39
Washington, D.C., June 27
KURT AUSTIN STEPPED
OFF the elevator on the eleventh floor of the NUMA headquarters
building on the shore of the Potomac River in Washington, D.C. He
moved slowly, his body battered, his ego suffering from the badly
missed call that had taken them out to the tower of rock in the
dark of night.
He was walking with
noticeable pain. His face and arms were peeling from saltwater
sores and eight hours waiting for rescue in the burning sun. His
ribs were sore from the pipe attack, and his cheekbone, the bridge
of his nose, and his lips were creased with healing scabs where
Andras and his thugs had pounded him and split the
skin.
Adding insult to
injury were the hours sitting in the Argo’s tiny conference room, answering questions
from the Spanish and Portuguese authorities with Joe and Captain
Haynes, and then a fourteen-hour trip by plane from Santa Maria to
Lisbon and over to D.C.
The least someone
could have done was spring for business class.
Now fighting jet lag,
exhaustion, and his wounded pride, Kurt pressed forward toward
another conference room, where he and Joe would discuss with Dirk
Pitt and members of the U.S. Navy and the National Security Agency
everything they’d already explained a half a dozen times. All the
while, whatever trail Andras had left grew colder and faded
away.
He neared the end of
the hall and despite the pain and fatigue spotted a reason to smile
and keep going. At the door to the conference room he saw Gamay
Trout. It troubled him that she was alone.
They hugged, and he
could feel that much of her usual self-assurance was
missing.
“You don’t look so
good, Kurt. How do you feel?”
“Never better,” he
said.
She
smiled.
“Paul?” he
asked.
“He’s still
unconscious,” she managed.
“I’m
sorry.”
“His EEG is
improving, and a CAT scan showed no damage, but I’m scared,
Kurt.”
“He’ll come back,”
Kurt said hopefully. “After all, look what he’s got waiting for
him.”
She tried to smile,
and then grabbed the door handle and pushed through.
Kurt followed her in
and sat protectively beside her. Joe arrived a moment later and sat
on her other side. Dirk Pitt, Hiram Yaeger, and some brass from the
Navy held positions down the table from them. At the head of the
table, a suit from the NSA took center stage.
Dirk Pitt stood and
explained. “I know you’ve all been through a lot, but we’re here
because the situation has gone from bad to worse.”
He waved toward the
man in the suit. “This is Cameron Brinks from the NSA. He and Rear
Admiral Farnsworth are spearheading the response to what we believe
is a very present threat to international peace.”
Cameron Brinks stood
up. “We have to thank you men for discovering and bringing this
threat to our attention. Like you, we believe a well-financed or
even nationally backed group has developed a directed-energy weapon
of incredible power. If the extrapolations from the data are
correct, this weapon could undermine the current world
socio-military balance.”
Kurt wasn’t sure what
exactly the term socio-military balance
meant, but it sounded like a politician’s made-up parlance, and he
guessed Brinks was more a politician than a man of action. That
meant they were in for a long speech. Great.
Brinks continued.
“After consulting with Mr. Yaeger, and also running our own
studies, we’ve concluded that this weapon uses a system of particle
acceleration similar to one suggested years back for the Strategic
Defense Initiative’s anti-missile shield.”
Kurt considered what
Brinks was saying, and he allowed some of his aggravation to
dissipate. At least these men seemed to grasp the
danger.
“To make matters
worse,” Brinks said, “the kidnapped scientists are precisely the
kind of people one would need to improve on whatever these
terrorists are already in possession of.”
“Do we have any idea
who they are?” Kurt asked.
Brinks nodded. “In
addition to the individual you identified, we’ve two pieces of
credible evidence suggesting their base of operations is in
Africa.”
“Africa?” Gamay
said.
“Yes, Mrs. Trout,”
Brinks replied. “Early this morning a body was recovered two miles
south of the spot where Kurt and Joe were rescued.”
Brinks nodded to an
aide, who brought photos out that were passed to Kurt and
Joe.
“Recognize him?”
Brinks asked.
The water had bloated
the man’s face, but it wasn’t enough to hide his
identity.
“Key master,” Joe
whispered.
Kurt nodded. “This
guy was with Andras,” he said. “What happened to him?”
“Twenty-two, Old West
style,” Brinks said. “Right between the eyes. Any idea
why?”
“He was alive when we
went down,” Kurt said. He put the photo away. “Who is
he?”
“He’s been identified
as a citizen of Sierra Leone,” Brinks said. “A former major in
their armed forces, perhaps even a bodyguard for the president,
Djemma Garand.”
“Sierra Leone,” Kurt
said. This was the second time that nation’s name had popped
up.
Brinks nodded. “As
odd as it sounds, the links are starting to point to a connection
with that country. We know the superconducting ore was transferred
in Freetown, but until now we thought it was the work of a group of
mercenaries manning the docks. Your friend Andras may have been one
of them.”
Kurt didn’t like
hearing Andras referred to as his friend, however facetiously.
Beyond that, something sounded odd about this assessment. “Sierra
Leone is one of the poorest countries in the world. They can barely
feed and clothe their people. You’re telling me they have the
wherewithal to create a particle accelerator using advanced
superconductors?”
“We have this man’s
body to prove a link,” Brinks said, not looking particularly
thrilled to have questions coming at him. “We have other
intelligence suggesting there may be a connection, including some
odd military mobilizations of late.”
“Okay, so what are we
doing about it?” Kurt asked, unable to take any more
preamble.
Brinks retrained his
gaze on Kurt. “To begin with, greater surveillance of the nation is
beginning. Until now we haven’t much reason to keep a close eye
upon them. But we’re starting to.”
“What
else?”
“Believe it or not,”
Brinks said, “we still think your initial guess is correct. These
people undoubtedly have to be operating from a submarine.
Portuguese divers have been all over that rock tower and they’ve
found hidden tunnels designed to funnel the current through
turbines, banks of batteries, and powerful electromagnetic coils.
All designed to create the appearance of a magnetic anomaly. The
construction would have required extensive use of
submersibles.”
Kurt felt a small
amount of vindication, but he’d still been wrong in a highly costly
manner.
“And?” he
asked.
“And the three of you
are to be assigned to a Navy task force charged with finding this
submarine,” Brinks said. “Mrs. Trout will work with the Navy
acoustics team in trying to refine the signature left on the sonar
tapes from the attack on the Grouper.”
“And what are we
going to do?” Kurt asked, growing aggravated at what looked like a
giant detour.
“Because of your
experience in salvage operations and construction of submersibles,
you two will be assigned to ASW teams that will be sent out looking
for this sub.”
Kurt wasn’t sure he’d
heard correctly. “Looking for it?” Kurt said. “You mean wandering
around the ocean, listening to hydrophones and hoping to pick up
something more than whales making out?”
Neither Brinks nor
Admiral Farnsworth reacted.
“Are you kidding me?”
Kurt continued. “There’s forty million square miles of ocean out
there. And that’s if these idiots are still sailing around, waiting
to get caught. More likely they’ve parked that thing under a shed
somewhere and are on to the next step in their plan.”
“Our ASW teams are
the best in the world, Mr. Austin,” the admiral said.
“I know they are,
Admiral, but how many are you going to spare?”
“Seven frigates and
twenty aircraft,” he said. “We’ll also be using both the SOSUS line
and other listening stations in the South Atlantic.”
That was better than
Kurt had expected, but paltry in comparison to the need. And unless
Kurt had missed something, they didn’t even know what they were
looking for yet.
“Did we pick up
anything on the SOSUS during any of the incidents?” he
asked.
“No,” the admiral
admitted. “Nothing but the sounds of the Kinjara Maru breaking up on her way down and the
explosions of the torpedoes during the attack on the Grouper.”
“So all we have is
the garbled tape from the Matador,”
Kurt said.
“Do you have a better
idea, Mr. Austin?” Brinks asked pointedly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m
going to track down Andras. And when I find him, that’ll lead us to
whoever he’s working for.”
“CIA’s been looking
for him for years,” Brinks said dismissively. “He never stays in
one place long enough for anyone to get a line on him. What makes
you think you’re going to succeed where they failed?”
“Because there are
certain rocks they don’t like to turn over,” he said bluntly. “I
have no such qualms.”
Brinks pursed his
lips, looking disgusted. He turned back to NUMA’s Director. “Mr.
Pitt, would you do something, please?”
Dirk leaned back in
his chair, looking as casual as could be. “Sure,” he said to Brinks
and then turned to Kurt. “Are you serious about this
plan?”
“Yes, sir,” Kurt
said. “I know someone who Andras used as a contact years ago. I
believe he’s still active.”
“Then what are you
doing wasting your time with us? Get your butt
moving.”
Kurt smiled and
stood. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“This is ridiculous,”
Brinks said.
“And take Joe with
you,” Pitt added, “if he wants to go.”
“Thought you’d never
ask,” Joe said.
Brinks ground his
teeth and leaned over the table, looking at Dirk Pitt.
“One call and I’ll
override this,” he said.
“No you won’t,” Pitt
said confidently. “For one, Kurt’s right. Sticking him and Joe on a
destroyer is a waste of resources. For another, it puts all our
eggs in one basket: your basket. Which I realize, having spent so
much time in Washington lately, is half the point. You get the
credit if we succeed and you blame them and NUMA if you fail.
Simple math. But you forgot a very important variable and that is:
I don’t work for you and neither do these men. And I’ll be damned
if I’m going to let you put the country or maritime community at
risk for your own personal political agenda.”
Brinks looked about
like a man who’d been gored in a bullfight. Even Admiral Farnsworth
seemed pleased with the outcome, no doubt wondering what he needed
a couple of NUMA civilians on his boats for anyway.
The admiral chuckled
and then looked over at Gamay. “We could still use you, Mrs. Trout.
Our sonar teams are very friendly.”
“I’ll do my best to
help,” she said.
Kurt stepped to the
door.
“One thing, Kurt,”
Dirk said.
Kurt looked
back.
“Stay on the narrow
road. This is a mission for us,” Pitt reminded him, “not a sortie
of revenge.”
Kurt understood
Dirk’s concern. He could feel the conflict inside himself, and no
doubt it was easy for someone like Dirk Pitt to pick up
on.
He nodded to Pitt,
glanced at Brinks, and then headed for the door. He opened it and
ran right into one of NUMA’s administrative assistants, a young
woman he didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” Kurt
asked.
The young woman
nodded. “I just came to give Mrs. Trout some news.”
Kurt opened the door
wider and let her in.
“Paul’s awake,” the
woman said. “He’s asking for you.”