　swarm　of　bees。
　
　In　a　circling　helicopter　a　thousand　feet　above　the　Nepenthe；　a　sturdy　Italian　photographer　named　Carlo　Pozzi　tapped　the　pilot's　shoulder　and　pointed　to　the　northwest。　The　water　was　marked　by　parallel　white　streaks　advancing　as　if　plowed　by　a　huge；　invisible　harrow。　Pozzi　checked　his　safety　harness；　stepped　out　onto　a　runner　with　one　foot；　and　hefted　a　fifty…pound　television　camera　onto　his　shoulder。　Leaning　with　a　practiced　stance　into　the　wind　that　buffeted　his　body；　he　brought　the　extraordinary　power　of　his　lens　to　bear　on　the　advancing　lines。　He　swept　the　camera　from　left　to　right；　giving　viewers　around　the　world　an　overview　of　the　dozen　race　boats　cutting　furrows　in　the　sea。　Then　he　zoomed　in　on　a　pair　of　boats　leading　the　pack　by　a　quarter　of　a　mile。
　
　The　speeding　craft　skimmed　the　wave　tops；　their　forty…foot　hulls　planing　with　elevated　bows　as　if　trying　to　escape　the　restraints　of　gravity。　The　lead　boat　was　painted　a　bold　firehouse　red。　Trailing　by　less　than　a　hundred　yards；　the　second　boat　sparkled　like　a　gold　nugget。　The　boats　were　more　like　star　fighters　than　craft　designed　for　travel　over　water。　Their　flat　decks　connected　two　knife…edged　catamaran　hulls　called　sponsons　and　aerodynamic　wings　over　the　engine　partments。　Twin　F…16…type　canopies　were　set　side…by…side　two…thirds　of　the　way　back　from　the　sharp…pointed　double　prows。
　
　Squeezed　into　the　red　boat's　right…hand　canopy；　his　sun　bronzed　face　fixed　in　a　mask　of　determination；　I　Curt　Austin　braced　himself　as　the　eight…ton　craft　slammed　against　the　concrete…hard　water　again　and　again。　Unlike　a　land　vehicle；　the　boat　had　no　shock　absorbers　to　cushion　the　jarring　impact。　Each　jolt　traveled　through　the　one…piece　Kevlar　and　carbon　posite　hull　up　through　Austin's　legs　and　rattled　his　teeth。　Despite　his　broad　shoulders；　his　muscular　biceps；　and