cc.themediterraneancaper2-第34部分

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through　a　jaggedly　cut　peephole。
　The　Queen　Artemisia　lay　silent；　only　the　faint　hum　of　her　generators　and　the　slap　of　the　waves　of　her　hull　betrayed　her　presence。　Gradually　the　sounds　faded　away　and　the　ship　became　a　part　of　the　silence。　For　a　long　time　Pitt　listened；　but　no　other　sounds　traveled　across　the　water　to　his　bobbing　outpost　No　footsteps　on　a　steel　deck；　no　masculine　voices　shouting　mands；　no　clank　of　human　operated　machinery；　nothing。　The　silence　was　total　and　very　puzzling。　It　was　like　a　phantom　ship　with　a　phantom　crew。
　The　starboard　anchor　was　down；　and　Pitt　made　his　way　toward　it；　slowly　pushing　the　box　from　within。　The　light　breeze　and　the　ining　tide　worked　in　his　favor；　and　soon　the　box　gently　nudged　the　anchor　chain。　He　swiftly　removed　the　U。S。　Divers　air　tank　and　attached　its　backpack　webbing　through　one　of　the　big　steel　chain　links。　Then　using　the　regulator's　single　air　hose　as　a　line；　he　slipped　his　fins；　mask　and　snorkel　over　the　second　stage　mouthpiece　and　let　the　whole　package　dangle　just　beneath　the　surface。
　Pitt　grabbed　the　chain；　looking　up　at　the　seemingly　endless　links　that　vanished　into　the　darkness；　and　felt　like　Jack　climbing　the　beanstalk。　He　thought　of　Teri；　lying　asleep　in　a　cozy　bunk　back　on　the　First　Attempt。　He　thought　of　her　soft　and　fluid　body　and　he　began　to　wonder　what　in　hell　he　was　doing　here。
　Teri　had　wondered　too；　but　over　a　different　question。　〃Why　take　me　to　a　ship？　I　can't　go　out　there　and　meet　all　those　brainy　scientists　looking　like　this。〃　She　lifted　the　hem　of　her　transparent　negligee；　displaying　her　legs　to　the　thighs。
　〃Oh　what　the　hell；〃　Pitt　laughed。　〃It'll　probably　be　the　sexiest　thing　that's　happened　to　them　in　years。〃
　'What　about　Uncle　Bruno？〃
　〃Tell　him　you　went　shopping　on　the　mainland。
　Tell　him　anything。　you're　over　twenty…one。〃
　〃I　guess　it　would　be　fun　to　be　naughty；〃　she　giggled。　〃It's　just　like　a　romantic　adventure　story　in　the　cinema。〃
　〃That's　one　way　to　look　at　It；〃　Pitt　had　said。　He'd　figured　she　would　think　that；　and　he'd　been　right。
　Pitt　went　up　the　anchor　chain；　copying　the　style　of　a　Polynesian　native　climbing　a　palm　tree　after　coconuts。　He　soon　reached　the　hawserhole　and　peered　over　the　rail　He　hesitated；　listening　and　watching　for　any　movement　in　the　shadows。　Not　a　soul　was　visible。　The　foredeck　was　deserted。
　He　swung　over　the　side；　crouched　low　and　moved　silently　across　the　deck　to　the　foremast。　The　blacked…out　ship　was　a　blessing。　If　the　cargo　loading　lamps　had　been　on；　the　midships　and　foredeck　would　have　been　bathed　in　a　flood　of　white　light；　not　the　best　circumstances　for　sneaking　around　unnoticed。　Pitt　was　also　thankful　that　the　darkness　blotted　out　his　dripping　water　trail　across　the　foredeck。　He　paused；　waiting　for　the　expected　sounds　and　movements　that　never　came。　It　was　quiet；　far　too　quiet。　There　was　something　else　about　the　ship　that　didn't　jell　in　Pitt's　subconscious　mind；　but　he　couldn't　pin　it　down。　It　eluded　him　for　the　present
　Pitt　reached　down；　unsheathing　the　diver's　knife　strapped　to　his　calf；　and　moved　aft；　holding　the　seven　inch　stainless　blade　well　out　in　front　of　him。
　It　seemed　incredible；　but　Pitt　had　a　clear　view　of　the　bridge　and；　as　far　as　he　could　see；　it　was　abandoned。　He　melted　into　the　shadows　and　climbed　the　ladder　to　the　bridge；　his　feet　padding　noiselessly　on　the　steel　steps。　The　wheelhouse　was　dark　and　empty。　The　spokes　of　the　wheel　reached　out　in　dark　loneliness；　and　the　binnacle　stood　like　a　mute；　brass…plated　sentinel。　Pitt　couldn't　make　out　the　wording；　but　he　knew　from　the　angle　of　the　pointers　that；　the　telegraph　stood　at　All　Stop。　In　the　dim　light　from　the　stars　he　was　able　to　make　out　a　rack　attached　to　the　ledge　below　the　port　window。　His　fingers。　played　over　the　contents；　Aldis　lamp；　flare　gun；　flares。　Then　he　got　lucky。　His　hand　touched　the　familiar　cylindrical　shape　of　flashlight。　He　slipped　out　of　his　swim　trunks　and　wrapped　them　around　the　lens　till　the　light　offered　nothing　but　a　faint　glow。　Then　he　checked　every　foot　of　the　wheelhouse；　deck；　bulkheads；　equipment　The　tiny　indicator　lights　of；　the　control　console　showed　the　only　glimmer　of　life。
　The　curtains　were　drawn　in　the　chartroom　at　the　back　of　the　wheelhouse。　It　was　inconceivable　that　any　chartroom　could　be　so　clean。　The　charts　lay　in　orderly　stacks；　their　fields　of　squares　and　numbers　crossed　by　precisely　drawn　pencil　lines。　Pitt　slipped　the　knife　back　in　its　sheath；　propped　the　flashlight　against　a　copy　of　Brown's　Nautical　Almanac　and　scanned　the　chart　markings。　The　lines　coincided　exactly　with　the　Queen　Artemisia's　known　course　from　Shaughai。　He　noted　the　fact　that　there　were　no　mistakes　or　erasures　by　whoever　figured　the　pass　corrections。　It　was　neat；　too　much　so。
　The　log　book　was　open　at　the　last　entry：　03。52　hour's　…　Brady　Field　Beacon　bearing　312°；　approximately　eight　miles。　Wind　southwest；　2　knots。　The　God's　protect　Minerva。　The　time　showed　that　this　entry　had　been　made　Less　than　an　hour　before　Pitt　swam　out　from　the　beach。　But　where　was　the　crew？　There　was　no　sign　of　the　deck　watch　and　the　lifeboats　were　secure　in　their　davits。　The　abandoned　helm　didn't　make　sense。　None　of　it　made　sense。
　Pitt's　mouth　was　dry…a　dusty　cavern　in　which　his　tongue　lay　like　a　rubber　sponge。　A　hammer　pounded　in　his　head；　blurring　his　thinking；　He　left　the　wheelhouse；　softly　closing　the　door　behind　him；　and　found　an　alleyway　leading　to　the　captain's　cabin。　The　door　was　ajar。　He　gently　eased　it　full　open　and　stepped　soundlessly　and　sideways　into　the　steel　cubicle。
　A　movie　set；　it　looked　like　a　movie　set　That　was　the　only　way　Pitt　could　describe　it。　Everything　was　neat　and　tidy；　and　exactly　where　it　should　have　been。　Across　the　far　bulkhead；　the　Queen　Artemisia　loomed　in　tranquil　splendor　from　an　amateurish　oil　painting；　Pitt　shuddered　at　the　choice　of　colors；　the　ship　sailed　on　a　purple　sea。　The　signature　in　the　lower　right　corner　was　signed　by　a　Sophia　Remick。　There　was　the　usual　photograph　on　the　desk　with　a　matronly；　round…faced　woman　staring　out　of　a　cheap　metal　frame。　The　inscription　read：　To　the　Captain　of　my　heart　from　his　loving　wife。
　It　was　unsigned；　but　obviously　written　by　the　same　hand　that　had　autographed　the　painting；　And　next　to　the　photograph；　on　an　otherwise　barren　desk　top；　a　carefully　laid　pipe　reposed　in　an　empty　ashtray。　Pitt　picked　it　up　and　smelled　the　blackened　bowl；　it　hadn't　been　smoked　in　months。　Nothing　looked　used　or　handled。　It　was　a　museum　without　dust；　a　house　without　odor。　And；　like　the　ship　herself；　quiet　as　a　graveyard。
　He　returned　to　the　alleyway；　closing　the　door　behind　him；　almost　wishing　some　strange　voice；　any　voice；　would　shout；　〃Who　goes　there？〃　or　〃What　are　you　doing　here？〃　The　stillness　made　his　sweat　run　cold。　Pitt　began　to　imagine　vague　shapes　in　shadowy　corners。　His　heartbeat　thumped　at　an　accelerating　pace。　It　couldn't　have　been　more　than　ten　seconds　that　he　stood　there　not　moving　a　muscle；　forcing　his　mind　back　into　rational　control。
　It'll　be　dawn　soon；　he　thought。　Hurry；　must　hurry。　He　ran　down　the　port　alleyway；　ignoring　any　attempt　at　stealth　and　secrecy；　and　threw　open　the　other　cabin　doors。　Each　small　partment　was　like　the　black　Hole　of　Calcutta。　One　quick　sweep　of　the　hooded　light　told　the　same　story　as　the　captain's　cabin　He　also　searched　the　radio　cabin。　The　transmitter　was　warm　and　pre…set　on　a　VHF　frequency；　but　the　radio　operator　was　conspicuous　by　his　absence。　Pitt　slipped　the　door　shut　and　headed　aft。
　panionways；　port　and　starboard　alleyways；　they　all　seemed　to　merge　into　one　long　black；　underground　tunnel。　It　was　an　effort　not　to　lose　his　sense　of　direction　in　the　maze。　A　naked　man；　except　for　the　flotation　vest；　in　a　dark　nightmare　of　gray　paint　and　steel　walls。　He　tripped　over　a　bulkhead　step　and　fell；　banging　a　shin　and　dropping　the　flashlight；　all　in　harmony　with　an　uttered；　〃Goddamn！〃
　The　flashlight　had　fallen　on　the　hard　deck；　shattering　the　lens　and　blinking　out。　He　knelt　on　his　hands　and　knees；　muttering　additional　curses　and　searching　frantically。　After　agonizing　seconds　his　hands　grasped　the　aluminum…plated　case。　The　glass　of　the　lens　tinkled　with　grim　foreboding　inside　the　cloth　cover。　He　picked　it　up　and　pushed　the　switch　forward。