The Third Gate by Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page A

two-story construction that took up most of the deck. At either side of the bow were two small platforms, open to the air and suspended out over the water, that reminded Logan of crow’s nests. But the boat’s single most remarkable feature was at its stern: a massive, conical cage of steel, narrow end forward, as big as a Gemini space capsule and roughly the same shape. It enclosed a large, cruel-looking five-bladed propeller. The entire assembly was fixed permanently atop the stern section of the main deck.
    “Good lord,” Logan said from the dock. “An airboat on steroids.”
    “A description apt enough,” came a gruff voice. Logan glanced up to see a man appear in a doorway at the front of the superstructure. He was fiftyish, of medium build, with deep-set eyes and a closely cropped white beard. He stepped up to the waiting gangplank and ushered them aboard.
    “This is James Plowright,” Rush said. “The expedition’s senior pilot.”
    “Quite a vessel,” Logan said.
    “Aye.” The man nodded.
    “How does she handle?” Logan asked.
    “Well enough.” Plowright had a rough Scottish burr and the Scotsman’s economy of words to go with it.
    Logan looked back at the propeller assembly. “What’s the powerplant?”
    “Lycoming P-fifty-three gas turbine. Retrofitted from a Huey jetcopter.”
    Logan whistled.
    “This way,” Rush said. He turned to Plowright. “You can cast off when ready, Jimmy.”
    Plowright nodded.
    Rush led the way back along the deck. Given the size of the superstructure and the craft’s slim beam, the decking was very narrow, and Logan was glad of the railing alongside. They passed several doors, then Rush ducked through an open doorway and ushered Logan into a dimly lit space. As his eyes adjusted, Logan found himself in a pleasantly appointed saloon, furnished with couches and banquettes. A variety of framed nautical scenes and sporting prints hung on the walls. The space smelled strongly of polished leather and insect repellent.
    The driver of the jeep deposited Logan’s bags and the metal case in one corner, bowed, then returned to the deck.
    Logan pointed at the case. “What’s in there?” he asked.
    Rush smiled. “Hard disks containing the case files from the Center. I can’t completely ignore my full-time job while I’m out here.”
    Within a minute, Logan heard faint sounds from the direction of the stern: the jet engine started up with a howl and the vessel drew away from the dock, its frame throbbing slightly, heading upriver toward the Sudan.
    “We have two of these craft, specially built for the expedition,” Rush said as they settled onto one of the banquettes. “We use them for ferrying things to the site. Things too bulky or fragile for airdrop: high-tech equipment, for example. Or specialists.”
    “I can’t imagine any site that would require a craft like this.”
    “When you see it, you’ll understand all too well—I promise.”
    Logan sat back on the rich leather seat. “Okay, Ethan. I’ve met Stone. I know what you’re looking for. Now I think it’s time you told me where we’re going.”
    Rush smiled faintly. “You know the term ‘hell on earth’?”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, prepare yourself. Because that’s exactly where we’re headed.”

7
    Rush leaned forward in the banquette. “Have you heard of the Sudd?”
    Logan thought a moment. “It rings a distant bell.”
    “People assume that the Nile is just a wide river, snaking its way unimpeded out from the heart of Africa. Nothing could be further from the truth. The early British explorers—Burton and Livingstone and the others—found that out the hard way when they encountered the Sudd. But take a look at that—it’ll describe the place far more eloquently than I can.” And Rush gestured to a book on a nearby table.
    Logan hadn’t noticed it before and now he picked it up. It was a battered copy of Alan Moorehead’s The White Nile . It was a history of the exploration of