'Yes. The epicenters of both Persian Gulf quakes were located offshore.'
'The ships might be the link,' Pitt noted. 'The vessel at Baikal had a moon pool and a derrick on the stern deck. You might start the hunt in the Persian Gulf for a similar utility or research vessel.'
'It's a frightening prospect that they might be able to set off earthquakes all over the globe,' Yaeger replied. 'You boys be careful. I'm not even sure what the vice president can do to help you in Mongolia.'
'Thanks, Hiram. You just track those ships down and we'll see about putting the finger on Borjin.'
***
Pitt didn't wait to hear the results of Yaeger's briefing with Sandecker. He knew there was little that could be done in the short term. Though Mongolia and the U.S. had strong developing ties, it would take days, if not weeks, to generate government intervention. And the evidence against Borjin himself was circumstantial at best.
With the lives of Theresa and Wofford at stake, Pitt instead formulated a plan of infiltration with Giordino and Gunn, then set off for Xanadu. Borjin certainly wouldn't be expecting visitors, he knew. With a little stealth, and a large dose of luck, they just might be able to free Theresa and Wofford and escape with incriminating proof against Borjin.
The dust-caked truck crested a small hill, then Giordino applied the brakes as they approached a side road. The smoothly grated lane, fronted by a small gate, signaled the entryway to Borjin's retreat.
'The happy trail to Xanadu,' Giordino stated.
'Let's hope the opposing traffic is light today,' Pitt grimaced.
Dusk was drawing near, and Pitt figured it wasn't likely that anybody would be departing the compound late in the day, with Ulaanbaatar a four-hour drive away. There was still the risk that one of Borjin's horse-mounted patrols would be making the rounds beyond the gates, but there was little they could do about that.
Giordino turned onto the side trail and followed the empty road as it wound up and into the heart of the mountain range. After cresting a steep summit, Giordino slowed the truck as the river appeared alongside the road. An unusually strong summer rainstorm had just struck the mountaintop and the river raged with its powerful runoff. After days of encountering dry dust, Giordino was surprised to find the road turned muddy from the recent rains.
'If my memory serves, the compound is roughly two miles from the point here where the river first makes an appearance,' Giordino said.
'It's the aqueduct we need to keep a sharp lookout for,' Pitt replied.
Giordino drove on slowly, all eyes keeping a sharp lookout for both the aqueduct and wandering security patrols. Pitt finally spotted a large pipe sprouting from the river, which fed into the concrete-lined aqueduct. It was the landmark they were looking for that told them they were within a half mile of the compound.
Giordino found an opening off the road and pulled the truck into a strand of pine trees, then shut off the motor. The dust and mud-splattered truck blended well into the surroundings, and it would take an observant eye to spot them from the road.
Gunn looked nervously at his watch, noting it was a little before eight o'clock.
'What now?' he asked.
Pitt pulled out a thermos and poured a round of coffees.
'Relax and wait until dark,' he replied, sipping at the steaming brew, 'till it's time for the bogeymen to come out.'
-46-
The steady tropical breeze blew briskly across the barge as Dirk and Dahlgren stripped off their wet suits, shook off their fatigue, and set about getting back to land.
'This tub's too unwieldy to try and sail, even if we had a mast and sailcloth,' Dahlgren said.
'Which we don't,' Dirk replied. 'First things first. Let's see if we can at least slow our drift rate.'
'A sea anchor?'
'That's what I was thinking,' Dirk said, walking over to one of the air compressors.
'A rather expensive anchor,' Dahlgren noted, gathering up sections of their mooring lines.
They fashioned a thirty-foot line to the compressor, tying the opposite end to a stern bollard. Together they muscled the compressor to the side rail and dumped it over the edge. Dangling under the surface, the compressor would act as a makeshift sea anchor, partially slowing the wind-borne portion of their drift.
'One bite into that baby ought to keep the sharks away, too,' Dahlgren joked.
'That's the least of our problems,' Dirk replied. He scanned the horizon, searching for another vessel that they might be able to attract. But the seas around the far southwest end of the Hawaiian Island chain were completely empty.
'Looks like we're on our own.'
The two men turned to the equipment on board the barge. With the Zodiac gone, there was no apparent means of ditching the barge and sailing to shore. A remaining compressor and water pump, plenty of dive gear, and some food and clothing were all they had left aboard.
Dahlgren rapped a knuckle against the side of the shack. 'We could build a raft out of this,' he said.
'We've got some tools and plenty of rope.'
Dirk considered the idea without enthusiasm. 'It would take us a day to build, and we would have a pretty tough go running it against the wind and current. We're probably better off staying put and waiting for a passing vessel.'
'Just trying to think of a way to get to Summer.'
The same thought was on Dirk's mind. There was no question of their survival. They had plenty of food and water aboard. Once the
But how much time did Summer have?
The thought made him sick with dread, wondering what kind of people had abducted her. He cursed their predicament, sitting powerless as they drifted farther and farther away from shore. Pacing the deck, he caught sight of Summer's surfboard atop the shack and felt an added pang of helplessness. There had to be something they could do.
Then the light went on. It was right there in front of him. Or maybe Summer had willed him the answer.
A knowing beam crossed his face as he turned to Dahlgren.
'Not a raft, Jack,' he said with a confident smile. 'A catamaran.'
***
The gray-and-white herring gull flapped off the water with a loud squawk, angry at nearly being run over. Circling overhead, the bird warily eyed the offending watercraft skimming along the surface, then flew down and settled in its wake. The bird had never seen a sailing craft quite like it before. Nor had many people, for that matter.
Dirk's brainchild had been to construct a catamaran from his and Summer's surfboards, and the two men turned the crackpot idea into a workable design. The buoyant fiberglass boards made for a perfect pair of pontoons. Dahlgren came up with the idea of using their sleeping cots to attach as cross-members.
Stripped of their fabric covering, two of the aluminum frames were laid crossways and secured to the boards with looped ropes, then sealed in duct tape for good measure.
'If we could drill or knock a small hole in the center of the boards, we could run a safety line through to ensure that the cross-members don't go dancing off in the first head wave,' Dahlgren suggested.
'Are you crazy? These are vintage Greg Noll boards. Summer would kill us both if we damaged her board.'
They took the third cot frame and rigged it into a mast supported by several guylines. Along with the fabric from the first two cots, they fashioned a sail from the bright blue material. In less than two hours, they had completed a miniaturized, bastardized version of a sailing cat.
