cc.floodtide-第82节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ealed　infrared　video　cameras　from　the　time　she　jumped　from　the　barge　until　now。　But　she　had　e　too　far　to　quit。　If　this　was　a　staging　area　for　illegal　immigrants；　then　Qin　Shang　wasn't　operating　under　his　usual　formula　of　fanatical　secrecy　and　tight　security。
　
　A　broad…shouldered　man　might　never　have　squirmed　through　the　drainage　pipe；　but　Julia　had　inches　to　spare。　At　first；　all　she　saw　when　she　looked　between　her　feet　was　blackness。　But　after　negotiating　a　slight　bend　in　the　pipe；　she　saw　a　circle　of　moonlight　playing　in　a　reflection　of　water。　At　last　she　emerged　into　a　concrete　ditch　filled　with　several　inches　of　muck　that　ran　around　the　main　warehouse　building　to　catch　the　rainwater　that　dropped　from　drain　spouts　on　the　roof。
　
　She　went　immobile　as　she　gazed　to　her　left　and　right。　No　sirens；　no　mad　attack　dogs；　no　searchlights　greeted　her　entry　into　the　sugar…mill　pound。　Content　that　her　presence　wasn't　detected；　she　stealthily　moved　along　the　building；　searching　for　a　way　to　enter。　She　pressed　her　back　against　the　moss…covered　brick　walls；　deciding　on　which　direction　to　take　around　the　sugar　mill。　The　side　where　the　railroad　tracks　sloped　off　into　a　basement　was　open　and　washed　from　the　light　on　the　pole；　so　she　chose　the　opposite　course；　which　offered　dark　shadows　from　a　grove　of　cypress　trees。　She　stepped　as　noiselessly　as　possible；　careful　not　to　fall　over　any　old　rubbish　that　lay　scattered　about　the　ground。
　
　A　small　thicket　of　brush　blocked　her　way；　and　Julia　crawled　under　it。　Her　outstretched；　probing　fingers　touched　a　stone　step；　and　then　a　second　one　leading　downward。　Squinting　her　eyes；　she　peered　into　the　shadows　and　discovered　a　stairway　dropping　to　the　basement　of　the　mill。　The　steps　were　covered　with　debris；　and　she　carefully　had　to　step　around　and　over　it。　The　door　at　the　bottom　of　the　stairs　had　seen　better　days。　Stout　and　made　of　oak；　at　one　time　it　could　have　stopped　a　battering　ram。　But　a　century　of　damp　climate　had　rusted　out　the　hinges；　and　Julia　found　that　all　she　had　to　do　was　give　it　a　hearty　kick　for　the　door　to　creak　open　just　far　enough　to　allow　her　to　squeeze　past。
　
　Julia　hesitated　only　long　enough　to　see　that　she　was　in　a　concrete…walled　passage。　There　was　a　faint　glow　of　light　at　the　other　end　a　good　fifty　feet　away；　she　guessed。　The　dank　smell　from　the　long…unused　passage　lay　heavy。　The　floor　was　dripping…damp　and　puddled　in　places　where　rainwater　had　seeped　in　from　the　outer　door。　Debris　and　old　furniture　cast　into　the　passageway　when　the　sugar　mill　closed　down　made　it　difficult　to　pass　through　without　undue　sounds。　She　became　extra　cautious　when　she　reached　the　dim　light　that　shone　through　the　dirty　glass　window　of　a　heavy　oak　door　blocking　the　way。　She　carefully　turned　a　rusting　door　handle。　Unexpectedly；　the　bolt　slid　whisper…silent　from　its　slot。　Then　she　painstakingly　eased　the　door　open　a　crack。　It　swung　on　its　hinges　as　smoothly　as　if　it　had　been　oiled　only　the　day　before。
　
　She　softly　stepped　inside　with　the　expectation　of　a　woman　anticipating　trouble。　She　found　herself　inside　an　office　furnished　in　the　heavy　oak　furniture　so　popular　in　the　early　part　of　the　twentieth　century。　Julia　froze。　The　room　was　immaculately　clean。　There　wasn't　a　speck　of　dust　or　a　cobweb　to　be　seen。　It　was　like　entering　a　time　capsule。　She　had　also　stepped　into　a　trap。
　
　She　felt　as　if　she　had　been　punched　in　the　stomach　when　the　oak　door　clunked　shut　behind　her　and　three　men　stepped　from　behind　a　screen　that　shielded　a　sitting　room　at　the　other　end　of　the　office。　All　of　the　men　were　dressed　in　business　suits；　two　carrying　briefcases　as　though　they　had　just　e　from　a　board…of…directors　meeting。
　
　Before　she　could　transmit　over　her　hidden　radio；　her　arms　were　pinned　and　her　mouth　taped　shut。
　
　〃You　are　a　most　obstinate　young　lady；　Ling　T'ai；　or　should　I　call　you　Julia　Lee？〃　said　Ki　Wong；　Qin　Shang's　chief　enforcer；　as　he　gave　a　curt　bow　and　grinned　satanically。　〃You　don't　know　how　happy　I　am　to　meet　you　again。〃
　
　Stowe　stared　across　the　bayou　as　he　pressed　the　receiver　against　his　ear　with　one　hand　and　held　the　microphone　of　the　transmitter　until　it　nearly　touched　his　lips。　〃Ms。　Lee。　If　you　read　me；　please　answer。〃
　
　He　heard　what　seemed　to　be　stifled　voices　for　a　moment　before　all　munications　with　Julia　went　dead。　His　first　instinct　was　to　rush　across　the　bayou　and　charge　the　gate　on　the　wharf。　But　he　could　not　be　certain　Julia　had　encountered　a　life…threatening　situation。　Surely　not　certain　enough　to　risk　the　lives　of　his　men　in　a　bat　engagement。　Another　factor　that　preyed　on　his　mind　was　the　possibility　of　ambush　on　territory　that　was　unknown。　Stowe　took　the　route　used　by　astute　officers　since　the　first　military　force　was　formed：　He　laid　the　responsibility　on　his　superior　officer。
　〃Weehawken；　this　is　Lieutenant　Stowe。〃
　〃We　read　you；〃　came　the　voice　of　Captain　Lewis。
　〃Sir；　I　believe　we　have　a　situation。〃
　〃Please　explain。〃
　〃Contact　has　been　lost　with　Ms。　Lee。〃
　There　was　a　few　moments'　pause。　Then　Lewis　replied　slowly。　〃Remain　in　your　position　and　keep　the　sugar　mill　under　surveillance。　Report　any　new　information。　I'll　get　back　to　you。〃
　Stowe　stood　in　the　launch　and　gazed　across　the　bayou　at　the　silent　and　dark　buildings。　〃God　help　you　if　you've　run　into　trouble；〃　Stowe　muttered　softly；　〃because　I　can't。〃
　
　THERE　WAS　NO　FEVERISH　HURRY　AFTER　PITT　AND　GIORDINO　left　the　burning　hovercraft　and　mand　post。　It　seemed　reasonable　to　assume　that　all　munications　between　the　security　force　and　Qin　Shang's　headquarters　were　cut　off　when　the　plantation　burned　to　the　ground。　They　continued　their　project　of　photographing　the　bed　of　the　canal　with　the　AUV　as　if　no　interruption　ever　occurred。　Neither　man　was　of　a　mind　to　do　a　rushed；　botched　job。
　
　They　reached　the　Atchafalaya　River　and　returned　up　Hooker's　Bayou　to　the　shantyboat　just　as　the　eastern　sky　was　beginning　to　lighten　from　black　to　blue…gray。　Romberg　greeted　their　arrival　by　opening　his　eyes　only　long　enough　to　recognize　them　before　instantly　dropping　off　into　dog　dreamland　again。
　
　Without　delay；　they　unloaded　the　dive　equipment　and　the　AUV。　Once　the　skiff　was　stowed　on　the　roof；　Giordino　started　the　big　Ford　427　engine　as　Pitt　pulled　the　mooring　stakes　from　the　mud　under　the　boat。　The　sun　had　still　to　put　in　an　appearance　when　the　shantyboat　swung　onto　the　Atchafalaya　and　headed　downriver。
　
　〃Where　to？〃　Giordino　shouted　down　into　the　main　cabin　from　the　pilothouse。
　〃Bartholomeaux；〃　Pitt　yelled　back　over　the　roar　of　the　engine。
　
　Giordino　said　no　more。　Boat　traffic　was　not　as　light　as　he　expected　this　early　in　the　morning。　The　oyster　and　crawfish　boats　were　already　on　the　river　heading　toward　their　favored　fishing　grounds。　Towboats　with　their　trains　of　barges　came　south　after　passing　through　the　Old　River　Canal　Lock　from　the　Mississippi　into　the　Atchafalaya　north　of　Baton　Rouge。　He　skirted　the　other　vessels　respectfully；　but　once　past　he　took　the　big　427　up　to　half　throttle；　sending　it　barreling　down　the　river　at　twenty…five　miles　an　hour。
　
　Inside　the　little　house；　Pitt　sat　on　a　small　sofa　and　played　the　videotape　shot　by　the　cameras　of　the　AUV　of　the　canal　bed　beginning　at　the　highway　bordering　the　Mississippi　and　ending　at　the　entrance　to　the　Atchafalaya。　From　start　to　finish　the　totally　dull　and　boring　show　ran　nearly　six　hours。　Except　for　a　few　fish；　a　passing　turtle　and　a　runty　baby　gator　no　more　than　a　foot　in　length；　the　bottom　of　the　canal　was　nothing　but　barren　muck。　Pitt　was　relieved　to　find　no　bodies；　nor　was　he　surprised。　Qin　Shang's　incredibly　plicated　plan　had　a　small　crack　in　it。　The　canal　was　the　key；　and　Pitt　was　onto　its　purpose　now。　But　he　still　found　himself　on　the　short　side　of　tangibility。　He　had　no　proof。　Only　a　vague　theory　that　even　he　found　almost　impossible　to　accept。
　
　He　turned　off　the　TV　monitor　and　sat　back　in　the　sofa。　He　didn't　dare　close　his　eyes。　He　could　have　easily　slipped　off　to　sleep；　but　it　wouldn't　be　fair　to　Giordino。　There　was　still　much　to　do。　He　fixed　breakfast　and　called　Giordino　down　to　a　table　laid　with　a　plate　of　scrambled　eggs　and　ham。　He'd　brewed　coffee　in　an　old…fashioned　pot　and　set　out　a　carton　of　orange　juice。　To　save　time；　he　spelled　Giordino　at　the　helm　while　his　friend　ate。
　
　He　turned　the　shantyboat　into　Berwick　Bay　several　miles　above　Morgan　City　and　traveled　south　through　the　Wax　Lake　Canal；　entering　Bayou　Teche　just　above　Patterson；　only　two　miles　from　the　old　sugar　mill　at　Bartholomeaux。　He　gave　the　wheel　back　to　Giordino　and　sat　in　his　lawn　chair　on　the　veranda　with　Romberg　curled　up　beside　him。
　
　They　had　made　good　time；　and　it　was　still　shy　of　twelve　noon　when　Giordino　slowed　the　shantyboat　as　the　abandoned　sugar　mill　came　into　view　around　a　bend　just　under　a　mile　ahead。　Pitt　stared　through　a　pair　of　binoculars；　scanning　the
　
　buildings　and　the　long　wharf　that　trailed　along　a　stone　breakwater。　A　tight　smile　curled　his　lips　at　seeing　the　barge　still　loaded　with　trash。　He　stood；　leaned　over　the　veranda　railing；　called　up　to　Giordino　and　pointed　down　the　bayou。　〃That　must　be　the　place。　The　barge　moored　to　the　wharf　looks　like　the　same　one　we　saw　at　Sungari。〃
　
　Giordino　picked　up　a　brass　te