Pacific Vortex! dp-1 Read online

  Denver shrugged. «I don't know. He was very sly about it Said we'd know in the end.»

  Hunter's eyes were remote, unseeing. «An enigma, that man's a don't-give-a-damn enigma…»

  «Telephone, Admiral.»

  Hunter was interrupted by an officer who held out a receiver. «Who is it?»

  The officer looked lost for a moment, then hesitantly said: «It's Aloha Willie, the late night disc jockey on radio station POPO.»

  Hunter's mouth dropped. «What is this, mister? I don't want to talk to any damned disc jockey. How did he get on our private lines anyway?»

  The officer looked extremely ill-at-ease. «He said it was urgent, sir. His contest riddle is: the Blackbird has come home to nest He said you'd win a prize if you knew the answer.»

  «What nonsense is this?» Hunter fairly exploded. «You tell that nut to…» Suddenly Hunter's lips froze and his eyes widened. «My God, Crowhaven.»

  He snatched the receiver and talked rapidly with the voice on the other end of the line. Then he thrust the receiver back at the stunned officer and turned to Denver.

  «Crowhaven is sending over the frequency of a Honolulu radio station.»

  Denver's expression was one of abject bewilderment «I don't understand.»

  «It's brilliant Positively brilliant,» Hunter said excitedly. «Delphi would never think to monitor the frequency of a commercial broadcast station, especially a rock 'n roll program. Nobody but a handful of kids would be tuned in at this time of the morning.» He leaned over the radio operator. «Set your frequency to 1250.»

  At first the concrete walls were greeted by a loud blast of music which assaulted the eardrums of everyone in the bunker. Then, before the confused staff crowded around the radio fully absorbed the shock, a high-pitched voice that spit words like a machine gun broke through the speaker.

  «Hi-ho there, you early morning birdwatchers. This is Aloha Willie with the top forty tunes rockin* your way across the tropical airwaves with some really great sounds for you disc hounds. Time now, three-fifty. Okay, are you ready, group? Glue your ears to the transistors and listen now as we play the flip side of the latest comedy record by Big Daddy and His Gang. Take it away Big Daddy.»

  The radio operator in the bunker pushed the transmit button and cut in on the program. «Big Daddy calling Our Gang. Come in please. Over.»

  «This is Our Gang, Big Daddy. Do you read? Over.»

  Denver leaped to his feet. «That's Crowhaven. He's done itl He's calling from inside the Starbuck»

  «We read you, Our Gang. Over.»

  «Here is the final score. Visitors: one run, one hit, three errors. Home Team: no runs, three hits, four errors.»

  Hunter gazed emptily at the speaker. «The code for casualties. Crowhaven had taken control of the submarine but it cost him one dead and three wounded.»

  «We acknowledge the score, Our Gang,» droned the radio man. «Our congratulations to the visiting team for their win. When can they leave the ballpark?»

  The reply came back without hesitation. «The showers are steaming and the locker room should be emptied in another hour. Will load bus and leave stadium by 0400.»

  Denver rapped the table with his fist and a big smile widened across his cherubic face. «The reactors are generating steam to the turbines and they'll have the forward torpedo compartment pumped dry in an hour. Thank God, they're ahead of schedule.»

  Hunter reached over and took the microphone from the operator.

  «Our Gang, this is Big Daddy. Where is the Kid?» «The Kid and his sidekick went over the hill in search of a lost gold mine. No word since then. Assume they became lost in the desert and ran out of water.»

  Hunter silently set down the microphone. There was no need to translate. The message was all too clear.

  «Well bring you up-to-date on the sports at 0500,» Crowhaven's voice continued. «Our Gang, out.»

  Aloha Willie cut back in without missing a beat.

  «There you have it, group. Now for number twelve on the charts: Avery Anson Pants singing The Great Bikini Ripoff…»

  The radio operator switched off the speaker. «That's it, sir, until 0500.»

  Admiral Hunter moved slowly away and sank in a chair. He stared dully at the wall.

  «A high price to pay,» Hunter said softly.

  «Pitt should have stayed with Crowhaven,» Denver said bitterly. «He should have never gone off in search of your daughter…» Denver caught himself too late.

  Hunter looked up. «I did not give Pitt permission to look for Adrian.»

  «I know, sir,» Denver shrugged helplessly. «I tried to discourage him., but he insisted on making the attempt. He does what he wants to do.»

  «Did what he wanted to do,» Hunter said hopelessly, his voice trailing off softly.

  «Welcome back to the land of the walking dead.»

  Pitt slowly focused his eyes and looked up into the ever-grinning face of Giordino.

  «Who's walking?» Pitt muttered. He wished he were unconscious again, wished the burning ache in his gashed arm and the throb from his bruised head belonged to someone else. He didn't move; he just lay there and soaked up the sea of pain.

  Tor a while there I thought you'd need a casket,** Giordino said casually.

  He held out his hand and Giordino pulled him to a sitting position. Pitt blinked his eyes to remove the sand and saltwater. «Where in hell are we?»

  «An underwater cave,» Giordino answered. «I found it right after you blacked out and we escaped from that god-awful current.»

  Pitt looked around the small chamber, lit dimly by Giordino's dented dive light. It was about twenty feet wide and thirty feet long, and the ceiling was between five and ten feet high. Three quarters of the floor was water while the remainder consisted of the rocky shelf that he and Giordino rested on. The walls of the semi-flooded gallery were smooth and covered by a score of tiny crabs that scooted about the ledge like frightened ants.

  «I wonder how deep we are,» Pitt murmured.

  «My depth gauge read eighty feet outside the entrance.»

  Pitt longed for a cigarette. He dragged his sore body across the shelf to one wall and leaned against it, staring in dumb fascination at the blood that splotched his black rubber wet suit

  «A pity I don't have a camera,» said Giordino. «You'd make a great human interest story.»

  «Looks worse than it really is,» Pitt lied. He nodded at Giordino's feet «I'm sorry I can't say the same about your bug-crushers.»

  «Yeah, I don't think any of my piggies will be going to market for a while.» Giordino coughed up mucus and spat it in the water. «Now what?»

  «We can't go back outside,» Pitt said thoughtfully. «With all this blood, we'd draw every shark within ten miles.» He paused, glanced at his watch, and then stared at the water. «We've got nearly two hours before the Monitor cuts loose. What say we spend it looking around?»

  Giordino's expression was devoid of enthusiasm. «We're hardly in prime condition to go exploring caves.»

  «You know how easily I get bored sitting around.»

  Giordino wearily shook his head. «The things I do for a friend.» He took careful aim at a crab, spat, and missed. «I guess anything beats an evening with these guys.»

  «What's the status of our equipment?» «Td hoped you wouldn't ask,» Giordino said. «All in about the same shape I'm in. Except for our air tanks, which are, if you'll pardon the expression, on their last gasp, we have exactly one face mask, forty feet of nylon line, one flipper, and this light which has just about had it»

  «Forget the air tanks. I'll try a free dive first» Pitt slipped the fin on a foot and took the nylon cord, wrapping one end around his waist «You rest easy and hold on to the other end of the line. When you feel three jerks, get out of there fast. Two jerks, pull like hell. One jerk, follow me in.»

  «It'll be lonesome here,» Giordino sighed. «Just me and the crabs.»

  Pitt grinned. «You won't be lonely long.»

>   Pitt picked up the light and sat on the edge of the shelf. He inhaled and exhaled several times, hyperventilating to purge the carbon dioxide from his system. Finally, satisfied that his lungs could hold no more, he slid into the gloomy water and stroked toward the bottom of the cavern.

  Pitt was an excellent diver. He could stay underwater, holding his breath, for nearly two minutes. His muscles ached and the bloody cuts in his skin smarted from the saltwater, but he plunged downward with one hand touching the smooth surface of the wall, while the other gripped and aimed the light. The wall sloped on a broken angle for fifteen feet and then leveled out into a confining shaft Pitt came to a mound of fallen rock that nearly blocked his forward progress, but he managed to snake over the obstacle and found that the walls began expanding away from his line of vision. He pulled his body through into the new chamber and made a gliding ascent, slowly waving the one flipper.

  In a matter of seconds, he popped into sweet air and a gallery that was flooded by a soft yellow glow. It was a golden world, a world of yellow where even the shadows were cast in matching hues. The roof was at least twenty feet high and glistened with a mass of tiny stalactites which trickled water in small splashing drops throughout the interior.

  Pitt breast-stroked through the gold-tinted water to a rock-carved grand stairway which stretched into a long curving tunnel with odd-looking triangular-grooved notches imbedded in the steps. Two effigies of square-bearded men with fishtails instead of legs, crouched in a sphinxlike fashion on each side of the landing. The statues were deeply eroded from the dripping water and appeared to be extremely old.

  He hoisted his buttocks onto the bottom step of the landing and removed his mask, blinking his eyes to adjust to the eerie strangeness of the light The tightness of the wetsuit began to irritate his arm. Tenderly, favoring the gashes on his arm, he managed to slip it from his body. When he unwrapped the nylon cord from around his waist he noticed a scant three feet of slack. He gave the cord one sharp tug and as soon as it became taut, he hauled it in hand over hand until Giordino's curly head popped to the surface.

  «I've gone to a yellow hell,» Giordino sputtered. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and extended his hand to Pitt.

  «Welcome to Delphi's House of Horrors.» He grabbed Giordino's hand and hauled him from the water onto the step.

  Giordino nodded toward the sculptures. «The local reception committee?» He rubbed a hand over one of the squared-off beards, stroking the stony surface. «Any idea what causes the weird light?»

  «It seems to emanate from the rocks.»

  «That it does,» Giordino agreed. «Take a look at my hand.» He held up his palm and the skin emitted a faint glow. '1 can't give you a chemical analysis of the mineral content, but I'm reasonably certain it contains a healthy dose of phosphorescence.»

  «Tve never known it to be quite this bright,» Pitt said.

  Giordino sniffed the air. «I smell eucalyptus.»

  «Eucalyptus oil. They use it to lower the humidity and keep the air from getting stale.»

  Giordino began peeling off his own wet suit, gently easing it over his injured feet. They were, Pitt discerned in the strange light, torn nearly to the bone and were soon surrounded in a spreading pool of blood. But, he thought, he could still walk easily enough.

  Tm going to scout the stairway. Why don't you hang around and enjoy the sights?»

  «No chance,» Giordino smiled gamely. «I think it wiser if we stuck together. I'll keep up. Just mind the road ahead.»

  Pitt squinted at Giordino's bleeding body and then looked down at his own. We're certainly a sorry-looking invasion force, he thought; they were both hurt badly.

  «Okay, tough guy, but don't play silent hero.» Pitt knew his words were useless. Giordino would follow until he passed out. Without waiting for a comment, he turned and began walking up the stairway.

  They climbed with agonizing slowness amid the unreal surroundings into a winding tunnel. The only sounds came from their labored breathing and the constant splatter of water trickling from the ceiling. The tunnel gradually narrowed until it was slightly over five feet high and three feet wide. The steps suddenly shortened until they became a smooth ramp.

  Pitt kept his back pressed against the damp surface of the wall, and stooped to keep from, hitting his head, while inching his way through the passage. The batteries of the dive light were almost dead, and the beam they projected through the lens barely cast more illumination than the phosphorescence. Every thirty feet he paused and waited for Giordino to hobble painfully within arm's length. Pitt noted that each time he halted, Giordino took a little longer to catch up. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that Giordino couldn't last much longer.

  «Next time, find a cave with escalators,» Giordino panted. It took him three breaths to get the words out through clenched teeth.

  «A little workout never hurt anybody,» Pitt said. He had to keep Giordino going now. If they didn't find a way to the surface above the seamount, they would die a lonely death, crushed under thousands of tons of rocks and water.

  Pitt pushed on. The dive light was down to a faint glow and he simply, uncaringly, let it slip from his hand to the rock floor. He hesitated a moment, staring unconcernedly at the light as it rolled down the tunnel in the direction he had climbed. He vacantly wondered what Giordino would think when it came rattling by. Pitt's gooseflesh rose in unison with a sudden cold air current that danced across his skin. There had to be a vent or an opening ahead. Soon a gentle, textured blue film met his eyes. The blue seemed to waver and alternate in tones that cast soft, animate shadows on the passage walls. Pitt moved closer. The thing swirled with a movement that was familiar. Why can't I recognize it, he dazedly wondered. His brain was fogging — fatigue rushed through his veins and deadened all his thought processes. He stopped and waited for Giordino, but Giordino did not come.

  Pitt couldn't combat his feelings of isolation and oppression. For the second time in the last hour he found himself forcing back the black veil that circled his vision. He reached out with his hand and lightly touched the shimmering blue light His fingers met with a soft, smooth substance.

  «A curtain,» he mumbled to no one. «A lousy curtain.»

  He parted the folds and stumbled into a fairyland of gleaming black statuary and blue velvet-covered walls. The huge room was decorated with delicately sculptured fish in ebony stone imbedded in a deep indigo carpet. The carpet was unlike anything Pitt had ever seen. It encased his feet to the ankles. He looked up and saw that the entire fantastic setting was reflected in a gigantic mirror which spanned the ceiling from wall to wall. In the center of the room, elevated by four carved leaping sailfish, was a clam shell-shaped bed adorned by the body of a naked girl lying on a sparkling satin spread, her white skin contrasting vividly with the blue and black motif of the chamber.

  She lay on her back with one knee drawn up and one hand palmed around a small white breast as though caressing it. Her face was enticingly hidden by long, sleek hair that glinted in the light as it trailed across the pillow. The rise and fall of her breathing distinctly showed that her stomach was hard and firm.

  Pitt leaned unsteadily over the bed and brushed the hair away from her face. His touch awakened her and she moaned softly. Her eyes slowly opened and locked on Pitt, gazing unseeing for a moment until her sleep-dulled brain registered the sight of the bloody specter standing over her bed. Then her lovely face snapped into shock and her large, inviting lips opened for a scream that was never uttered.

  «Hello, Summer,» Pitt muttered with a crooked smile. «I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop in.»

  Then the door in Pitt's skull slammed shut and he pitched backward onto the waiting carpet.

  Pitt lost count of the number of times he straggled up from the dark mist, only to slip off the top rung of consciousness and fall back into the black void. People, voices, and scenes barreled through his mind in a disjointed swirl of kaleidoscopic confusion. He tried to s
low down the blur of images, but the crazy vision persisted; when he opened his eyes to erase the nightmare from his mind, he saw the nightmare itself: the bestial yellow eyes of Delphi.

  «Good morning, Mr. Pitt,» Delphi said drily. The tone was courteous, but the hatred was manifest in the icy lines of the face. «I regret your injuries, but you can hardly sue for damages, can you?»

  «You neglected to post NO TRESPASSING signs.» Pitt's voice came through his ears like the halting speech of a senile man.

  «An oversight But then no one invited you to blunder into our power turbine's exhaust current.»

  «Power turbine?»

  «Yes.» Delphi seemed to relish Pitt's questioning look. «There are over four miles of tunnels here in my sanctuary, and as you've noticed, it can be rather cold. Therefore, we require an extensive heating and electrical supply as only steam turbines can produce.»

  «All the comforts of home,» Pitt mumbled, still trying to clear his head. I take it they're responsible for the surface fog.»

  «Yes, the vented heat from their power plants coming in contact with the cooler water causes a mist-like condensation. Presto: instant fog bank!»

  Pitt pushed himself upright to a sitting position. He tried to read the hands on his watch but the dial was a blur.

  «How long have I been out?»

  «You were discovered in my daughter's sleeping quarters precisely forty minutes ago.» Delphi stared speculatively at Pitt's bruised and scarred body, betraying no degree of emotion or concern.

  «A nasty habit of mine,» Pitt said, smiling. «Always showing up in ladies' bedrooms at inconvenient times.»

  Delphi maintained his bland expression. The silver-haired giant sat on a white, sculptured stone couch lined with red satin cushions while Pitt noted wryly that he was delegated to the cold, marble-smooth floor.

  He ignored Delphi for a moment and took in the surroundings. It looked like one of those futuristic displays at world expositions. The room was of comfortable proportions, about twenty-five square feet, with walls decorated with original oil paintings of seascapes grouped in neat but casual array. Incandescent lighting came from rounded brass fixtures beamed at a white ceiling.