Treasure of Khan by Clive Cussler Page A

the smaller the wave we’ll have to navigate.”
    But standing on the deck of the leaky fishing boat, Pitt secretly had doubts whether they could navigate a puddle. The old boat seemed to ride lower in the water by the minute. Its engine sputtered and coughed as if it would die at any moment. Wood rot was evident everywhere, and that was just what was visible above decks. Pitt could only imagine the feeble state of the timbers hidden below.
    â€œWe better prepare for a wild ride. Life jackets on everyone. Anything you don’t want lost over the side should be secured to the deck or gunwales.”
    Roy and Wofford quickly tied down their survey equipment with Theresa lending a hand. Tatiana rummaged around in the wheelhouse a few minutes, then returned on deck with an armful of aged life preservers.
    â€œThere are only four life jackets aboard,” she announced. “The captain refuses to wear one, but we are still short a jacket,” she said, eyeing Pitt as the odd man out.
    â€œNot to worry, I brought my own,” Pitt replied. While the survey team fastened their life jackets, Pitt kicked off his shoes and outer clothes and immodestly slid into a neoprene dry suit he pulled from his duffel bag.
    â€œWhat’s that noise?” Theresa asked.
    Almost imperceptibly, a distant rumble echoed lightly across the lake. To Pitt, it sounded like a freight train rounding a faraway mountain curve. The rumble held constant, however, and grew ever so slightly louder.
    Pitt knew without looking that their reprieve was over. The wave must have increased speed—and, with it, power—as it raced toward them, bearing down earlier than Rudi had estimated.
    â€œThere it is!” Roy yelled, pointing up the lake.
    â€œIt’s huge,” Theresa gasped, shocked at the sight.
    The wave wasn’t a cresting white-capped breaker of the kind that surfers relish but, rather, an oddly smooth cylinder of liquid that rolled from shore to shore like a giant rolling pin. Even from a distance of twenty miles, the men and women on the fishing boat could see that the wave was massive, standing nearly forty feet high. The surreal image of the moving wall of water accompanied by its odd rumble caused everyone to freeze and stare in awe. Everyone but Pitt.
    â€œTatiana, tell the captain to turn the bow into the wave,” he ordered. The crusty captain, his eyes the size of a pair of hubcaps, quickly swung the wheel over. Pitt knew the odds were stacked against the aged and waterlogged vessel. But as long as there was hope, he was determined to try to keep everyone alive.
    The first challenge was to keep everyone aboard. Scanning the deck, Pitt zeroed in on an old fishing net coiled against the starboard side gunwale.
    â€œJim, give me a hand with that net,” he asked of Wofford.
    Together, they dragged the coiled net across the deck and pushed it against the back bulkhead of the wheelhouse. As Wofford wrapped one end around the starboard railing, Pitt secured the opposite end to a port stanchion.
    â€œWhat is that for?” Theresa asked.
    â€œWhen the wave approaches, everyone lie down and grab a tight hold of the net. It will act as a cushion and hopefully keep everyone from taking an undesired swim in the lake.”
    As the captain nosed the bow toward the approaching wave, the three men and two women took up positions in front of the net. Roy sided up to Pitt and whispered out of earshot of the others.
    â€œA game effort, Mr. Pitt, though we both know this old derelict isn’t going to make it.”
    â€œNever say die,” Pitt whispered back with an odd look of confidence.
    The rumbling bellow from the moving water grew louder as the wave approached within five miles. There were just minutes to go before it would strike the boat. The occupants all braced for the worst, some praying silently while others contemplated death with grim determination. Against the roar of the water, nobody