"NUMA Files 02 - Blue Gold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cussler Clive)

Grandfather had been a minor diplomat when the Empire of Japan ended under twin mushroom clouds. He stayed on in Brazil, married the daughter of a Third Reich ambassador similarly unemployed, became a Brazilian citizen, and switched to his first love, gardening. He moved the family to Sao Paulo, where his landscape company served the rich and powerful. He developed close ties with influential government and military figures. His son, Francesca's father, used those connections to move effortlessly to a highly placed position in the commerce department. Her mother was a brilliant engineering student who put her academic career aside to become a wife and mother. She never regretted her decision, at least not openly, but she was delighted that Francesca would choose to follow in her academic footsteps.

Her father had suggested that she fly on his executive jet to New York, where she would meet with United Nations officials before boarding a commercial flight to Cairo. She was glad to get back to the States, if only for a short visit, and wished she could make the plane move faster. The years she had spent studying engineering at Stanford University in California would always be pleasant memories. She glanced out the window and realized she had no idea where they were. The pilots hadn't reported on the flight's progress since the plane left Sao Paulo. Excusing herself to Phillipo, she went forward and stuck her head in the cockpit.

"Bom dia, senhores. I was wondering where we are and how much longer we'll be in the air."

The pilot was Captain Riordan, a rawboned American with crew-cut straw-colored hair and a Texas accent. Francesca had never seen him before, but that wasn't surprising. Nor was the fact that Riordan was a foreign national. Although the plane was privately owned it was maintained by a local airline that supplied pilots.

"Bowanis deeyass," he said with a lopsided grin, his Chuck Yeager drawl and butchered Portuguese grating on her ears. "Sorry for not keeping you up to date, miss. Saw you were sleeping and didn't want to disturb you." He winked at the copilot, a thickset Brazilian whose over muscled physique suggested he spent a lot of time pumping iron. The copilot smirked as his eyes roved over Francesca's body. Francesca felt like a mother who had come upon two mischievous boys about to play a prank. "What's our timetable?" she said in a businesslike manner.

"Waall, we're over Venezuela. We should be in Miami in approximately three hours. We'll stretch our legs while we refuel and should be in New York about three hours after that."

Francesca's scientific eye was drawn to the screens on the instrument panel. The copilot noticed her interest and couldn't resist the chance to impress a beautiful woman.

"This plane is so smart it can fly itself while we watch the soccer games on TV," he said, showing his big teeth.

"Don't let Carlos blow smoke up your flue," the pilot said. "That's the EFIS, the electronic flight instrument system. The screens take the place of the gauges we used to use."

"Thank you," Francesca said politely. She pointed to another gauge. "Is that a compass?" she said.

"Sim, sim," the copilot said, proud of his successful tutelage.

"Then why does it indicate we're going almost due north?" she said with a furrowed brow. "Shouldn't we be heading in a more westerly direction toward Miami?"

The men exchanged glances. "You're quite observant, senhora," the Texan said. "Absolutely right. But in the air a straight line isn't always the fastest way between two points. Has to do with the curvature of the earth. Like when you fly from the U.S. to Europe the shortest way is up and around in a big curve. We've also got to deal with Cuban airspace. Don't want to get ol' Fidel all haired up."

The quick wink and smirk again.

Francesca nodded appreciatively. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. It's been most instructive. I'll let you get back to your work."

"No bother, ma'am. Any time."

Francesca was fuming as she took her seat. Fools! Did they think she was an idiot? The curvature of the earth indeed!

"Everything's okay, like I said?" Phillipo asked, looking up from the magazine he was reading.

She leaned across the aisle and spoke in a low, even tone. "No, everything is not okay. I think this plane is off-course." She told him about the compass reading. "I felt something odd in my sleep. I think it was the shifting of the plane as they changed direction."

"Maybe you're mistaken."

"Perhaps. But I don't think so."

"Did you ask the pilots for an explanation?"

"Yes. They gave me some absurd story saying the shortest distance between two points was not a straight line because of the curvature of the earth."

He raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised by the explanation, but he still wasn't convinced. "I don't know . . ."

Francesca pondered some other inconsistencies. "Do you re member what they said when they came on board, about being replacement pilots?"