cc.themediterraneancaper2-第3部分

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　〃Yours　is　not　to　reason　why；　my　friend；〃　Pitt　lightly　punched　Giordino　on　the　arm　and　smiled　briefly。
　〃Good　luck。〃
　〃Save　it　for　yourself；　you　bleed　just　as　easily　as　I　do；〃　Giordino　said　soberly。　Then；　muttering　quietly　under　his　breath；　he　rose　from　the　co…pilot's　seat　and　made　his　way　to　the　ship's　waist。　Once　there　he　pulled　the　thirty　caliber　carbine　from　an　upright　cabinet　and　shoved　a　fifteen　shot　clip　into　the　receiver。　A　blast　of　warm　air　struck　his　face；　filling　the　partment　when　he　opened　the　waist　batches。　He　checked　the　gun　once　more　and　sat　down　to　wait；　his　thoughts　drifting　to　the　big　man　who　was　piloting　the　plane。　Giordino　had　known　Pitt　for　a　long　time。　They'd　played　together　as　boys；　ran　on　the　same　high　school　track　team　and　dated　the　same　girls。　He　knew　Pitt　better　than　any　man　alive；　any　woman　too；　for　that　matter。
　Pitt　was；　in　a　sense；　two　men；　neither　of　them　directly　related　to　the　other。　There　was　the　coldly　efficient　Dirk　Pitt　who　rarely　made　a　mistake；　and　yet　was　humorous；　unpretentious　and　easily　made　friends　with　everyone　who　came　in　contact　with　him；　a　rare　bination。
　Then　there　was　the　other　Pitt；　the　moody　one　the　one　who　often　withdrew　to　himself　for　hours　at　a　time　and　became　remote　and　aloof；　as　though　his　mind　were　constantly　churning　over　some　distant　dream。　There　had　to　be　a　key　that　unlocked　and　opened　the　door　between　the　two　Pitts；　but　Giordino　had　never　found　it。　He　did　know；　however；　that　the　transition　from　one　Dirk　Pitt　to　the　other　took　place　more　frequently　in　the　past　year…　since　Pitt　lost　a　woman　in　the　sea　near　Hawaii；　a　woman　he　had　loved　deeply。
　Giordino　remembered　noticing　Pitt's　eyes　before　ing　back　to　the　main　cabin；　how　the　deep　green　had　transformed　to　a　glinting　brightness　at　the　call　of　　danger。　Giordino　had　never　seen　eyes　quite　like　them。　except　once。　and　he　shuddered　slightly　at　the　recollection　as　he　glanced　at　the　missing　finger　on　his　right　hand。　He　jerked　his　thoughts　back　to　the　reality　of　the　present　and　slid　off　the　safety　catch　on　the　carbine。　Then；　strangely。　he　felt　secure。
　Back　in　the　cockpit；　Pitt's　tanned　face　was　a　study　in　masculinity。　He　was　not　　handsome　in　the　movie　star　sense：　far　from　it　Women　rarely；　if　ever；　threw　　themselves　at　him。　They　were　usually　a　little　awed　and　unfortable　in　his　　presence。　They　somehow　sensed　that　he　was　not　a　man　who　catered　to　feminine　　wiles　or　silly　coquettish　games。　He　loved　women's　pany　and　the　feel　of　their　　soft　bodies；　but　he　disliked　the　subterfuge；　the　lies；　and　all　the　other　　ridiculous　little　ploys　it　took　to　seduce　the　average　female。　Not　that　he　lacked　　cleverness　at　getting　a　woman　between　the　sheets；　be　was　an　expert。　But　he　had　　to　force　himself　to　play　the　game。　He　preferred　straightforward　and　honest　　women；　but　there　were　far　too　few　to　be　found。　Pitt　eased　the　control　column　forward；　and　the　PBY　nosed　over　in　a　shallow　dive　　toward　the　inferno　at　Brady　Field。　The　white　altimeter　needles　slowly　swung　　backward　around　the　black　dial；　registering　the　descent。　He　steepened　the　angle；　　and　the　twenty…five　year　old　aircraft　began　to　vibrate。　It　was　not　built　for　　high　speed。　It　was　designed　for　low　speed　reconnaissance；　dependability　and　long　　range；　but　that　was　about　all。
　Pitt　had　requested　the　purchase　of　the　craft　after　he　had　transferred　from　the　　Air　Force　to　the　National　Underwater　Marine　Agency　at　the　request　of　the　Agency　　Director；　Admiral　James　Sandecker。　Pitt　still　retained　his　rank　of　Major　and；　　according　to　the　paperwork；　was　assigned　to　an　indefinite　tour　of　duty　with　　NUMA。　His　title　was　that　of　Surface　Security　Officer；　which　was　nothing　to　him　　but　a　fancy　term　for　trouble　shooter。　Whenever　a　project　ran　into　unknown　　difficulties　or　unscientific　problems；　it　was　Pitt's　job　to　unravel　the　　difficulty　and　get　the　operation　back　on　the　track。　That　was　the　purpose　behind　　his　request　for　the　PBY　Catalina　flying　boat。　Slow　as　it　was；　it　could　　fortably　carry　passengers　and　cargo；　and　what　was　most　important；　land　and　　take　off　in　water；　a　prime　factor　since　nearly　ninety　percent　of　NUMA's　　operations　were　miles　at　sea。
　Suddenly　a　glint　of　color　against　the　black　cloud　caught　Pitt's　attention。　It　　was　a　bright　yellow　plane。　It　banked　sharply；　suggesting　high　maneuverability；　　and　dived　through　the　smoke。　Pitt　slipped　the　throttles　backward　to　reduce　the　　speed　of　his　sharp　angle　of　descent　and　prevent　the　PBY　from　overshooting　his　　strange　adversary。　The　other　plane　materialized　out　of　the　opposite　side　of　the　　smoke　and　could　clearly　be　seen　strafing　Brady　Field。
　〃I'll　be　damned；〃　Pitt　boomed　out　loud。　〃It's　an　old　German　Albatros。〃
　The　Catalina　came　on　straight　from　the　eye　of　the　sun；　and　the　pilot　of　the　　Albatros；　intent　on　the　business　of　destruction；　did　not　see　it。　A　sardonic　grin　　spread　on　Pitt's　face　as　the　fight　drew　near。　He　cursed　the　fact　that　there　were　　no　guns　waiting　for　his　mand　to　spout　from　the　nose　of　the　PBY。　He　applied　　pressure　to　the　rudder　pedals　and　side　slipped　to　give　Giordino　a　better　line　of　　fire。　The　PBY　thundered　in；　still　unnoticed。　Then；　abruptly；　he　could　hear　the　　crack　of　Giordino's　carbine　above　the　roar　of　the　engines。
　They　were　almost　on　top　of　the　Albatros　before　the　leather　helmeted　head　in　the　　open　cockpit　spun　around。　They　were　so　close　Pitt　could　see　the　other　pilot's　　mouth　drop　open　in　shocked　surprise　at　the　sight　of　the　big　flying　boat；　boring　down　from　the　sun…the　hunter　became　the　quarry。　The　pilot　recovered　quickly　and　　the　Albatros　rolled　sharply　away；　but　not　before　Giordino　drilled　it　with　a　　fifteen　shot　clip　from　the　carbine。
　The　grim；　incongruous　drama　in　the　smoke…ridden　sky　over　Brady　Field　reached　a　　new　stage　as　the　World　War　II　flying　boat　squared　off　against　the　World　War　I　fighter　plane。　The　PBY　was　faster；　but　the　Albatros　had　the　advantage　of　two　machine　guns　and　a　vastly　higher　degree　of　maneuverability。　The　Albatros　was　　lesser　known　than　its　famous　counterpart；　the　Fokker；　but　it　was　an　excellent　　fighter　and　the　workhorse　of　the　German　Imperial　Air　Service　from　1916　to　1918。　The　Albatros　twisted；　turned　and　zeroed　in　on　the　PBY's　cockpit。　Pitt　acted　　quickly　and　yanked　the　controls　back　into　his　lap　and　prayed　the　wings　would　　stay　glued　to　the　fuselage　as　the　lumbering　flying　boat　struggled　into　a　loop。　　He　forgot　caution　and　the　accepted　rules　of　flying；　the　exhilaration　of　　man…to…man　bat　surged　In　his　blood。　He　could　almost　hear　the　rivets　popping　　as　the　PBY　twisted　over　on　its　back。　The　unorthodox　evasive　action　caught　his　　opponent　off　guard；　and　the　twin　streams　of　fire　from　the　yellow　plane　went　　wide；　missing　the　Catalina　pletely。
　The　Albatros　then　made　a　steep　left　hand　turn　and　came　straight　at　the　PBY；　and　they　approached　head…on。　Pitt　could　see　the　other　　plane's　tracer　bullets　streaking　about　ten　feet　under　his　windshield。　Lucky　for　　us　this　guy's　a　lousy　shot；　he　thought。　He　had　a　weird　feeling　in　his　stomach　as　　the　two　planes　sped　together　on　a　collision　course。　Pitt　waited　until　the　last　　possible　instant　before　he　pushed　the　nose　of　the　PBY　down　and　swiftly　banked　　around；　gaining　a　brief；　but　favorable　position　over　the　Albatros。　Again　　Giordino　opened　fire。
　But　the　yellow　Albatros　dived　out　of　the　spitting　hail　from　the　carbine　and　shot　　vertically　toward　the　ground；　and　Pitt　momentarily　lost　sight　of　it　He　swung　to　　the　right　in　a　steep　turn　and　searched　the　sky。　It　was　too　late。　He　sensed；　　rather　than　felt；　the　thumping　from　a　river　of　bullets　that　tore　into　the　flying　　boat。　Pitt　threw　his　plane　into　a　violent　falling　leaf　maneuver　and　successfully　　dodged　the　smaller　plane's　deadly　sting。　It　was　a　narrow　escape。
　The　uneven　battle　continued　for　a　full　eight　minutes　while　the　military　　spectators　on　the　ground　watched；　spellbound。　The　strange　aerial　dogfight　slowly　　drifted　eastward　over　the　shoreline；　and　the　final　round　began。
　Pitt　was　sweating　now。　Small　glistening　beads　of　the　salty　liquid　were　bursting　　from　the　pores　on　his　forehead　and　trickling　in　snail…like　trails　down　his　face。　His　opponent　was　cunning；　but　Pitt　was　playing　the　strategy　game　too。　With　　infinite　patience；　dredged　up　from　some　hidden　reserve　in　his　body；　he　waited　　for　the　r