cc.floodtide-第93部分

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　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　telescope　he'd　found　in　a　drawer　next　to　the　helm。　His　right　eye　squinted　through　the　lenses；　scanning　the　wharf　and　buildings。　〃The　barge　is　still　full。　Looks　like　they　haven't　gotten　around　to　dumping　the　trash。〃
　
　〃Unlike　the　ramshackle　condition　of　the　buildings；　the　wharf　looks　no　more　than　a　year　or　two　old。　Can　you　make　out　anyone　inside　the　guard　shack　by　the　gate？〃
　Giordino　swung　the　telescope　and　refocused。　〃I　have　a　single　security　guard　sitting　on　his　ass　inside；　watching　a　TV　set。〃
　〃Any　sign　we　might　be　sailing　into　an　ambush？〃
　〃I've　seen　cemeteries　with　more　life　than　this　place；〃　Giordino　said　mildly。　〃Word　must　not　have　e　down　about　our　party　on　the　canal。〃
　〃I'm　going　over　the　side　and　check　out　the　bottom　of　the　barge；〃　said　Pitt。　〃I　lost　my　dive　gear　at　the　plantation　so　I'll　borrow　yours。　Take　it　slow；　as　if　you're　having　engine　problems。　As　soon　as　I'm　in　the　water；　tie　up　to　the　wharf　and　give　the　guard　another　of　your　sterling　performances。〃
　〃After　mastering　the　manipulation　of　unsympathetic　audiences；〃　Giordino　pontificated；　〃Romberg　and　I　may　form　an　act　and　go　to　Hollywood。〃
　〃Don't　get　your　hopes　up；〃　Pitt　replied　sourly。
　Giordino　pulled　back　the　throttle　two　notches　above　the　idle　position　and　flicked　the　ignition　key　on　and　off　to　simulate　misfiring　cylinders　within　the　engine。　As　soon　as　he　saw　Pitt　in　his　wet　suit　stepping　over　the　catwalk　on　the　side　of　the　shantyboat　out　of　sight　of　the　guard；　he　turned　the　wheel　toward　the　wharf。　A　few　seconds　later；　when　he　glanced　downward；　Pitt　was　gone。
　He　watched　Pitt's　bubbles　approach　the　barge；　and　then　steadily　scatter　as　he　passed　under　its　bottom　edge。　It　looked　to　Giordino　as　if　Pitt　was　working　deeper　and　deeper。　Then　the　bubbles　rising　beside　the　barge　disappeared　altogether。
　Giordino　slowly　raised　a　hand　to　shield　the　sun　from　his　eyes　and　expertly　steered　the　shantyboat　around　the　barge　and　along　the　pilings　without　scratching　the　paint　on　the　hull。　Then　he　dropped　down　a　ladder　to　the　catwalk；　jumped　onto　the　wharf　and　began　looping　mooring　lines　around　a　pair　of　rusty　bollards。
　The　guard　came　out　of　his　shack；　unlocked　the　gate　and　rushed　up　to　the　shantyboat。　He　cautiously　eyed　Romberg；　who　acted　happy　to　see　him。　The　guard　looked　Asian　but　he　spoke　with　a　West　Coast　accent。　He　was　a　good　four　inches　taller　than　Giordino　but　much　thinner。　He　wore　a　baseball　cap　and　World　War　II　pilot's　sunglasses。
　〃You　must　leave。　This　is　a　private　dock。　The　owners　do　not　allow　boats　to　moor　here。〃
　〃Ah　cain't　help　it；〃　Giordino　moaned。　〃Man　engine　died　on　me。　Just　give　me　twenty　minutes；　and　Ah'll　have　it　fixed。〃
　The　guard　was　not　to　be　refused。　He　began　untying　the　lines。　〃You　must　leave。〃
　Giordino　walked　over　and　grasped　the　guard's　wrist　in　an　iron　grip。　〃Qin　Shang　will　not　be　happy　when　I　report　your　offensive　behavior　to　one　of　his　inspectors。〃
　The　guard　looked　at　Giordino　queerly。　〃Qin　Shang？　Who　the　hell　is　Qin　Shang？　I　was　hired　by　the　Butterfield　Freight　Corporation。〃
　Now　it　was　Giordino's　turn　to　make　a　queer　expression。　He　unconsciously　glanced　over　the　side　into　the　water　where　he'd　last　seen　Pitt's　air　bubbles　and　wondered　if　they'd　made　a　big　mistake。　〃You　were　hired　to　do　what？　Keep　crows　off　the　corn？〃
　〃No；〃　said　the　guard　defensively；　unable　to　shake　Giordino's　grip　and　contemplating　whether　he　was　dealing　with　a　madman　and　should　draw　his　bolstered　revolver。　〃Butterfield　uses　the　old　buildings　to　store　furniture　and　equipment　from　their　offices　around　the　country。　My　job；　and　the　guards　who　work　the　other　shifts；　is　to　keep　vandals　off　the　property。〃
　Giordino　released　the　guard's　arm。　He　was　far　too　wise　and　cynical　to　fall　for　the　lie。　He　was　almost　thrown　off　the　track　in　the　first　moments　of　the　conversation。　But　now　he　knew　with　solid　conviction　there　was　more　to　the　abandoned　sugar　mill　at　Bartholomeaux　than　met　the　eye。
　〃Tell　me；　friend。　Would　it　be　worth　a　bottle　of　Black　Label　Jack　Daniel's　whiskey　to　let　me　stay　here　just　long　enough　to　fix　my　engine？〃
　〃I　don't　think　so；〃　the　guard　said　testily　as　he　rubbed　his　wrist。
　Giordino　fell　back　into　his　back　country　accent。　〃Look；　Ah'm　in　a　bind。　If　Ah　just　drift　out　in　the　river　while　workin'　down　on　the　engine；　Ah　could　be　busted　in　two　by　a　towboat。〃
　〃That's　not　my　problem。〃
　〃Two　bottles　of　Black　Label　Jack　Daniel's　whiskey？〃
　A　sly　look　gleamed　in　the　guard's　eyes。　〃Four　bottles。〃
　Giordino　stuck　out　his　hand。　〃Done。〃　Then　he　motioned　through　the　door　leading　inside　the　shantyboat　from　the　veranda。　e　on　board　and　Ah'll　put　'em　in　a　sack　for　ya。〃
　The　guard　looked　apprehensively　at　Romberg。　〃Does　he　bite？〃
　〃Only　if　ya　put　your　hand　in　his　mouth　and　step　on　his　jaws。〃
　
　Unwittingly　drawn　into　the　web；　the　guard　stepped　around　Romberg　and　entered　the　shantyboat's　main　cabin。　It　was　the　last　thing　he　remembered　until　he　woke　up　four　hours　later。　Giordino　hit　him　on　the　nape　of　the　neck。　Not　a　judo　chop；　but　a　huge　fist　swung　like　a　club　that　sent　the　guard　crashing　heavily　to　the　deck；　out　for　the　long　count。
　
　Ten　minutes　later；　Giordino；　wearing　the　guard's　uniform；　pants　and　sleeves　too　long　by　inches　but　the　shirt　straining　at　its　buttons　as　his　chest　and　shoulders　stretched　the　seams；　stepped　out　on　the　shantyboat's　veranda。　With　the　guard's　baseball　cap　pulled　down　over　the　old；　wide…style　sunglasses；　Giordino　leisurely　walked　to　the　gate；　closed　it　behind　him　and　pretended　to　lock　it。　Then　he　went　inside　the　guard　shack　and　sat　in　front　of　the　television　set　while　his　eyes　roamed　the　grounds　of　the　sugar　mill；　picking　out　the　security　cameras　placed　about　the　property。
　
　Pitt　sank　to　the　bottom　before　swimming　up　and　under　the　flat　bottom　of　the　barge。　He　was　surprised　to　encounter　the　bed　of　the　bayou　at　thirty　feet　beside　the　wharf…far　deeper　than　was　necessary　for　barge　traffic。　The　depth　must　have　been　dredged　to　accept　a　deep…hulled　ship。
　
　It　was　as　if　a　cloud　had　passed　over　the　sun。　The　shadow　of　the　barge　cut　off　nearly　fifty　percent　of　the　lig