cc.floodtide-第62章

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！


　store　who　was　busily　stocking　canned　goods。
　〃Mr。　Wheeler。　My　name　is　Dirk　Pitt。　My　friend　and　I　have　charted　the　Bayou　Kid's　shanty　boat。〃
　Wheeler　brushed　his　thick　mustache　with　the　light　touch　of　a　finger　and　stuck　out　his　hand。　〃Been　expectin'　you。　The　Kid　said　you'd　be　by　this　mornin'。　She's　all　ready　to　go。　Fuel　tank　filled；　battery　charged　and　topped　off　with　oil。〃
　〃Thank　you　for　your　trouble。　We　should　be　back　in　a　few　days。〃
　〃I　hear　y'all　is　goin'　up　to　the　canal　them　Chinks　built。〃
　Pitt　nodded。　〃Word　travels。〃
　〃Y'all　got　charts　of　the　river？〃　asked　Wheeler。
　〃I　was　hoping　you　might　supply　them。〃
　
　Wheeler　turned　and　checked　the　labels　taped　on　a　slotted　cabinet　hanging　on　the　wall　containing　rolled　nautical　charts　of　the　local　waterways　and　topographical　maps　of　the　surrounding　marshlands。　He　pulled　out　several　and　spread　them　on　the　counter。　〃Here's　a　chart　showing　depths　of　the　river　and　a　few　topo　maps　of　the　Atchafalaya　Valley。　One　of　them　shows　the　area　around　the　canal。〃
　
　〃You're　a　great　help；　Mr。　Wheeler；〃　said　Pitt　sincerely。　〃Thank　you。〃
　〃I　guess　y'all　know　the　Chinks　won't　let　you　on　the　canal。　They've　got　it　chained　off。〃
　〃Is　there　another　way　in？〃　asked　Pitt。
　〃Sure；　at　least　two　of　them。〃　Wheeler　took　a　pencil　and　began　marking　the　maps。　〃You　can　take　either　Hooker's　or　Mortimer's　bayous。　Both　run　parallel　to　the　canal　and　empty　into　it　about　eight　miles　from　the　Atchafalaya。　Y'all'll　find　Hooker's　to　be　the　easiest　to　navigate　the　shanty　boat。〃
　〃Does　Qin　Shang　Maritime　own　the　property　around　Hooker's　Bayou；　too？〃
　Wheeler　shook　his　head。　〃Their　borders　only　run　a　hundred　yards　on　either　side　of　the　canal。〃
　〃What　happens　if　you　cross　the　barrier？〃
　〃Local　fishermen　and　hunters　sneak　in　sometimes。　More　often　than　not；　they're　caught　and　thrown　out　by　an　armed　boatload　of　automatic　rifle…to　tin'　Chinks　who　patrol　the　canal。〃
　〃Then　security　is　tight；〃　said　Pitt。
　〃Not　so　much　at　night。　Y'all　could　probably　get　in；　see　what　y'all　want　to　see；　since　we're　havin'　a　quarter　moon　for　the　next　two　nights　before　it　wanes；　and　get　out　before　they　know　y'all　been　there。〃
　〃Has　anyone　reported　seeing　anything　strange　in　and　around　the　canal？〃
　〃Nothin'　worth　writin'　home　about。　Nobody　can　figure　why　the　fuss　to　keep　people　out　of　a　ditch　through　a　swamp。〃
　〃Any　barge　or　boat　traffic　in　and　out？〃
　Wheeler　shook　his　head。　〃None。　The　chain　barrier　is　fixed　in　place　and　can't　be　opened　unless　ya　blast　it　with　TNT。〃
　〃Does　the　canal　have　a　name？〃
　〃Use　to　be　known　as　Mystic　Bayou；〃　Wheeler　said　wistfully。　〃And　a　pretty　bayou　it　was；　too；　before　it　was　dug　all　to　hell。　Lots　of　deer；　ducks　and　alligator　to　hunt。　Catfish；　bream　and　bass　to　fish。　Mystic　Bayou　was　a　sportsman's　paradise。　Now　it's　all　gone；　and　what's　left　is　off　limits。〃
　〃Hopefully　my　friend　and　I　will　have　some　answers　in　the　next　forty…eight　hours；〃　said　Pitt　as　he　loaded　the　groceries　in　an　empty　cardboard　box　offered　by　Wheeler。
　
　The　boat…landing　owner　penciled　several　numbers　on　the　corner　of　a　map。　〃Y'all　get　into　trouble；　call　my　cell…phone　number。　Y'all　hear？　I'll　see　that　you　get　help　real　quick。〃
　
　Pitt　was　touched　by　the　amiable　and　intelligent　people　in　southern　Louisiana　who　had　offered　their　advice　and　assistance。　They　were　contacts　to　be　treasured。　He　thanked　Wheeler　and　carried　the　groceries　down　the　dock　to　the　shantyboat。　As　he　stepped　on　board　the　veranda；　Giordino　stood　in　the　doorway　shaking　his　head　in　wonderment。
　
　〃You're　not　going　to　believe　what　you　see　in　here；〃　he　said。
　〃It's　worse　than　you　thought？〃
　〃Not　at　all。　The　ulterior　is　clean　and　Spartan。　It's　the　engine　and　our　passenger　that　boggle　the　mind。〃
　〃What　passenger？〃
　
　Giordino　handed　Pitt　a　note　he'd　found　pinned　to　the　door。　It　read；
　
　Mr。　Pitt　and　Mr。　Giordino。　I　thought　that　since　you　wanted　to　look　like　locals　on　a　fishing　trip；　you　should　have　a　panion。　So　I　loaned　you　Romberg　to　embellish　your　image　as　rivermen。　He'II　eat　any　kind　offish　you　throw　at　him。
　
　Luck；　The　Bayou　Kid
　
　〃Who's　Romberg？〃　asked　Pitt。
　
　Giordino　stepped　out　of　the　doorway　and　without　ment　pointed　inside　at　a　bloodhound　lying　on　his　back　with　his　paws　in　the　air；　big　floppy　ears　splayed　to　the　sides；　his　tongue　half　hanging　out。
　
　〃Is　he　dead？〃
　〃He　might　as　well　be；　for　all　the　enthusiasm　he's　shown　at　my　presence；〃　said　Giordino。　〃He　hasn't　twitched　or　blinked　an　eye　since　I　came　on　board。〃
　〃What　is　so　unusual　about　the　engine？〃
　〃You've　got　to　see　this。〃　Giordino　led　the　way　through　the　one　room　that　posed　the　living　room；　bedroom；　and　kitchen　of　the　shantyboat　to　a　trapdoor　in　the　floor。　He　lifted　the　cover　and　pointed　below　into　the　pact　engine　room　in　the　hull。　〃A　Ford　427…cubic…inch　V…8　with　dual　quad　carburetors。　An　oldie　but　goodie。　It's　got　to　have　at　least　four　hundred　horsepower。〃
　〃Probably　closer　to　four　hundred　twenty…five；〃　said　Pitt；　admiring　the　powerful　engine　that　appeared　in　immaculate　condition。　〃How　the　old　man　must　have　laughed　after　I　asked　him　if　the　engine　could　move　the　boat　against　the　river　current。〃
　〃As　big　as　this　floating　shack　is；〃　said　Giordino；　〃I'd　guess　we　could　make　close　to　twenty…five　miles　an　hour　if　we　had　to。〃
　〃Keep　it　slow　and　easy。　We　don't　want　to　look　like　we're　in　a　hurry。〃
　〃How　far　is　the　canal？〃
　〃I　haven't　measured　the　distance；　but　it　looks　to　be　close　to　sixty　miles。〃
　〃We'll　want　to　get　there　sometime　before　sunset；〃　said　Giordino；　mentally　calculating　a　leisurely　cruising　speed。
　〃I'll　cast　off。　You　take　the　helm　and　head　her　into　the　channel　while　I　store　the　groceries。〃
　
　Giordino　needed　no　coaxing。　He　couldn't　wait　to　start　the　big　427　Ford　and　feel　its　torque。　He　hit　the　starter　and　it　rumbled　into　life　with　a　mean　and　nasty　growl。　He　let　it　idle　for　a　few　moments；　savoring　the　sound。　It　did　not　turn　over　smoothly；　but　loped。　It　was　too　good　to　believe；　Giordino　thought　to　himself。　The　engine　was　not　stock。　It　was　modified　and　tuned　for　racing。　〃My　God；〃　he　murmured　to　himself。　〃It's　far　more　powerful　than　we　thought。〃
　
　Knowing　without　a　shade　of　doubt　Giordino　would　soon　get　carried　away　and　push　the　engine　throttle　to　its　stop；　Pitt　secured　the　groceries　so　they　wouldn't　end　up　on　the　deck。　Then　he　stepped　over　the　sleeping　Romberg；　went　out　onto　the　forward　veranda　and　relaxed　in　a　lawn　chair；　but　not　before　bracing　his　feet　against　the　bulwark　and　wrapping　his　arm　around　the　railing。
　
　Giordino　waited　until　the　Atchafalaya　River　was　clear　and　there　were　no　boats　in　sight。　He　laid　out　the　nautical　chart　of　the　river　provided　by　Doug　Wheeler　and　studied　the　river　depths　ahead。　Then；　true　to　form；　he　increased　the　speed　of　the　old　shantyboat　until　the　flat　nose　bow　was　a　good　foot　above　the　water　and　the　stern　was　burrowed；　cutting　a　wide　groove　across　the　surface。　To　see　such　an　ungainly　craft　barreling　upriver　at　better　than　thirty…five　miles　an　hour　was　an　extraordinary　and　incongruous　sight。　On　the　forward　veranda；　the　wind　resistance　and　the　raised　angle　of　the　bow　pressed　Pitt　back　against　the　wall　of　the　house　with　such　force　he　felt　constrained　and　barely　able　to　move。
　
　Finally；　after　about　two　miles　of　spreading　a　three…foot…high　wash　behind　the　shantyboat　that　swept　into　the　marshlands　and　splayed　the　unbroken　green　mat　of　water　hyacinth　that　spread　from　the　river　channel；　Giordino　observed　two　small　fishing　boats　approaching　on　their　way　to　Morgan　City。　He　eased　back　the　throttle　and　brought　the　shantyboat　to　a　crawl。　The　water　hyacinth　is　a　pretty　plant　but　is　a　disaster　to　inland　waterways；　growing　at　a　prolific　rate　and　choking　off　streams　and　bayous。　They　are　kept　afloat　by　their　stems　full　of　air　bladders。　The　hyacinth　sprouts　beautiful　lavender…pink　flowers；　but　unlike　most　other　flowering　plants；　it　smells　like　a　fertilizer　factory　when　pulled　from　the　water。
　
　Feeling　as　if　he　had　survived　a　roller…coaster　ride；　Pitt　returned　inside；　retrieved　the　topographical　map　and　began　studying　the　twists　and　turns　in　the　river　as　well　as　familiarizing　himself　with　the　network　of　swampy　bayous　and　lakes　between　Wheeler's　Landing　and　the　canal　dug　by　Qin　Shang　Maritime。　He　traced　and　pared　the　landmarks　and　river　bends　with　those　on　the　map。　It　was　refreshing　to　sit　fortably　in　the　shade　of　the　veranda　overhang　and　experience　the　pleasant　sensation　of　traveling　smoothly　over　timeless　waters　that　only　a　boat　can　provide。　Riverbank　vegetation　varied　from　mile　to　mile。　Thick　forests　with　willows；　cotton…woods　and　cypresses　interspersed　with　berry　bushes；　and　wild　grapevines　slowly　gave　way　to　a　moist；　primeval　swamp；　a　prairie　of　soaring　reeds　swaying　under　a　light　breeze　that　swept　off　to　the　horizon。　A　lone　cypress　rose　majestically　out　of　the　grass　like　a　frigate　on　the　sea。　He　saw　herons　walking　on　their　long；　sticklike　legs　along　the　fringe　of　water；　their　necks　bent　into　an　S　shape　as　they　pecked　for　food　in　the　mud。
　
　To　a　hunter　kayaking　or　paddling　a　canoe　through　the　swamps　of　southern　Louisiana；　the　trick　was　to　find　a　firm　piece　of　ground　on　which　to　pitch　a　tent　for　the　night。　Duckweed　and　hyacinth　floated　on　much　of　the　open　water。　Forests　grew　from　the　brackish　muck；　not　dry　land。　It　was　hard　for　Pitt　to　imagine　that　all　the　water　he　could　see　came　from　as　far　away　as　Ontario　and　Manitoba；　North　Dakota　and　Minnesota；　and　every　state　below。　Only　behind　the　safety　of　thousands　of　miles　of　levee　systems　did　people　cultivate　farms　and　build　cities　and　towns。　It　was　a　landscape　unlike　any　he'd　ever　seen。
　
　The　day　was　pleasantly　cool；　with　just　enough　breeze　to　make　small　waves　across　the　surface　of　the　water。　The　hours　rolled　by　as　if　time　was　as　limitless　as　space。　As　idyllic　as　the　lazy　cruise　up　the　river　seemed；　they　were　on　serious　business　that　could　easily　be　the　cause　of　their　deaths。　There　could　be　no　mistakes；　no　errors　in　planning　their　reconnaissance　of　the　mysterious　canal。
　
　A　few　minutes　after　noon；　Pitt　took　a　salami　sandwich　and　a　bottle　of　beer　up　to　Giordino　in　the　little　wheelhouse　on　the　roof。　Pitt　offered　to　take　the　helm；　but　Giordino　wouldn't　hear　of　it。　He　was　having　too　much　fun；　so　Pitt　returned　to　his　chair　on　the　veranda。
　
　Although　time　seemed　to　have　no　meaning；　Pitt's　hours　were　neither　idle　nor　aimless。　He　spent　the　time　laying　out　their　diving　equipment。　He　unpacked　and　adjusted　the　controls　on　the　little　AUV　he　had　used　at　Orion　Lake。　Lastly；　he　removed　the　night…vision　goggles　from　their　case　and　laid　them　on　the　cushions　of　an　old；　worn　sofa。
　
　Shortly　after　five　o'clock　in　the　afternoon；　Pitt　stepped　inside　the　house　and　stood　at　the　base　of　the　ladder　leading　up　to　the　pilothouse　on　the　roof。　〃One　half　mile　before　we　reach　the　mouth　of　the　canal；〃　he　alerted　Giordino。　〃Move　on　past　another　half　mile　to　the　next　bayou。　Then　swing　a　turn　to　starboard。〃
　
　〃What's　it　called？〃　asked　Giordino。
　〃Hooker's　Bayou；　but　don't　bother　looking　for　a　sign　at　the　intersection。　Take　it　for　about　six　miles　to　where　the　map　shows　an　abandoned　dock　by　a　capped　oil　well。　We'll　tie　up　there　and　have　dinner　while　we　wait　for　darkness。〃
　
　Giordino　eased　the　shantyboat　around　a　long　string　of　barges　pushed　downriver　by　a　l