Raise The Titanic by Clive Cussler

Author:Clive Cussler [Cussler, Clive]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 1976-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Rot,” Drummer replied. “It fills every nook and cranny. There's no escaping it. And it's only a matter of time before the dead marine life that came up with the wreck begins to stink.”

Sandecker gestured about the room. “A cozy place you've got here,” he said, “but why set up operations in the gym rather than the bridge?”

“A break from tradition for practical reasons,” Pitt replied. “The bridge serves no useful function on a dead ship. The gym, on the other hand, sits amidships and offers us equal access to either bow or stern. It also adjoins our improvised helicopter pad over the first-class lounge roof. The closer to our supplies we are, the more efficiently we can operate.”

“I had to ask,” Sandecker said heavily. “I should have known you didn't pick this museum of mechanical monstrosities just to launch a physical-fitness program.”

Something in a pile of wreckage that lay in a soggy heap against the forward wall of the gymnasium caught the admiral's eyes and he walked over to it. He stood and stared grimly for several moments at the skeletal remains of what had once been a passenger or crew member of the Titanic.

“I wonder who this poor devil was?”

“We'll probably never know,” Pitt said. “Any dental records from 1912 have no doubt been destroyed long ago.”

Sandecker leaned down and examined the pelvic section of the bones. “Good lord, it was a woman.”

“Either one of the first-class passengers who elected to remain behind or one of the women from the steerage quarters who arrived on the Boat Deck after all the lifeboats had been launched.”

“Have you found any other bodies?”

“We've been too busy to do any extensive exploring,” Pitt said. “But one of Spencer's men reported another skeleton wedged against the fireplace in the lounge.”

Sandecker nodded toward an open doorway. “What's through there?”

“That opens onto the grand staircase.”

“Let's take a look.”

They walked onto the landing above the A Deck lobby and looked down. Several rotting chairs and sofas were scattered haphazardly on the steps where they had fallen when the ship sank by the bow. The graceful flowing lines of the bannisters were still sound and undamaged, and the hands of the bronze clock could be seen frozen at 2:21. They made their way down the silt-coated stairs and entered one of the passageways leading to the staterooms. Without the benefit of outside light, the scene was an eerie one. Room after room was filled with rotted and fallen paneling interspersed with overturned and jumbled furniture. It was too dark to discern any detail, and after penetrating about thirty feet, they found their way blocked by a wall of debris, so they turned and headed back to the gymnasium.

Just as they came through the doorway, the man hunched over the radio turned from his set. It was Al Giordino.

“I wondered where you two went. The Uranus Oil people want to know about their submersible.”

“Tell them they can retrieve the Deep Fathom off the Titanic's foredeck just as soon as we make dry dock in New York,” Pitt said.

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