"Cussler, Clive - White Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cussler Clive)

What would a boat be doing here?" Heinz said, eyes blinking rap- idly. "I've heard of no other expeditions to the pole. I order you to re- turn to our course."

On what grounds, Herr Heinz?" the captain asked, elevating his chin even more. It was apparent from the coldness of his voice that he didn't care what the reply would be.

Our mission is to go to the North Pole," Heinz said.

Captain Braun glared at Heinz as if he was about to kick the lit- tle man out the door and watch his body fall onto the pack ice.

Lutz recognized the dangerous mood the captain was in and in- tervened. "Herr Heinz, you are right, my friend. But I believe our charge was also to investigate any matter that may be of aid to us or the next expedition."

Braun added, "In addition, we are duty-bound, no less than any ship that sails the sea, to help those who may be in distress."

"If they see us, they will radio someone and jeopardize our mis- sion," Heinz said, trying another tack.

"They would have to be blind and deaf not to have seen or heard us," said Braun. "And if they report our presence, so what? Our ship has no markings except for the name."

Seeing he was defeated, Heinz slowly lit up a cigarette and con- spicuously blew smoke in the air, daring the captain to stop him.

The captain ignored the defiant gesture and gave the order to de- scend. The helmsman adjusted the controls, and the giant airship began its long, sloping glide down to the pack ice.

1

The Faroe Islands, the present

THE LONE SHIP bearing down on the Faroe Islands looked like the loser in a paint-ball fight. The hull of the 170-foot Sea Sentinel was splashed from stem to stern with an eye-blinding psy- chedelic potpourri of tie-dye rainbow colors. A piping calliope and a crew of clowns would not have been out of place to complete the carnival atmosphere. The ship's raffish appearance was deceptive. As many had learned to their sorrow, the Sea Sentinel was as dan- gerous in its own way as any vessel in the pages of Jane s Fighting Ships.

The Sea Sentinel had arrived in Faroe waters after a 180-mile trip

from the Shetland Islands off of Scotland. Greeting the vessel was a small flotilla of fishing boats and yachts hired by international press organizations. The Danish cruiser LeifErifson stood by, and a hel- icopter circled above in the overcast sky.

It was drizzling, typical summer weather for the Faroes, an ar- chipelago of eighteen specks of rock located in the northeast Atlantic halfway between Denmark and Iceland. The 45,000 human inhabi- tants of the Faroes are largely descended from the Vikings, who set- tled there in the ninth century. Although the islands are part of the Kingdom of Denmark, the locals speak a language derived from old Norse. The people are outnumbered by the millions of birds that nest in the towering cliffs that stand like ramparts against the sea.

A tall, ruggedly built man in his forties stood on the ship's fore- deck surrounded by reporters and camera technicians. Marcus Ryan, the captain of the Sea Sentinel, was conservatively dressed in a black tailored officer's uniform decorated with gold braid on the collar and sleeves. With his movie star profile, tanned skin, the collar-length hair tousled by the breeze and the fringe of ginger-colored beard framing his square jaw, Ryan looked as if he had been cast for the movie role of a dashing sea captain. The image was one he went to great pains to cultivate.

"Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen," Ryan said in a well- modulated voice that carried over the rumble of engines and the swash of water against the hull. "Sorry we couldn't have provided smoother seas. Some of you look a bit green around the gills after our trip from the Shetlands."

The members of the press pool had been chosen by lot to cover the invasion story. After a night spent in cramped bunks as the ship nav- igated rolling seas, some members of the Fourth Estate were wish- ing they hadn't been so lucky.

"That's okay," croaked a female reporter from CNN. "Just make sure the story is worth all the damned Dramamine I swallowed."

Ryan flashed his Hollywood smile. "I can almost guarantee that you'll see action." He swept his arm theatrically in a wide arc. The cameras dutifully followed his pointing finger to the warship. The cruiser was moving in a wide circle, just fast enough to maintain headway. Fluttering from its main mast was the red-and-white flag of Denmark. "The last time we tried to stop the Faroese from slaugh- tering pilot whales, that Danish cruiser you see fired a shot across our bow. Small arms fire narrowly missed one of our crew, although the Danes deny they shot at us."

"Did you really slam them with a garbage gun?" asked the CNN reporter.

"We defended ourselves with the materials at hand," Ryan replied with mock seriousness. "Our cook had rigged up a catapult to launch biodegradable garbage bags off the deck. He's a medieval weapons buff, so he developed a gadget similar to a trebuchet that had a sur- prising range. When the cruiser tried to cut us off, we nailed it with a direct hit, much to our surprise. And theirs" He paused and with per- fect comic timing said, "There's nothing like being slimed with potato peels, eggshells and coffee grounds to take the wind out of your sails."

Laughter rippled through the group.

The BBC reporter said, "Aren't you worried that antics of that sort add to the reputation given to the Sentinels of the Sea as one of the more radical environmental and animal rights groups? Your organization has freely admitted to scuttling whaling ships, blocking waterways, spray-painting baby seals, harassing sealers, cutting drift nets..."