cc.iceberg-第26章

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e。　He　touched　his　fingers　to　his　cap　brim　in　a　friendly　salute。　Pitt　rolled　down　the　window；　leaned　out；　and　showed　his　Air　Force　I。D。
　〃Major　Dirk　Pitt；〃　he　snapped　in　an　official　tone；　introducing　himself。　〃I'm　on　urgent　business　for　the　United　States　government　and　must　get　to　the　mercial　maintenance　hangar　for　nonscheduled　aircraft。〃
　
　The　guard　looked　at　him　blankly　undl　he　bed　and　then；　smiling　dumbly；　shrugged。
　
　The　cab　driver　stepped　from　behind　the　steering　wheel。　〃He　doesn't　understand　English；　Major。　Allow　me　to　translate　for　you。〃
　
　Without　waiting　for　an　acknowledgment；　the　driver　put　an　arm　around　the　guard　and　gently　walked　him　away　from　the　car　toward　the　gate；　tag　rapidly　but　gesturing　gracefully　as　he　rattled　off　a　flow　of　words　in　Icelandic。　It　was　the　first　chance　that　Pitt　had　a　good　look　at　his　helpmate。
　
　The　driver　was　medium　height；　just　under　six　foot；　not　more　than　twenty…six　or　twenty…seven　years　old；　with　straw…colored　hair　and　the　light　skin　that　usually　goes　with　it。　If　Pitt　had　passed　him　on　the　street；　he　would　have　pegged　him　as　a　jor　assistant　executive；　three　years　out　of　university；　eager　to　make　his　mark　in　his　father…in…law's　bank。
　
　Finally　the　two　men　broke　out　laughing　and　shook　hands。　Then　the　driver　climbed　back　behind　the　wheel　and　winked　at　Pitt　as　the　still　smiling　guard　opened　the　gate　and　waved　them　through。
　
　Pitt　said；　〃You　seem　to　have　a　way　with　security　guards。〃
　〃A　necessity　of　the　trade。　A　cab　driver　wouldn't　be　worth　his　salt　if　he　couldn't　talk　his　way　past　a　gate　guard　or　a　policeman　on　a　barricaded　street。〃
　〃It's　apparent　you've　mastered　the　knack。〃
　〃I　work　at　it。　。　。　Any　particular　hangar；　sir？
　
　There　are　several；　one　for　every　major　airline。〃
　〃General　maintenance…the　one　that　handles　transient　nonscheduled　aircraft。〃
　
　The　glare　of　the　sun　bounced　off　the　white　cement　taxiway　and　made　Pitt　squint。　He　slipped　a　pair　of　sunglasses　from　a　breast　pocket　and　put　them　on。　Several　huge　jetliners　were　parked　in　even　rows；　displaying；　the　emblems　and　color　schemes　of　TWA；　Pan　American；　Tceltnclic；　and　B。O。A。C；　while　crews　of　whitciled　mechanics　buried　themselves　under　engines　and　crawled　over　the　wings　with　fuel　hoses。
　
　On　the　other　side　of　the　field；　a　good　two　miles　away；　Pitt　could　make　out　aircraft　of　the　U。S。　Air　Force；　undoubtedly　going　through　the　same　rituals。
　〃Here　we　are；〃　the　driver　announced。　〃Permit　me　to　offer　you　my　services　as　a　translator。〃
　〃That　won't　be　necessary。　Keep　the　meter　running。
　
　I'll　only　be　a　few　minutes。〃
　
　Pitt　got　out　and　walked　through　the　side　door　of　the　hangar；　a　sterile　giant　of　a　building　that　covered　nearly　two　acres。　Five　small　private　planes　were　scattered　around　the　floor　like　a　handful　of　spectators　in　an　otherwise　empty　auditorium。　But　it　was　the　sixth　that　caught　Pitts　eye。　It　was　an　old　Ford　Trimotor　known　as　the　Tin　Goose。　The　corrugated　aluminum　skin　that　covered　the　framework　and　the　three　motors；　one　perched　on　the　nose　directly　in　front　of　the　cockpit；　the　other　two　suspended　in　space　by　an　ungainly　network　of　wires　and　struts；　bined　to　make　it　look　to　the　unknowing　eye　a　thing　too　awkward　to　fly　with　any　degree　of　control　or；　for　that　matter；　lift　its　wheels　from　the　ground。　But　the　old　pioneering　pilots　swore　by　it。　To　them　it　was　a　flying　son　of　a　bitch。　Pitt　patted　the　ancient　washboard　sides；　idly　wished　he　could　test…fly　it　someday；　and　then　walked　on　toward　the　offices　in　the　rear　of　the　hangar。
　
　He　opened　a　door　and　moved　into　what　appeared　to　be　a　bination　locker　room　and　rest　area；　wrinkling　his　nose　from　the　pungent；　heavy　smell　of　sweat；　cigarette　smoke　and　coffee。　Except　for　the　coffee；　the　aroma　bore　a　marked　resemblance　to　a　high　school　gym。　He　stood　there　a　moment　looking　at　a　group　of　five　men　clustered　around　a　large　European…style　ceramic　coffee　urn；　laughing　good…naturedly　at　a　recently　told　joke。　They　were　all　dressed　in　white　coveralls；　some　spotlessly　clean；　others　decorated　with　heavy　splotches　of　black　oil。　Pitt　sauntered　easily　toward　them；　smiling。
　〃Pardon　me；　gentlemen；　any　of　you　speak　English？〃
　
　A　shaggy；　long…haired　mechanic　sitting　nearest　the　urn　looked　up　and　drawled；　〃Yeah；　I　speak　American　if　that'll　do。〃
　〃That　will　do　fine；〃　Pitt　laughed。　〃I'm　looking　for　a　man　with　the　initials　S。C。　He's　probably　a　hydraulic　specialist。〃
　
　The　mechanic　eyed　him　uneasily。　〃Who　wants　to　know？〃
　
　Pitt　forced　a　friendly　smile　and　pulled　out　his　I。D。　again。
　〃Pitt；　Major　Dirk　Pitt。〃
　
　For　a　full　five　seconds　the　mechanic　sat　immobile；　expressionless　except　for　the　stunned　widening　of　his　eyes。　Then　he　threw　his　hands　in　the　air　helplessly　and　then　let　them　fall　limply　to　his　sides。
　〃Ya；　got　your　man；　Major。　Ah　knew　it　were　too　good　to　last。〃　The　voice　reached　from　somewhere　deep　in　Oklahoma。
　
　It　was　Pitts　turn　to　bee　expressionless。　〃Like　what's　too　good　to　last？〃
　〃Mah　moonlightin'　lak　this；〃　he　drawled　morosely。　〃　'working'　as　a　hydraulic　specialist　for　civilian　airlines　during　mah　off…duty　hours。〃　He　stared　forlornly　into　his　coffee　cup。　〃Ah　knew　it　was　against　U。S。　Air　Force　regulations；　but　the　money　was　too　good　to　pass　up。　Ah　guess　ah　can　kiss　mah　stripes　good…by。〃
　
　Pitt　looked　at　him。　〃I　know　of　no　Air　Force　regulations　that　prevent　an　enlisted　man　or　an　officer；　for　that　matter；　from　icking　up　a　few　dollars　when　he　isn't　on　duty。〃
　〃Nuthin'　wrong　with　Air　Force　rules；　Major。　It's　Keflavik　Base　policy　set　by　Colonel　Nagel；　the　C。O。　on　our　side　of　the　field。　He　feels　we　should　work　on　squadron　aircraft　during'　our　time　off　instead　of　helpin'　out　the　feather　merchants。　Tryin'　to　make　a　name　for　himself　with　the　Pentagon　brass；　ah　guess。　But　ya　wouldn't　be　here　if　you　didn't　know　all　that。〃
　〃That'll　do；〃　Pitt　said　sharply。　His　gaze　swung　left　and　right　until　it　came　back　to　the　Air　Force　mechanic　。　Then　his　eyes　grew　suddenly　cold。　〃When　you　talk　to　a　superior　officer；　Airman；　you　stamd　up。〃
　〃I　don't　have　to　kiss　your　ass；　Major。　You　ain't　got　no　uniform　on…〃　Two　seconds　was　all　it　took。　with　a　nonchalant　ease　Pitt　bent　over。　clasped　the　front　two　legs　of　the　mechanic's　chair　and　flipped　him　over　on　his　back　and　put　his　foot　over　the　man's　throat　in　one　deceptive　movement。　The　other　maintenance　men　stood　there　in　stunned　immobility　for　a　few　seconds。　Then　their　senses　returned　and　they　began　to　circle　Pitt　menacingly。
　〃Call　off　your　flunkies　or　I　break　your　neck；〃　Pitt　said；　grinning　pleasantly　into　the　fear…filled　eyes。
　
　The　mechanic；　unable　to　talk　with　the　heel　of　Pitts　shoe　pushing　against　his　windpipe；　gestured　wildly　with　both　hands。　The　men　stopped　and　moved　back　a　step；　retreating　not　so　much　from　their　friend's　muted　pleas　as　from　the　ice…cold　grin　on　Pitt's　face。
　〃That's　a　good　group；〃　Pitt　said。　He　turned　and　looked　down　at　the　helpless　mechanic　and　lifted　his　foot　just　enough　to　allow　his　prisoner　to　speak。　〃Now；　then；　name；　rank；　and　serial　number。　Let's　have　it！〃
　〃Sam　。　。　。　Sam　Cashman；〃　he　choked。　〃Sergeant。
　
　Air　Force　19385628。〃
　〃That　wasn't　so　bad；　now　was　it；　Sam？〃　Pitt　bent　and　helped　Cashman　to　his　feet。
　〃Ahim　sorry；　sir。　Ah　figured　that　as　long　as　ya　were　gonna　court…martial　me　anyway…〃
　〃You're　lousy　at　figuring　Pitt　interrupted。　〃Next　time　keep　your　mouth　shut。　You　admitted　guilt　when　you　didn't　have　to。〃
　〃Are　ya　still　gonna　bust　me？〃
　〃To　begin　with；　I　don't　give　a　rat's　ass　whether　you　moonlight　or　not。　Since　I'm　not　stationed　at　Keflavik　Air　Force　Base；　I　could　care　less　about　the　policieschicken　shit　as　they　are…of　your　Colonel　Nagel。　Therefore；　I　won't　be　the　one　to　bust　you。　All　I　want　is　the　answers　to　a　few　simple　questions。〃　Pitt　stared　Cashman　in　the　eye　and　smiled　warmly。　〃Now　how　about　it？　Will　you　help　me？〃
　
　The　expression　on　Cashman's　face　displayed　genuine　awe。　〃Christ　Almighty；　what　ah　wouldn't　give　to　serve　under　an　officer　like　you。〃　He　extended　his　hand。
　〃Ask　away；　Major。〃
　
　Pitt　returned　Cashman's　grip。　〃First　question：　do　you　usually　scratch　your　initials　in　the　equipment　you　repair？〃
　〃Yeah；　it's　kind　of　a　trademark；　ya　might　say。　Ah　do　good　work　an　ahim　proud　of　it。　Serves　a　purpose　too。　If　ah　work　on　the　hydraulic　system　of　an　aircraft　and　it　es　back　with　a　malfunction；　ah　know　the　trouble　lays　where　ah　didn't　work。　It　saves　a　lot　of　time。〃
　〃Have　you　ever　repaired　the　nose　gear　of　a　twelvepassenger　British　jet？〃
　
　Cashman　thought　for　a　moment。　〃Yeah；　about　a　month　ago。　One　of　those　new　executive　twin　turbine　Ulysses…a　hell　of　a　machine。〃
　〃Was　it　painted　black？〃
　〃Ah　couldn't　see　paint　markin's。　It　was　dark；　about　one…thirty　in　the　mornin'　when　ah　got　the　call。〃
　
　He　shook　his　head。　〃Wasn't　black；　though。　Ahim　positive。〃
　〃Any　distinguishing　features　or　anything　unusual　about　the　repair　that　you　can　recall？〃
　
　Cashman　laughed。　〃The　only　distinguishin'　features　were　the　two　weirdos　who　were　flyin'　it。〃　He　held　up　a　cup；　offering　Pitt　some　coffee。　Pitt　shook　his　head。
　〃Well；　these　guys　were　in　a　terrible　hurry。　Kept　standin'　around　tryin'　to　push　me。　Pissed　me　off　plenty。　Seems　they　made　a　rough　landin'　somewhere　and　busted　a　seal　in　the　shock　cylinder。　They　were　damned　lucky　that　ah　found　a　spare　over　at　the　B。O。A。C　hangars。〃
　〃Did　you　get　a　look　inside？〃
　〃Hell　no；　you'd　have　thought　they　had　the　President　on　board　the　way　they　guarded　the　loadin'　door。〃
　〃Any　idea　where　they　came　from　or　where　they　were　headed？〃
　〃No　way；　they　were　tightlipped　bastards。　Talked　about　nothin；　but　the　repair。　Must　have　been　on　a　local　flight　though。　They　didn't　refuel。　You　ain't　flyin'　far　in　a　Lorelei…not　from　Iceland　anyhow…without　full　tanks。〃
　〃The　pilot　must　have　signed　a　maintenance　order。〃
　〃Nope。　He　refused。　Said　He　was　behind　schedule　and　would　catch　me　next　time。　Paid　me　though。　Twice　what　the　job　was　worth。〃　Cashman　was　silent　for　a　moment。　He　tried　to　read　something　in　the　man　standing　before　him；　but　Pitts　face　was　as　impenetrable　as　a　granite　statue。　〃What's　behind　these　questions；　Major？
　
　Mind　lettin'　me　in　on　your　secret？〃
　〃No　secret；〃　Pitt　said　slowly。　〃A　Lorelei　crashed　a　couple　of　days　ago　and　nothing　except　a　portion　of　the　nose　gear　was　left　to　identify。　I'm　trying　to　trace　it；　that's　all。〃
　〃Wasn't　it　reported　as　missin'？〃
　〃I　wouldn't　be　here　if　it　was。〃
　〃Ah　knew　there　was　something　fishy　about　them　guys。　That's　why　ah　went　ahead　and　filled　out　a　maintenance　report。〃
　
　Pitt　leaned　over；　his　eyes　boring　into　Cashman's。
　〃What　good　was　a　report　if　you　couldn't　identify　the　aircraft？〃
　
　A　shrewd　smile　split　Cashman's　lips。　〃Ah　may　be　a　country　boy；　but　mah　momma　didn't　drop　me　outta　her　bottom　this　mornin'。〃　He　stood　up　and　tilted　his　head　toward　a　side　door。　〃Major；　ahim　gonna　make　your　day。〃
　
　He　led　Pitt　into　a　small　dingy　office　furnished　with　only　a　battered　desk　that　was　decorated　with　at　least　fifty　cigarette　burn　marks；　two　equally　battered　chairs　and　a　huge　metal　filing　cabinet。　Cashman　walked　straight　to　the　cabinet　and　pulled　out　a　drawer；　rummaged　for　a　moment；　found　what　he　was　looking　for　and　handed　Pitt　a　folder　soiled　with　greasy　fingerprints。
　〃Ah　wasn't　kidding'　ya；　Major；　when　ah　said　it　was　too　dark