Read Online The Third Gate by Lincoln Child - Free Book Online Page B

don’t you think?”
    Logan had to agree that it was.
    On the far side of the Maw was a huge flat-panel monitor, connected to a bank of CPUs. On it was displayed something that looked to Logan like a cross between a chessboard and some kind of alien lottery ticket: a grid of squares, ten by ten, in a variety of colors. Some of the squares contained odd symbols; others, small logos and lines of text. Others were empty.
    Beside this monitor was an industrial rolling ladder, the kind used for stocking warehouse shelves. Standing atop it, hands folded over a barrel-like chest, stood a man, cigar in mouth despite the NO SMOKING signs posted everywhere. He was bald, his dome shining brilliantly under the large surgical-bay lights, and he’d clearly spent so many years in the sun that his skin was the color of chewing tobacco. Although he was no more than five feet tall, he radiated confidence and authority.
    Dr. Rush made his way around the Maw and stopped at the base of the ladder. “Frank?” he said to the man atop it. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
    The man on the safety ladder looked down at them. Then he peered carefully around the room, scrutinizing everything, as if to assure himself everything was under control. Then at last he descended the ladder, puffing on the cigar.
    “Jeremy, this is Frank Valentino,” Rush said. “Dive and dig site honcho.”
    Valentino took out the cigar, looked meditatively at the soggy end, then put it back in his mouth and held out a meaty paw.
    “Frank, this is Jeremy Logan,” Rush continued. “He arrived with me last night.”
    Valentino’s look grew slightly more interested. “Yeah, I heard of you,” he said. His voice was remarkably deep and free of accent. “The spook doctor.”
    For a moment, Logan stood utterly still. Then, quite abruptly, he spread his palms outward and leaned toward Valentino. “Boo!” he said.
    Valentino shrank back. “Madonna,” he murmured, crossing himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Rush suppress a smile.
    In the background, behind the low chatter of the engineers and divers, Logan could hear the squawk of an occasional electrified voice coming over a radio on the far side of the large monitor. It sounded again: “Romeo Foxtrot Two, on descent.”
    “Romeo Foxtrot, roger,” said a man seated at the radio console. “Your signal is five by five.”
    Rush gestured at the Maw. “Until the actual tomb is located, this is where all the exploratory and cartographical work is based.”
    “But the Sudd is so vast,” Logan said. “How did you know where to establish the site?”
    “Tina Romero can explain. Suffice it to say that the location was initially established as a square, several miles to a side. Scholarship and, ah—other considerations—narrowed that down to one mile.”
    “One square mile,” Logan repeated, shaking his head in admiration.
    Rush directed Logan’s attention to the huge flat panel. “What you see there is a reproduction of the ground along the bottom of the Sudd: the square mile beneath us, broken into a ten-by-ten grid. Using a GPS satellite to ensure pinpoint accuracy, we’re exploring each square in turn. Divers go down to scour the site, explore any hits.”
    “Romeo Foxtrot, Echo Bravo,” said the radioman. “Give me an update.”
    After a moment, the radio squawked again. “Romeo Foxtrot. At minus thirty feet and descending.”
    “Bubble status?”
    “Eighty-two percent.”
    “Watch that bubble, Romeo Foxtrot.”
    “Roger.”
    “What you’re hearing are communications from the current dive team,” Rush explained. “They dive in pairs for safety’s sake. And they use special equipment to maintain their orientation. You can’t imagine what it’s like to descend into the Sudd—completely black, the mud and quicksand around you like a suffocating blanket, no way of telling up from down …” He paused.
    “You talked about scouring the site,” Logan said. “About