cc.floodtide-第17节

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At　ten　o'clock　he　made　ready　for　bed　and　turned　out　the　lights。　Gambling　the　surveillance　cameras　in　the　cabin　did　not　work　on　infrared；　he　stripped　naked；　crept　outside；　crawled　into　the　water　and；　holding　his　breath；　swam　up　inside　the　boathouse。
　
　The　water　was　frigid；　but　his　mind　was　too　occupied　to　notice。　He　toweled　his　body　dry　and　pulled　on　a　one…piece　Shellpro　nylon…and…polyester　undergarment。　The　pressor　had　automatically　shut　off　when　the　cylinders　were　topped　off　with　the　required　air　pressure。　He　attached　a　U。S。　Divers　Micra　air　regulator　to　the　manifold　valve　and　checked　the　straps　to　the　backpack。　Then　he　climbed　into　a　custom…made；　dark　gray　Viking　vulcanized…rubber　dry　suit　with　attached　hood；　gloves　and　traction…soled　boots。　He　preferred　the　dry　suit　over　a　wet　suit　for　better　thermal　protection　in　cold　water。
　
　Next　came　a　U。S。　Divers　military　buoyancy　pensator　and　a　Sigma　Systems　console　with　depth　gauge；　air　pressure　gauge；　pass　and　dive　timer。　For　weights；　he　used　an　integrated　system　with　part　of　the　weight　in　the　backpack　and　the　balance　on　his　weight　belt。　A　dive　knife　was　strapped　to　his　calf　and　an　underwater　miner's…type　light　was　slipped　over　his　hood。
　
　Finally；　he　slung　a　belt　that　looked　like　an　old　western　bandit's　bandolier　over　one　shoulder。　Its　holster　contained　a　pressed　air　gun　that　fired　wicked…looking　barbs　on　short　shafts。　Slots　in　the　belt　held　twenty　barbs。
　
　He　was　in　a　hurry　to　be　on　his　way。　He　had　a　long　swim　ahead　of　him　and　many　things　to　do　and　see。　He　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　dock；　pulled　on　his　fins；　twisted　his　body　to　prevent　the　air　tanks　on　his　back　from　snagging　the　boards　and　splashed　into　the　water。　Before　diving；　he　vented　the　air　out　of　the　dry　suit。　He　saw　not　the　slightest　reason　in　the　world　why　he　should　physically　extend　himself　and　waste　the　precious　air　in　his　tanks；　so　he　lifted　a　pact；　battery…powered　Stingray　diver…propulsion　vehicle　from　the　dock；　extended　it　out　in　front　of　him　by　the　handgrips；　pressed　the　FAST　speed　switch　to　its　stop　and　was　instantly　propelled　from　under　the　floats　of　the　boathouse。
　
　Getting　his　bearings　on　a　moonless　night　did　not　present　a　problem。　His　destination　across　the　lake　was　bathed　in　as　much　light　as　a　football　stadium。　The　brilliance　lit　up　the　surrounding　forest。　Why　such　a　dazzling　display　of　illumination？　Pitt　wondered。　It　seemed　too　excessive　for　average　security　purposes。　Only　the　dock　appeared　devoid　of　lighting；　but　it　was　hardly　needed；　considering　the　radiance　from　shore。　Pitt　pushed　the　face　mask　to　the　top　of　his　head　and　tilted　the　lens　of　the　dive　light　backward　to　prevent　any　alert　guards　from　spotting　a　reflection。
　
　If　the　surveillance　cameras　didn't　pierce　the　dark　with　infrared；　there　would　be　a　guard　with　night　glasses　pressed　against　his　eyes；　watching　for　night　fishermen；　hunters；　lost　Boy　Scout　masters　or　even　Bigfoot。　It　was　a　sure　bet　he　wasn't　peering　into　the　heavens　at　the　rings　of　Saturn。　Pitt　was　not　overly　concerned。　He　made　too　small　a　target　to　be　spotted　at　this　distance。　A　quarter　of　a　mile　nearer　and　it　would　be　a　different　story。
　
　One　of　the　fallacies　of　sneaking　around　in　the　dead　of　night　is　that　black　makes　for　the　perfect　concealment。　Supposedly　a　person　wearing　black　blends　into　the　shadows。　To　some　degree；　yes。　But　because　no　night　is　totally　black…there　is　often　light　from　the　stars…the　perfect　shade　for　near　invisibility　is　dark　gray。　A　black　object　can　be　distinguished　against　a　shadowed　background　on　a　dark　night；　whereas　gray　blends　in。
　
　Pitt　knew　his　chances　of　being　detected　were　remote　indeed。　Only　the　white　of　his　wake；　as　he　was　pulled　along　at　nearly　three　knots　by　the　Stingray　twin　motors；　broke　the　sheer　blackness　of　the　water。　After　less　than　five　minutes；　he　reached　the　midway　point。　He　adjusted　his　face　mask；　ducked　his　head　under　the　water　and　began　breathing　through　the　snorkel。　Another　four　minutes　put　him　a　hundred　yards　from　the　retreat's　boat　dock。　The　work　boat　was　still　gone；　but　the　yacht　still　tugged　at　her　mooring　lines。
　
　This　was　as　far　as　he　dared　go　on　the　surface。　He　spit　out　the　snorkel　and　clamped　his　teeth　on　the　mouthpiece　to　his　breathing　regulator。　Acpanied　by　the　hiss　of　his　exhaust；　he　tilted　the　Stingray　downward　and　dropped　into　the　depths；　leveling　out　about　ten　feet　above　the　bottom；　hovering　motionless　for　a　few　moments　while　adding　air　to　his　dry　suit　to　achieve　neutral　buoyancy；　then　snorting　and　clearing　his　ears　from　the　increase　of　water　pressure。　The　lights　of　the　retreat　cast　a　translucent　glow　beneath　the　water。　Pitt　felt　as　if　the　propulsion　vehicle　was　pulling　him　through　liquid　glass　coated　in　an　eerie　green。　He　averted　his　eyes　from　the　graveyard　below　as　visibility　increased　from　practically　nil　to　thirty　feet　the　closer　Pitt　approached　the　dock。　Fortunately；　he　could　not　be　discerned　from　above　because　the　reflection　on　the　surface　of　the　water　caused　a　glare　that　prevented　all　but　a　very　limited　view　of　the　depths。
　
　He　decreased　the　Stingray's　speed　and　moved　slowly　under　the　keel　of　the　yacht。　The　hull　was　clean　and　free　of　any　marine　growth。　Finding　nothing　of　interest　except　a　school　of　small　fish；　Pitt　cautiously　approached　the　floating　log　hut　from　which　the　guards　on　their　Chinese…built　personal　watercraft　had　burst　the　previous　afternoon。　His　heartbeat　increased　as　he　measured　his　opportunities　of　escape　if　he　was　discovered。　They　flat　didn't　exist。　A　swimmer　stood　little　chance　of　outrunning　a　pair　of　personal　watercraft　with　a　top　speed　of　thirty　miles　per　hour。　Unless　they　were　prepared　to　e　after　him　underwater；　all　they　had　to　do　was　outwait　him　until　he　exhausted　his　air　supply。
　
　He　had　to　be　very　careful。　There　would　be　no　light　reflection　on　the　surface　inside　the　hut。　To　anyone　sitting　in　a　darkened　room　over　calm　water　it　would　be　like　staring　into　the　depths　from　a　glass…bottomed　boat。　He　yearned　for　a　passing　school　of　fish　to　hide　among；　but　none　appeared。　This　is　madness；　he　thought。　If　he　had　an　ounce　of　gray　matter　he'd　make　his　getaway　while　he　was　yet　unseen；　swim　back　across　the　lake　to　the　cabin　and　call　the　police。　That's　what　any　sane　man　would　have　done。
　
　Pitt　felt　no　fear　but　a　degree　of　trepidation　at　not　knowing　whether　he　would　find　himself　looking　up　into　the　muzzle　of　an　automatic　rifle。　But　he　was　determined　to　find　out　why　all　those　people　had　died；　and　he　had　to　find　out　now　or　mere　would　never　be　another　chance。　He　drew　the　air　gun　from　its　holster　and　held　it　vertically；　barrel　and　barb　pointing　upward。　Slowly；　so　no　sudden　movement　would　be　noticed；　he　released　the　speed　switch　to　the　Stingray's　twin　motors　and　gently　kicked　his　fins　until　he　eased　under　the　floats　of　the　hut。　He　peered　upward　through　the　water　inside　the　boathouse；　holding　his　breath　so　that　his　air　bubbles　would　not　advertise　his　arrival。　The　view　looking　up　from　less　than　two　feet　underwater　was　similar　to　gazing　through　six　inches　of　gossamer。
　
　Except　for　the　two　watercraft；　the　interior　appeared　dark　and　empty。　He　reset　the　dive　light　on　his　head；　surfaced　and　beamed　it　around　the　floating　hut。　The　fiberglass　hulls　of　the　watercraft　were　set　snugly　between　two　docks　that　were　open　at　the　front。　Once　the　door　of　the　hut　was　thrown　aside；　their　riders　could　speed　directly　onto　the　lake。　He　reached　out；　rapped　the　door　with　his　fist　and　received　a　hollow　sound。　The　logs　were　fake；　painted　on　a　thin　sheet　of　plywood。　With　no　small　amount　of　effort；　Pitt　hoisted　himself　and　his　equipment　onto　one　of　the　docks。　He　removed　his　air　tanks；　fins　and　weight　belt；　and　parked　them　in　a　watercraft。　The　Stingray；　because　it　was　slightly　buoyant；　he　allowed　to　drift　beside　the　dock。
　
　Gripping　the　air　gun；　he　moved　quietly　toward　a　closed　door　at　the　rear　of　the　hut。　He　lightly　laid　his　fingers　on　the　latch；　slowly　turned　it　and　eased　the　door　open　half　an　inch；　just　enough　to　see　that　it　opened　onto　a　passageway　that　led　down　a　long　ramp。　Pitt　moved　like　a　wraith…at　least　he　wanted　to　move　like　a　wraith。　His　every　footstep　in　the　rubber　dive　boots　sounded　to　him　like　the　beat　of　a　bass　drum；　when　actually　they　touched　the　concrete　floor　without　so　much　as　a　whisper。　The　ramp　dropped　into　a　narrow　concrete　passageway　barely　wide　enough　for　Pitt's　shoulders。　Lit　by　overhead　recessed　lights；　it　appeared　to　lead　under　the　water　toward　the　shoreline。　It　was　a　reasonable　assumption　that　the　passageway　extended　from　the　boathouse　to　a　basement　below　the　main　building。　That　was　why　it　took　so　long　for　the　guards　who　rode　the　watercraft　to　respond　after　the　AUV　was　sighted。　Unable　to　ride　even　a　bicycle　through　the　narrow　passageway；　they　had　to　sprint　nearly　two　hundred　yards。
　
　A　quick　look　to　see　if　his　movements　were　covered　by　surveillance　cameras…he　saw　none…and　Pitt　cautiously　began　to　advance　along　the　tightly　spaced　walls；　having　to　turn　slightly　sideways　to　pass　through。　He　cursed　the　contractor　who　poured　the　concrete　with　the　smaller　Chinese　physique　in　mind。　The　passage　ended　at　another　ramp　that　rose　and　widened　through　an　archway。　Beyond；　a　corridor　stretched　off　into　the　distance　with　doors　on　either　side。
　
　He　moved　to　the　first　door　that　was