Read Online CRO-MAGNON by Robert Stimson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Stimson
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looked to be a small mobile home, the other a construction trailer.
The pilot gestured at the frigid-looking lake. “Achik.”
“‘ Ahchoo’ would be more like it,” Blaine said, causing Calder to shiver.
The pilot circled over the lake and approached the canyon from the west. As he flared for a landing, wind buffeted the small craft, and Calder saw that Blaine’s knuckles were white again. He peered at the ruffled gunmetal water, then at the looming glacier flowing between precipitous mountains.
If the dam is stable . How about the whole damn setup, including the underwater tunnel? And what about Blaine, herself? Could he depend on her in a crisis?
Or, perhaps more to the point, could she depend on him?
Chapter 4
“ Put scubba equipment in trailer on left,” Fedor Zinchenko said.” He turned and stomped toward construction trailer.
In his full beard, fur greatcoat, and felt boots, Blaine thought he looked like a leftover from the Bolshevik revolution. He spoke with a Russian accent heavier than Delyanov’s, and she noticed that he pronounced scuba with a short u. Perhaps not a good sign. Mathiessen had assured her and Calder that a dive master would be on site to assist them. If Zinchenko was familiar with scuba diving, she thought, he should at least know how to pronounce the international word.
Beside her, his breath steaming in the glacial air, Calder said, “How much scuba experience do you have, Mr. Zinchenko?”
“ Run camps for mountain climbers, not scubba divers,” the big Russian said, ignoring Calder’s stress on scuba.
Oh, well, Blaine thought, one could hardly expect to find a qualified dive master in the midst of the Pamir. She and Calder would just have to make do.
Zinchenko stepped aside, and Blaine mounted the wood steps and opened the hollow trailer door. The space consisted of a single room with a dangerous-looking gasoline heater mounted on a wall and a toilet and makeshift shower behind a curtain across the rear. On either side sat a battered wood desk and folding chair. Beyond, a sheet of crumbling particle board lay across a pair of sawhorses. On the scuffed linoleum floor sat a gas generator and a portable air compressor, left by the contract diver. To one side were two scuffed backpacker’s pads, inflatable pillows, and polyester sleeping bags that looked matted.
Blaine set her expandable suitcase in the near corner, and Calder deposited his canvas carryall in the other. Blaine looked at Zinchenko, who had followed them into the trailer, then at Fitrat, who stood outside the door smoking.
“ How sweet,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“ Did not,” the camp master said. He set down the dry-suit duffel he had been carrying and waved a gloved hand at the sparse furnishings. “Left by geologist and diver.”
The hulking Russian gestured toward the other trailer, visible through a frost-rimed window, then at Fitrat and Teague walking toward it. “In my trailer, one room for those two, small one for Teague. Space only for ya in—how you say—live-room.”
That set the pecking order, Blaine thought. “Who fills the air tanks?”
Zinchenko pointed to himself. “Ya.”
“ Do you immerse them in a tub of water?”
He looked puzzled. “Water?”
“ Never mind. In the future, please do. Or else, submerge the tanks in the lake while they are being filled. Can you do that?”
Zinchenko shrugged. “ Da.” He shot the two scientists a glance from under his thick brows. “Is problem with diving.”
“ Besides filling a 3000-p.s.i. tank in the open air?” Calder said. “What is it?”
“ Geologist told diver to plant small charge at mouth of tunnel to check stab . . . stabil . . .”
“ The stability of the mountain,” Calder said. “At probably its weakest point.”
“ Da .” The camp master wriggled his hands. “Make small quake.”
Uh-oh. Blaine waited.
“ After, diver check tunnel.” The camp
The pilot gestured at the frigid-looking lake. “Achik.”
“‘ Ahchoo’ would be more like it,” Blaine said, causing Calder to shiver.
The pilot circled over the lake and approached the canyon from the west. As he flared for a landing, wind buffeted the small craft, and Calder saw that Blaine’s knuckles were white again. He peered at the ruffled gunmetal water, then at the looming glacier flowing between precipitous mountains.
If the dam is stable . How about the whole damn setup, including the underwater tunnel? And what about Blaine, herself? Could he depend on her in a crisis?
Or, perhaps more to the point, could she depend on him?
Chapter 4
“ Put scubba equipment in trailer on left,” Fedor Zinchenko said.” He turned and stomped toward construction trailer.
In his full beard, fur greatcoat, and felt boots, Blaine thought he looked like a leftover from the Bolshevik revolution. He spoke with a Russian accent heavier than Delyanov’s, and she noticed that he pronounced scuba with a short u. Perhaps not a good sign. Mathiessen had assured her and Calder that a dive master would be on site to assist them. If Zinchenko was familiar with scuba diving, she thought, he should at least know how to pronounce the international word.
Beside her, his breath steaming in the glacial air, Calder said, “How much scuba experience do you have, Mr. Zinchenko?”
“ Run camps for mountain climbers, not scubba divers,” the big Russian said, ignoring Calder’s stress on scuba.
Oh, well, Blaine thought, one could hardly expect to find a qualified dive master in the midst of the Pamir. She and Calder would just have to make do.
Zinchenko stepped aside, and Blaine mounted the wood steps and opened the hollow trailer door. The space consisted of a single room with a dangerous-looking gasoline heater mounted on a wall and a toilet and makeshift shower behind a curtain across the rear. On either side sat a battered wood desk and folding chair. Beyond, a sheet of crumbling particle board lay across a pair of sawhorses. On the scuffed linoleum floor sat a gas generator and a portable air compressor, left by the contract diver. To one side were two scuffed backpacker’s pads, inflatable pillows, and polyester sleeping bags that looked matted.
Blaine set her expandable suitcase in the near corner, and Calder deposited his canvas carryall in the other. Blaine looked at Zinchenko, who had followed them into the trailer, then at Fitrat, who stood outside the door smoking.
“ How sweet,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“ Did not,” the camp master said. He set down the dry-suit duffel he had been carrying and waved a gloved hand at the sparse furnishings. “Left by geologist and diver.”
The hulking Russian gestured toward the other trailer, visible through a frost-rimed window, then at Fitrat and Teague walking toward it. “In my trailer, one room for those two, small one for Teague. Space only for ya in—how you say—live-room.”
That set the pecking order, Blaine thought. “Who fills the air tanks?”
Zinchenko pointed to himself. “Ya.”
“ Do you immerse them in a tub of water?”
He looked puzzled. “Water?”
“ Never mind. In the future, please do. Or else, submerge the tanks in the lake while they are being filled. Can you do that?”
Zinchenko shrugged. “ Da.” He shot the two scientists a glance from under his thick brows. “Is problem with diving.”
“ Besides filling a 3000-p.s.i. tank in the open air?” Calder said. “What is it?”
“ Geologist told diver to plant small charge at mouth of tunnel to check stab . . . stabil . . .”
“ The stability of the mountain,” Calder said. “At probably its weakest point.”
“ Da .” The camp master wriggled his hands. “Make small quake.”
Uh-oh. Blaine waited.
“ After, diver check tunnel.” The camp
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