"02 - Blue Gold (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cussler Clive)
Under a cloudless western sky, the teal green McDonnell-Douglas helicopter cleared the rugged peaks of Squaw Mountain, dipped low over the alpine waters of Lake Tahoe, and darted like a startled dragonfly to the California shore. It hovered an instant, then dropped into a tall stand of Ponderosa pine, touching down on a concrete landing pad. As the rotors spun to a stop an elephantine Chevy Suburban lumbered alongside. The driver, who was wearing a uniform the same dark green as the helicopter and the SU~ got out to greet the rangy passenger who stepped from the chopper.
Taking an overnight bag from the passenger's hand, he said, "Right this way, Congressman Kinkaid."
They got into the vehicle, which headed along a blacktop drive through thick forest. Minutes later it pulled up in front of a complex of buildings that looked like a redwood version of the fabled Hearst castle of San Simeon. The late-afternoon sun threw the turrets, walls, and towers into fantastic silhouette. A whole forest of giant trees must have been leveled merely to pro vide the facing. The sprawling edifice was the ultimate log cabin, squared and cubed in size, a series of connecting outbuildings clustered around a three-story main house.
Congressman Kinkaid muttered, "This place is bigger than the Mormon Tabernacle."
"Welcome to Valhalla," the driver said noncommittally.
He parked the vehicle in front, took the congressman's bag, and led him up a wide stairway to a deck as long as a bowling alley, then into a large foyer paneled and beamed in dark, almost black wood. They followed a series of passageways done in the same dark paneling, finally stopping at a set of high metal doors cast in relief and shaped in a Gothic arch.
"I'll take your bag to your quarters, sir. The others are waiting. You'll find a nameplate designating your seat."
The guide pressed a button on the wall, and the doors opened silently. Kinkaid stepped inside and sucked his breath in as the doors clicked shut behind him. He was in a massive, high ceilinged chamber. The great hall was lit by the fire from a huge hearth and blazing wall torches that vied for space with brightly decorated shields and pennants, spears, battle-axes, swords, and other instruments of death that recalled a time when war was an exercise in personal butchery.
The lethal artifacts paled next to the object occupying the center of the room. It was a Viking ship about seventy feet in length, its oak planking curved into an upswept bow and stern. The single square hide sail was set as if to catch a following breeze. A gang way near the stern allowed access to the deck and to a long table that ran lengthwise with the mast as its center point.
Kinkaid was a Marine veteran who had seen action in Vietnam and was not put off by the intimidating surroundings. Set ting his jaw in an unmistakable expression of determination, he crossed the hall to the ship and went up the gangway. Seated around the table were about two dozen men who halted their conversation and looked at him with curiosity. He sat in the last empty chair and glowered at the others. He was about to strike up a conversation with the man on his right when the double doors at the end of the hall were flung open.
A woman entered and strode toward the boat in the flickering light of the torches, her long legs quickly eating up the distance. As she made her way across the hall, her close-fitting green coveralls emphasized the athletic body, but it was her height that was most imposing. She was nearly seven feet tall.
The woman's body and features were unflawed, but she was beautiful in the way an iceberg is beautiful, and equally forbid ding. She could have sprung whole from the arctic permafrost. Her flaxen hair was pulled away from her face and tied in a bun, displaying to the fullest the marble skin and large eyes that were a hard glacial blue. She came up the gangway onto the ship and walked around the table. In a voice surprising for its softness she greeted each man by name and thanked him for coming. When she reached the congressman she paused, boring into his craggy face with her remarkable eyes, and shook his hand in a vise grip. Then she took her place in front of the high-backed chair at the bow end of the table. She smiled a smile that was as cold as it was seductive.
She arched an eyebrow. "I hope none of you is prone to sea sickness." She waited for the laughter to subside, then went on. "This vessel is a reproduction of the Gogstad Viking ship. It is more than a stage prop; it symbolizes my belief that the impossible is attainable. I had it built because I admire the functional beauty of the design, but also as a constant reminder that the Vikings would never have crossed the sea if they had not been adventurous and daring. Perhaps their spirit will influence the decisions made here." She paused for a moment, then went on. "You're probably all wondering why I invited you," she said.
A saw-edged voice cut her off. "I'd say that your offer to give us fifty thousand dollars or donate it to a charity of our choice may have had something to do with it," Congressman Kinkaid said. "I've donated your offer to a scientific foundation that looks into birth defects."
"I would have expected nothing less, given your reputation for integrity."
Kinkaid grunted and sat back in his chair. "Pardon me for interrupting," he said. "Please get on with your, er, fascinating presentation."
"Thank you," Brynhild said. "To continue, you gentlemen come from all parts of the country and represent many different endeavors. Among your number are politicians, bureaucrats, academics, lobbyists, and engineers. But you and I belong to a common fraternity bound together by one thing. Water. A commodity we know to be in very short supply these days. Everyone is aware that we are facing what could possibly be the longest drought in the country's history. Is that not so, Professor Dearborn? As a climatologist, would you kindly give us your appraisal of the situation?"
"I'd be glad to," replied a middle-aged man who seemed surprised to be called upon. He ran his fingers through thinning ginger-colored hair and said, "This country is experiencing moderate to severe drought in its midsection and along the southern tier from Arizona to Florida. That's nearly a quarter of the contiguous forty-eight states. The situation will probably get worse. In addition, water in the Great Lakes is at all-time lows. A prolonged drought of Dust Bowl levels is entirely possible. A mega drought lasting decades is not outside the realm of possibility."
There was a murmur from around the table.
Brynhild opened a wooden box in front of her, dug her hand inside, and let the sand run through her long fingers.
"The party's over, gentlemen. This is the bleak, dusty future we face."
"With all due respect, Ms. Brynhild," drawled a Nevadan, "you're not telling us anything new. Vegas is going to be in tough shape. L.A. and Phoenix aren't much better off."
She put her hands together in light applause. "Agreed. But what if I told you there is a way to save our cities?"
"I'd like to hear about that," said the Nevadan.
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