Free Treasure of Khan by Clive Cussler

numerous surface oil slicks reported by the fishermen in this area, which would seem to indicate a hydrocarbon seepage.”
    â€œYou’re not going to take us sniffing around in deep water, are you, Tatiana?” Wofford asked.
    â€œI understand the limitations of the equipment available to us. Though we have a number of potential seeps in the center of the lake, I realize the depths are too great for us to survey in those regions. Our research objective is focused on four locations in the south of Lake Baikal that are all near the shoreline, presumably in shallow water.”
    â€œWe’ll find out easy enough,” Roy replied as he plugged a waterproof data cable into a three-foot-long yellow towfish. In addition to providing an acoustically derived image of the lake bed, the side-scan sonar sensor would also indicate the relative bottom depth when towed.
    â€œAre the sites all located on the western shoreline?” Theresa asked.
    â€œOnly the target area in Peschanaya Bay. We must cross the lake to the other three sites, which are on the eastern shore.”
    The old fishing boat motored past the docks of Listvyanka, passing a hydrofoil ferry slicing into port on its return from a transport run to Port Baikal on the opposite shore of the Angara River. The sleek enclosed passenger ferry looked out of place beside the small fleet of aged wooden fishing boats that filled Listvyanka’s waters. Escaping the small harbor, the fishing boat turned north, hugging the craggy western shore of the cold lake. Deep, rich forests of taiga marched down to the shoreline in a carpet of green, interspersed with rolling meadows of thick grass. The rich colors of the landscape against the crystal blue lake made it difficult for Theresa to picture the stark bitterness of the region in the dead of winter, when a layer of ice four feet thick covered the lake. A shiver at the thought made her glad she was visiting when the days were longest.
    It was of little matter to Theresa, though. The petroleum engineer’s true love was traveling and she would have gladly visited the lake in January just for the experience. Bright and analytical, she had chosen her career less for the intellectual challenge than for the opportunity to travel to remote places around the globe. Extended stints in Indonesia, Venezuela, and the Baltic were broken up by the occasional two-week assignment like this one, where she was sent to survey an offbeat prospective oil field. Working in a man’s field proved to be no setback, as her vivacious personality and humorous outlook on life easily broke down barriers with men who weren’t already attracted to her athletic build, dark hair, and walnut eyes.
    Forty miles north of Listvyanka, a shallow bay called Peschanaya cut into the western shoreline, protecting a narrow sandy beach. As the captain nosed the boat’s prow into the bay, Tatiana turned to Theresa and proclaimed, “We will start here.”
    With the engine thrown into neutral and the boat drifting, Roy and Wofford lowered the side-scan sonar towfish over the stern as Theresa mounted a GPS antenna onto the side rail and plugged it into the sonar’s computer. Tatiana glanced at a fathometer mounted in the wheelhouse and shouted, “Depth, thirty meters.”
    â€œNot too deep, that’s good,” Theresa said as the boat moved forward again, towing the sensor a hundred feet behind. A digitally enhanced image of the lake bed scrolled by on a color monitor that captured the processed sound waves emitted from the towfish.
    â€œWe can acquire meaningful results as long as the depth stays under fifty meters,” Wofford said. “Anything deeper and we’ll need more cable and a bigger boat.”
    â€œAnd more caviar,” Roy added with a hungry look.
    Slowly the fishing boat swept back and forth across the bay, its hardened captain spinning the ship’s wheel lightly in his hands as the four visitors