Page 28 of Clive Cussler Desolation Code

“Escorting you,” Sharma insisted. “Alang is a dangerous place, especially for foreigners. My guards will ensure that you don’t have any accidents along the way.”

A sigh from Joe suggested he was both disappointed in the turn of events and also uninterested in fighting the two giants…just in case that was what Kurt had in mind.

Kurt’s reaction was even more muted. He offered a slight frown, then produced a business card. He handed it to Sharma. “In case you change your mind.”

Sharma took the card, but didn’t bother to look at it. He nodded toward the door and his guards stepped out of the way, allowing Kurt and Joe to pass through it.

Despite the promise of an escort back to their hotel, the two brutes took them only as far as the entrance to the harbor, hustling them out through a two-layered gate reminiscent of the exit from a prison or detention camp.

On the far side, a number of three-wheeled, rickshaw-style taxis were waiting. Sometimes called tuk-tuks, they were half motorcycle and half golf cart. The driver sat in front, straddling a motorcycle seatand controlling the machine the way one controlled a motorbike. Larger versions of the machines using Harley-Davidson parts were called phat-phats.

The passengers, four in most cases but up to six, sat in the back on padded seats. There were no seat belts, only a framework made of metal posts that held up brightly colored tarps, often covered with Hindu symbols and/or brightly colored, dangling decorations that swayed with every shake and turn.

The primitive and versatile machines were ever present around the harbor, waiting to shuttle workers, supplies, and equipment in all directions.

At the slightest whistle, the lead tuk-tuk driver started his cart and pulled up to where Kurt and Joe stood. They climbed dutifully into the back and then held on tight as the young driver squeezed the clutch, revved the throttle, and jammed the motor into gear.

The machine took off with a surprising amount of acceleration, and they were soon humming along a narrow and crowded road heading north. Kurt shouted the name of their hotel to the driver, who offered only a thumbs-up while remaining focused on the dangerous job of navigating the pothole-filled road and the chaotic ever-merging and -diverging traffic.

In the back of the tuk-tuk, Kurt and Joe held on, buffeted by the swirling air, while their ears were assaulted by the buzz of the unmuffled motor.

“So that worked,” Joe said.

“It was worth a shot,” Kurt replied, seeming unperturbed by their failure and unceremonious escort off the property.

“I thought you had him when you offered a reward,” Joe said. “But all it did was tip the scales in the wrong direction. I could almost hear the gears turning in Sharma’s head.”

Kurt admitted to the failure. “I guess he decided he could net a higher return if he found what we were after and negotiate for himself.”

“Which makes me wonder why you seem so happy. Care to let me in on the secret?”

Kurt turned directly toward Joe. Instead of answering, he posed a question. “What would your next move be if you were Sharma?”

Joe thought for a second and then replied, “I’d get all my people onto the ship and scour it for anything my suspicious-looking American visitors might want. Equipment, documents, computers. And I’d do it fast, before our government starts putting pressure on his government, forcing him to let us take a look.”

“Exactly.” Kurt nodded.

“And how does that help us?”

“Because they’ll be looking on the wrong ship.”

Kurt’s statement had flown by so quickly that Joe hadn’t even raised an eyebrow. “You told him we wanted to search theKhalil.”

“Which is where Sharma and his men will be while we sneak aboard theSoufriereafter dark.”

Joe grinned. “Smooth. But how exactly do you intend to get back in there? The place is surrounded by fences, razor wire, and cameras. And they work twenty-four seven around here. No matter how late we go in, there’s still going to be thousands of people around and plenty of goons.”

Kurt gripped the awning’s support post and held on as they rounded another turn and the tuk-tuk threatened to tip over. Kurt had a solution to that, but he had a feeling Joe wasn’t going to like it.

Chapter 17

The waters of Alang beach were some of the most polluted in the world. Slicks of heavy oil, gasoline, and diesel mixed with an alphabet soup of toxins: PCBs, which released dioxin when burned; THTs, which were powerful biocides designed to kill microbial life, but were also known to disrupt the human endocrine system; PAHs, which came from the fumes of an endless number of acetylene torches that accumulated in the gray mud and soaked into the sea. On top of that, there was bilgewater, asbestos, raw sewage, and floating tangles of insulation, wiring, and other debris. In the mud down below lay high concentrations of heavy metals like mercury, arsenic, chromium, and lead.

The fact that anything could live in the waters was astonishing. The fact that Kurt and Joe were about to swim in them was only slightly less so. Wearing wetsuits, full face masks, gloves, and hoods, they would be somewhat protected from the filth, but since the suits absorbed water, they both knew the chemicals and sludge would be touching their skin.

“When we get back to the hotel, I’m taking a ninety-minute shower and then dipping myself in a vat of hand sanitizer,” Joe said.

“I wouldn’t worry about sanitizing too much,” Kurt joked. “Thereare so many toxins in this soup, your microbiome will be completely sterilized by the time we get back.”

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