"Cussler, Clive - NUMA Files 04 - White Death - with Paul Kemprecos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cussler Clive)

typical stubbornness, he ignored the discomforts and paced back and
forth like a caged tiger.

The captain was a Basque, an inhabitant of the rugged mountains between
Spain and France, and his instincts, honed by years at sea, were not to
be taken lightly. The Basques were the best sailors in the world, and
men like Aguirrez routinely voyaged to regions that more timid mariners
regarded as the realm of sea serpents and giant whirlpools. Like many
Basques, he had eyebrows like bramble thickets, large protruding ears,
a long, straight nose and a chin like a mountain ledge. In later
years, scientists would suggest that the Basques, with their heavy
facial features, were the direct descendants of Cro-Magnon man.

The crew emerged yawning and stretching into the gray predawn light and
set about their tasks. The captain refused offers to relieve him. His
persistence was rewarded near midmorning. His bloodshot eyes glimpsed
a shimmering splinter of light through the thick

curtain of haze. The quick nervous flicker lasted only an instant, but
it filled Aguirrez with an odd combination of relief and dread.

Pulse quickening, Aguirrez raised the brass spyglass that hung by a
cord around his neck, snapped the sections to their full length and
squinted through the eyepiece. At first he saw only a gray monotone
circle of magnification where the fog bank blended with the sea. The
captain wiped his eyes with his sleeve, blinked to clear his vision and
raised the telescope again. Again he saw nothing. A trick of the
light, he thought.

Suddenly, he saw movement through the lens. A sharp prow had emerged
from the mists like the probing beak of a raptor. Then the full length
of the boat came into view. The slim black-hulled craft shot forward,
glided a few seconds, then surged forward again. Two other ships
followed in quick succession, scudding over the flat surface like giant
water insects. Aguirrez swore softly to himself.

War galleys.

Sunlight reflected off the wet oars that dipped into the sea with a
mechanical cadence. With each sweep of the oars, the sleek vessels
rapidly closed the gap separating them from the sailing ship.

The captain calmly appraised the fast-approaching ships from stem to
stern, taking in the clean, functional lines with the appreciation of a
skilled shipbuilder. True greyhounds of the sea, capable of short
bursts of high speed, the fighting galleys developed by Venice were
used by dozens of European countries.

Each galley was propelled by a hundred-and-fifty oars, three ranks of
twenty-five on each side. The low, level profile imparted a