inca.gold-第66部分

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　　　　〃This　time　we're　not　taking　any　chances。　Juan；　the　case　of　concussion　grenades　we　brought　from　Guaymas。　We'll　crush　him　to　pulp。　Throw　them　about　five　meters　from　the　hull；　especially　in　the　water　around　the　paddlewheels。〃
　　　　Pitt　made　a　crater　in　the　seafloor。　He　didn't　impact　hard　enough　to　cause　any　physical　damage；　but　enough　to　stir　up　a　huge　cloud　of　silt。　He　uncoiled　and　swam　away　from　the　Alhambra；　unseen　from　above。
　　　　He　was　afraid　that　once　he　cleared　the　cover　of　murk　he　might　still　be　seen　by　the　killers。　This　was　not　to　be。　A　freshening　breeze　from　the　south　turned　the　water　surface　into　a　light　chop　that　caused　a　refraction　the　lights　from　the　ferryboat　could　not　penetrate。
　　　　He　swam　underwater　as　far　as　he　could　until　his　lungs　began　to　burn。　When　he　came　to　the　surface；　he　broke　it　lightly；　trusting　in　the　ski　mask　to　keep　his　head　invisible　in　the　black　water。　A　hundred　meters　（328　feet）　and　he　was　beyond　the　reach　of　the　lights　illuminating　the　ferry。　He　could　barely　distinguish　the　dark　figures　moving　about　on　the　upper　deck。　He　wondered　why　they　weren't　shooting　into　the　water。　Then　he　heard　a　dull　thud；　saw　the　white　water　rise　in　a　towering　splash　and　felt　a　surge　of　pressure　that　squeezed　the　air　out　of　him。
　　　　Underwater　explosives！　They　were　trying　to　kill　him　with　the　concussion　from　underwater　explosives。　Four　more　detonations　followed　in　quick　succession。　Fortunately；　they　came　from　the　area　amidships；　near　the　paddlewheels。　By　swimming　away　from　one　end　of　the　boat；　Pitt　had　distanced　himself　from　the　main　force　of　the　detonations。
　　　　He　doubled　over　with　his　knees　in　front　of　his　chest　to　absorb　the　worst　of　the　impact。　Thirty　meters　closer　and　he　would　have　been　pounded　into　unconsciousness。　Sixty　meters　（200　feet）　and　he　would　have　been　crushed　to　putty。　Pitt　increased　the　gap　between　himself　and　the　ferry　until　the　eruptions　came　with　the　same　sensual　squeeze　as　from　a　strong　woman。
　　　　He　looked　up　at　a　clear　sky　and　checked　the　north　star　for　his　approximate　bearings。　At　14　kilometers　（8。7　miles）　away；　the　desolate　west　coast　of　the　Gulf　was　the　closest　land。　He　tore　off　the　ski　mask　and　rolled　over。　Face　toward　the　carpet　of　stars　across　the　sky；　he　began　a　fortable　backstroke　toward　the　west。
　　　　Pitt　was　in　no　condition　to　try　out　for　the　swimming　team　either。　After　two　hours；　his　arms　felt　as　if　they　were　lifting　twenty…pound　weights　with　each　stroke。　After　six　hours；　his　muscles　protested　with　aches　he　didn't　believe　possible。　And　then　finally；　and　most　thankfully；　fatigue　began　to　dull　the　pain。　He　used　the　old　Boy　Scout　trick　of　removing　his　pants；　tying　the　ankles　into　knots　and　swinging　them　over　his　head　to　catch　the　air；　making　a　reasonably　efficient　float　for　rest　stops　that　became　more　numerous　as　the　night　wore　on。
　　　　There　was　never　any　question　of　stopping　and　letting　himself　drift　in　the　hope　of　being　spotted　by　a　fishing　boat　in　daylight。　The　vision　of　Loren　and　Rudi　in　the　hands　of　Sarason　was　more　than　an　ample　stimulus　to　drive　him　on。
　　　　The　stars　in　the　eastern　sky　were　beginning　to　fade　and　blink　out　when　his　feet　hit　bottom；　and　he　staggered　out　of　the　water　onto　a　sandy　beach　where　he　collapsed　and　immediately　fell　asleep。

　　　　Ragsdale；　wearing　an　armored　body　suit　beneath　a　pair　of　workman's　coveralls；　casually　walked　up　to　the　side　door　of　a　small　warehouse　with　a　For　Lease　sign　in　the　front　window。　He　laid　the　empty　toolbox　he　carried　on　the　ground；　took　a　key　from　his　pocket；　and　opened　the　door。
　　　　Inside；　a　bined　team　of　twenty　FBI　and　eight　Customs　agents　had　assembled　and　were　making　last…minute　preparations　for　the　raid　on　the　Zolar　International　building　directly　across　the　street。　Advance　teams　had　alerted　local　law　enforcement　to　the　operation　and　scouted　the　entire　industrial　plex　for　unusual　activity。
　　　　Most　of　the　men　and　the　four　women　wore　assault　suits　and　carried　automatic　weapons；　while　several　professional　experts　in　the　art　and　antiquities　field　wore　street　clothes。　The　latter　were　burdened　with　suitcases　crammed　with　catalogues　and　photographs　of　known　missing　art　objects　targeted　for　seizure。
　　　　The　plan　called　for　the　agents　to　split　off　into　specific　assignments　once　they　entered　the　building。　The　first　team　was　to　secure　the　building　and　round　up　the　employees；　the　second　was　to　search　out　any　stolen　cache；　while　the　third　was　to　investigate　the　administration　offices　for　any　paper　trail　that　led　to　theft　operations　or　illegal　purchases。　Working　separately；　a　mercial　business　team　specializing　in　art　handling　was　standing　by　to　crate；　remove　and　store　the　seized　goods。　The　U。S。　Attorney's　Office；　working　on　the　case　for　both　the　FBI　and　Customs；　had　insisted　the　raid　be　carried　out　in　a　faultless　manner　and　that　confiscated　objects　be　treated　with　a　velvet　touch。
　　　　Agent　Gaskill　was　standing　at　an　operations　board　in　the　center　of　the　mand　post。　He　turned　at　Ragsdale's　approach　and　smiled。　〃Still　quiet？〃
　　　　The　FBI　agent　sat　down　in　a　canvas　chair。　〃All　clear　except　for　the　gardener　trimming　the　hedge　around　the　building。　The　rest　of　the　grounds　are　as　quiet　as　a　churchyard。〃
　　　　Damned　clever　of　the　Zolars　to　use　a　gardener　as　a　security　guard；〃　said　Gaskill。　〃If　he　hadn't　mowed　the　lawn　four　times　this　week；　we　might　have　ignored　him。〃
　　　　〃That　and　the　fact　our　surveillance　identified　his　Walkman　headset　as　a　radio　transmitter；〃　added　Ragsdale。
　　　　〃A　good　sign。　If　they　have　nothing　to　hide；　why　the　wily　tactics？〃
　　　　〃Don't　get　your　hopes　up。　The　Zolar　warehouse　operations　may　look　suspicious；　but　when　the　FBI　walked　in　with　a　search　warrant　two　years　ago；　we　didn't　find　so　much　as　a　stolen　ballpoint　pen。〃
　　　　〃Same　with　Customs　when　we　talked　agents　at　Internal　Revenue　into　conducting　a　series　of　tax　audits。　Zolar　and　his　family　surfaced　as　pure　as　the　driven　snow。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　nodded　a　〃thank　you〃　as　one　of　his　agents　handed　him　a　cup　of　coffee。　〃All　we've　got　going　for　us　this　time　around　is　the　element　of　surprise。　Our　last　raid　failed　after　a　local　cop；　who　was　on　Zolar's　payroll；　tipped　him　off。〃
　　　　〃We　should　be　thankful　we're　not　walking　into　a　high　security　armed　fortress。〃
　　　　〃Anything　from　your　undercover　informant？〃　asked　Gaskill。
　　　　Ragsdale　shook　his　head。　〃He's　beginning　to　think　we've　put　him　in　the　wrong　operation。　He　hasn't　turned　up　the　slightest　hint　of　unlawful　activities。〃
　　　　〃No　one　in　or　out　of　the　building　except　bona　fide　employees。　No　illegal　goods　received　or　shipped　in　the　past　four　days。　Do　you　get　the　feeling　we're　waiting　for　it　to　snow　in　Galveston？〃
　　　　〃It　seems　that　way。〃
　　　　Gaskill　stared　at　him。　〃Do　you　want　to　rethink　this　thing　and　call　off　the　raid？〃
　　　　Ragsdale　stared　back。　〃The　Zolars　aren't　perfect。　There　has　to　be　a　flaw　in　their　system　somewhere；　and　I'm　staking　my　career　that　it's　across　the　street　in　that　building。〃
　　　　Gaskill　laughed。　〃I'm　with　you；　buddy；　right　on　down　to　forced　early　retirement。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　held　up　a　thumb。　〃Then　the　show　goes　on　in　eight　minutes　as　planned。〃
　　　　〃I　don't　see　any　reason　to　call　a　halt；　do　you？〃
　　　　〃With　Zolar　and　two　of　his　brothers　running　around　Baja　looking　for　treasure；　and　the　rest　of　his　family　in　Europe；　we'll　never　have　a　better　opportunity　to　explore　the　premises　before　their　army　of　attorneys　gets　wind　of　the　operation　and　swoops　in　to　cut　us　off　at　the　pass。〃

　　　　Two　agents　driving　a　pickup　truck　borrowed　from　the　Galveston　Sanitation　Department　pulled　up　at　the　curb　opposite　the　gardener　who　was　cultivating　a　flower　bed　beside　the　Zolar　building。　The　man　in　the　passenger　seat　rolled　down　the　window　and　called　out；　〃Excuse　me。〃
　　　　The　gardener　turned　and　stared　questioningly　at　the　truck。
　　　　The　agent　made　a　friendly　smile。　〃Can　you　tell　me　if　your　driveway　gutters　backed　up　during　the　last　rain？〃
　　　　Curious；　the　gardener　stepped　out　of　the　flower　bed　and　approached　the　truck。　〃I　don't　recall　seeing　any　backup；〃　he　replied。
　　　　The　agent　held　a　city　street　map　out　the　window。　〃Do　you　know　if　any　of　the　surrounding　streets　had　drainage　problems？〃
　　　　As　the　gardener　leaned　down　to　study　the　map；　the　agent's　arm　suddenly　lashed　out　and　tore　the　transmitter　from　the　gardener's　head　and　jerked　the　cable　leading　from　the　microphone　and　headphones　from　its　socket　in　the　battery　pack。　〃Federal　agents；〃　snapped　the　agent。　〃Stand　still　and　don't　wink　an　eye。〃
　　　　The　agent　behind　the　wheel　then　spoke　into　a　portable　radio。　〃Go　ahead；　it's　all　clear。〃
　　　　The　federal　agents　did　not　smash　into　the　Zolar　International　building　with　the　lightning　speed　of　a　drug　bust；　nor　did　they　launch　a　massive　assault　like　the　disaster　that　occurred　years　before　in　the　pound　in　Waco；　Texas。　This　was　no　high…security；　armed　fortress。　One　team　quietly　surrounded　the　building's　exits　while　the　main　group　calmly　entered　through　the　main　entrance。
　　　　The　office　help　and　corporate　administrators　showed　no　sign　of　fear　or　anxiety。　They　appeared　confused　and　puzzled。　The　agents　politely　but　firmly　herded　them　out　onto　the　main　floor　of　the　warehouse　where　they　were　joined　by　the　workers　in　the　storage　and　shipping　section　and　the　artisans　from　the　artifact　preservation　department。　Two　buses　were　driven　through　the　shipping　doors　and　loaded　with　the　Zolar　International　personnel；　who　were　then　taken　to　FBI　headquarters　in　nearby　Houston　for　questioning。　The　entire　roundup　operation　took　less　than　four　minutes。
　　　　The　paperwork　team；　made　up　mostly　of　FBI　agents　trained　in　accounting　methods　and　led　by　Ragsdale；　went　to　work　immediately；　searching　through　desks；　examining　files；　and　scrutinizing　every　recorded　transaction。　Gaskill；　along　with　his　Customs　people　and　professional　art　experts；　began　cataloguing　and　photographing　the　thousands　of　art　and　antique　objects　stored　throughout　the　building。　The　work　was　tedious　and　time…consuming　and　produced　no　concrete　evidence　of　stolen　goods。
　　　　Shortly　after　one　o'clock　in　the　afternoon；　Gaskill　and　Ragsdale　sat　down　in　Joseph　Zolar's　luxurious　office　to　pare　notes　amid　incredibly　costly　art　objects。　The　FBI's　chief　agent　did　not　look　happy。
　　　　〃This　is　beginning　to　have　the　look　of　a　big　embarrassment　followed　by　a　storm　of　nasty　publicity　and　a　gigantic　lawsuit；〃　Ragsdale　said　dejectedly。
　　　　〃No　sign　of　criminal　activity　in　the　records？〃　asked　Gaskill。
　　　　〃Nothing　that　stands　out。　We'll　need　a　good　month　for　an　audit　to　know　for　certain　if　we　have　a　case。　What　did　you　dig　up　on　your　end？〃
　　　　〃So　far　every　object　we've　studied　checks　clean。　No　stolen　goods　anywhere。〃
　　　　〃Then　we've　performed　another　abortion。〃
　　　　Gaskill　sighed。　〃I　hate　to　say　it；　but　it　appears　the　Zolars　are　a　hell　of　a　lot　smarter　than　the　best　bined　investigative　teams　the　United　States　government　can　field。〃
　　　　A　few　moments　later；　the　two　Customs　agents　who　had　worked　with　Gaskill　on　the　Rummel　raid　in　Chicago；　Beverly　Swain　and　Winfried　Pottle；　stepped　into　the　office。　Their　manner　was　official　and　businesslike；　but　there　was　no　hiding　the　slight　upward　curl　of　their　lips。　Ragsdale　and　Gaskill　had　been　so　absorbed　in　their　private　conversation　that　they　hadn't　noticed　the　two　younger　Customs　agents　had　not　entered　through　the　office　door；　but　from　the　adjoining；　private　bathroom。