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Pitt's first thought was that they had been found by someone out to kill them, maybe even the same group behind the man who had tried to murder Kelly Egan. He put his arms around Misty. "Hold on to me for the collision. Then hurry through the hatch before we go under. I'll you push through."
She started to say something, but then buried her face in his chest as his strong arms embraced her. "Call out when you're sure of a collision!" he ordered Giordino. "Then jump clear!"
Giordino prepared to launch himself out of the hatch tower as he stared aghast at the brightly lit vessel bearing down on him. It looked like no oceangoing yacht he'd ever seen. It was shaped like a great green-and-white manta or devil ray, with its cephalic forward fins encircling its huge plankton-gathering mouth. A wide sloping deck on the bow swept up and around a large arched picture window and then past a circu
lar wheelhouse.
His state of mind quickly turned from dire apprehension to vast relief as the twin catamaran hulls slipped past the submersible with five feet of clearance to spare on either side. He gazed in awe as the underhull of the main superstructure moved overhead slowly until the submersible was directly below the stern between the twin hulls. Almost on reflex, he grabbed a chrome ladder built like a small staircase that abruptly appeared less than two feet away.
Only then did he think to bend down and report to Pitt and Misty. "Not to worry. It's a catamaran. We're directly under his stern." Then he disappeared.
Misty came out of the hatch like a champagne cork, astounded at her first view of the incredible vessel above. She stood on the luxurious rear deck with its table and couches without remembering scrambling up the stairway.
Pitt reset the beacon on the submersible, then closed and secured the hatch before climbing onto the catamaran. For a few moments, they stood there alone. No crew or passengers greeted them. The boat moved forward as the helmsman steered the vessel clear of the submersible. After traveling two hundred yards, the boat slowed and drifted. They watched as a figure stepped down from the wheel-house.
He was a large man, the same height as Pitt but fifteen pounds heavier. He was also thirty years older. His gray hair and beard gave him the appearance of an old waterfront wharf rat. His blue-green eyes had a glint to them, and he readily smiled as he examined his catch.
"Three of you," he said in amazement. "I thought there was only one in that little life raft."
"Not a life raft," said Pitt. "A deep ocean submersible."
The old man started to say something, discarded his thoughts and simply said, "If you say so."
"We're investigating the wreck of a sunken cruise ship," explained Misty.
"Yes, the Emerald Dolphin. I'm aware of it. A terrible tragedy. A miracle so many people survived."
Pitt didn't elaborate on their role in the rescue, but simply offered their rescuer a brief summary of how they came to be lost at sea.
"Your ship was not there when you surfaced?" the old man inquired skeptically.
"It had vanished," Giordino assured him.
"It is imperative that we call our headquarters in Washington and advise the director of NUMA that we've been found and picked up."
The old man nodded. "Of course. Come on up to the wheelhouse. You can use the ship-to-shore radio or the satellite telephone. You can even send e-mail if you wish. The Periwinkle has the finest communications systems of any yacht on the water."
Pitt studied the old man. "We've met before."
"Yes, I suspect we have."
"My name is Dirk Pitt." He turned to the others. "My shipmates, Misty Graham and Al Giordino."
The old man warmly shook hands with all. Then he turned and grinned at Pitt.
"I'm Clive Cussler."
17
Pitt looked at the old man curiously. "You get around." "We were certainly lucky you happened past," said Misty, enormously happy to be off the cramped submersible.
"I'm on a round-the-world cruise," Cussler elaborated. "My last port was Hobart in Tasmania. I'm bound for Papeete, Tahiti, but I guess I'd better make a detour and set you folks on the nearest island with an airport."
"And where would that be?" asked Giordino.
"Rarotonga."
Pitt looked around the luxurious catamaran. "I see no crew."
