Admiral James Sandecker, the driving force behind NUMA, sat at a long conference table, his head enveloped in a purple cloud that belched from the fat cigar in his hand.
“That thing up on the screen is in a class of its own, Admiral,” said Gamay, who sat at the table along with Austin, Zavala and Rudi Gunn. “The great white shark attacks when it's hungry or hunted. The creature we're looking at is more like Mack the Knife: just plain mean.”
Sandecker blew out a plume of smoke and glanced around the table. “Now that you've engaged my attention with what must be the short- est monster movie on record, please tell me what in blazes is going on and what that creature has to do with the cast on Paul's wrist.”
Gamay and Paul took turns telling the story of their Canadian adventure, from their visit to the Oceanus fish-processing plant to their talk with the geneticists at McGill.
Austin cut in. “Did you say Frederick Barker?”
“Yes,” Gamay said. “Do you know him?”
“We've had a passing acquaintance. His men tried to kill me last night.”
Austin gave the gathering a quick rundown of his encounter with Barker and the wild dogsled race through the Mall.
“Congratulations, Kurt. The traffic tie-up you caused was page one in The Washington Post.” Sandecker paused in thought. “Let me see if I understand this story to date. You believe that Oceanus or- chestrated the sinking of two ships in Faroe waters to divert atten- tion from a secret project, directed by this man Barker, having to do with the breeding of mutant fish.” He gestured at the screen. “Fish similar to the one Paul and Gamay encountered in Canada. And that people from a rogue Eskimo tribe made attempts on your life in the Faroes, in Copenhagen and in Washington.”
“Sounds unbelievable when somebody else tells it,” Austin said, with a shake of his head.
“Baron Munchausen couldn't have done better. Luckily, Paul and Gamay have verified the existence of these homicidal Eskimos.” He turned to Gunn. “What do you make of this fantastic tale, Rudi?”
“Before I answer, I'd like to ask Gamay what could happen if these artificially mutated superfish got into the sea and started breeding.”
“According to Dr. Throckmorton, Barker's colleague, in sufficient numbers, they could create a biological time bomb,” Gamay said. "They could replace the natural strains of fish within a few genera- tions.
“What's wrong with that?” Sandecker said, playing devil's advo- cate. “Fishermen would have to catch a few large fish instead of many smaller ones.”
"True, but we don't know enough about the long-range effects.
What would happen if these Frankenfish had some property that made them unfit for human consumption? What if an unforeseen mutant strain resulted? What if the superfish offspring couldn't sur- vive in the wild? You'd have neither the natural species nor the mu- tants. The ocean system would be thrown out of whack. Fishermen, processing people and distributors would be idled around the world. This would disrupt whole societies that depend upon fish protein for nourishment. Industrial nations would be damaged, as well.“ ”That's quite a dismal forecast,“ Sandecker said. ”I'm being conservative in my assessment. There are so many unknowns. We know that more than twenty-five species are being targeted for genetic modification. It could mean a tragedy of un- imaginable proportions if they escape into the sea."
“We're assuming that monster up there escaped from a research lab,” Rudi said. “Suppose he and others like him were released into the sea deliberately ?”
Gamay stared at Gunn as if he had grown a set of horns. “Why would anyone risk extinction of a whole species? That would be a ter- rible thing.”
Gunn shook his head. “Not for everyone.”
“What are you saying?” Sandecker asked.
“That the fish will vanish from the sea, but not from the Oceanus holding tanks. Oceanus has been acquiring international patents for its fish genes. The species would be preserved in Oceanus DNA banks.”
“Very clever, Rudi,” Sandecker said. “Oceanus would have created a monopoly on a major source of the world's protein.”
Paul said, “A monopoly like that could be worth billions of dol- lars.”
“It goes beyond money,” Sandecker said. “Fish protein is a major source of nourishment for much of the world. Food is power.”
“This explains why Oceanus is so trigger-happy,” Austin said. “If the news got out that they were about to deplete the world's oceans, the adverse public reaction would be overwhelming.”
“Certainly sounds plausible,” Gunn said. “You establish biofish hatcheries around the world. You could seed the major fish-breeding areas in a short time.”
“You wouldn't need many fish,” Gamay said. “Each male biofish released could breed with dozens of females. But I'd like to point out there is nothing illegal about dumping fish into the open sea.”
“They've been responsible for the loss of two ships and several deaths trying to keep their dirty little secret,” Austin said. “They're holding an entire Indian village captive. Last I heard, murder and kidnapping were illegal.”
Sandecker said, “But since we can't pin the killings and other crimes on Oceanus yet, we'll have to proceed with care. We can't go through the regular channels. Even the Canadian government can't know of our action. Oceanus could bring the forces of the law down on us. The Special Assignments Team was formed for missions away from official oversight, so it's the perfect vehicle to carry out our plan.”
'I didn't know we had a plan," Zavala said.
'Seems obvious to me,“ the admiral said. ”We blow Oceanus and their bloody scheme out of the water, like the pirates they are. I re- alize it won't be easy. Nighthawk's family and relatives could be placed in jeopardy. The fact that we've stumbled onto the scene might make Oceanus act in haste."
“There's another factor we should take into account,” Austin said.
“Marcus Ryan is determined to get SOS involved. They could com- promise our plan and put the captives in real danger.”
“That settles it,” Sandecker said. “We move immediately. We've got to strike at the heart of this thing, that facility in the Canadian woods. Kurt, did this young Indian give you any inkling where his village was located?”
“Ryan had him on a short leash. Ben seems to have disappeared, but I'll keep trying to find him.”
“We can't wait that long.” Sandecker's gaze moved over to a scruffy-looking man who had quietly slipped into the room during the discussion and taken a seat in a corner. “Hiram, do you have something for us?”
Hiram Yeager was the director of the vast computer network that covered the entire tenth floor of the NUMA building. The center processed and stored the biggest amount of digital data on the oceans ever assembled under one roof. The brains behind this incredible display of information-gathering power was dressed in his standard uniform, Levi pants and jacket over a pure white T-shirt. His feet were stuffed into a pair of cowboy boots that looked as if they had come from Boot Hill. His long hair was tied in a ponytail, and his gray eyes peered out at the world through wire-rimmed granny glasses.
“Rudi asked me to see if Max would compile a list of places that have experienced sudden fish kills, and to cross-check when possible with nearby fish-processing plants or farms.”
“Do you want us to adjourn this meeting to the data center?” Sandecker asked.
Yeager's boyish face beamed with excitement. “Stay right where you are. You're about to see a demonstration of Portable Max.”
Sandecker grimaced. He was impatient to get his troops moving and wasn't interested in Yeager's experiments, only their results. But his respect for the computer genius displayed itself in the same un- characteristic patience that allowed Yeager to ignore the NUMA dress code.
Yeager connected a laptop computer to various outlets and to the video screen. He clicked the ON button. Anyone who expected an or- dinary presentation didn't know Hiram Yeager. The image of a woman appeared on
the video screen. Her eyes were topaz brown and her hair a shiny auburn, her shoulders bare down to the first hints of her breasts.
It was hard to believe that the lovely woman on the screen was an artificial intelligence system, the end product of the most complex electronic circuitry imaginable. Yeager had recorded his voice, digi- tally altering it to give it a feminine tone, and programmed the face of his wife, a successful artist, into the system. Max tended to be just as testy and petulant as she was.
When he was working in the data center, Yeager sat at a huge console and Max was projected in 3-D onto a giant monitor. “With the Portable Max, you don't have to come to the data center to ask questions. The laptop connects to the mainframe, so I can bring her with me wherever I go. Isn't that right, Max?”
Normally, Max responded to the opening question with a daz- zling smile, but the face on the screen looked as if she had been suck- ing on lemons. Yeager fiddled with the connections and tried again.
“Max? Are you okay?”
The eyes looked down to the bottom of the screen. “I'm feeling rather... flat.”
“You look fine from out here,” Yeager said.
“Fine?”
"No, you look wonderfulF
Sandecker's patience had run out. “Perhaps you should send the young lady a bouquet of roses.”
“That always works for me,” Zavala said. Sandecker shot him a withering look. “Thank you for giving us the benefit of your wide experience, Joe. I'm sure you can include it in your memoirs. Hiram, could you cut to the chase, please?”
Max smiled. “Hello, Admiral Sandecker.” "Hello, Max. Hiram is correct when he says you look wonderful.
But I think we should end this Portable Max experiment. In the fu- ture, we will visit you in the data center."
"Thanks for your understanding, Admiral. What can I do for you.
“Please produce the data Hiram requested.” The face instantly disappeared. In its place was a map of the world.
Max's voice narrated: “This map shows the locations where there have been fish kills near aquaculture facilities. I can give you specifics for each location.”
“Don't bother for now. Please show us those aquaculture sites owned by Oceanus.”
Some of the circles vanished, but a substantial number remained.
“Now go to Canada,” Sandecker said.
The picture zoomed in on Cape Breton. “Bingo!” Paul Trout said. “That's where Gamay and I had our run-in with Oceanus.”
Austin said, "Max, could you draw a straight line from the
Oceanus site to the nearest lake in northern Canada?"
The map displayed a line that connected the coastal facility with the interior, but the lake it showed was too small and too close to civiliza- tion. After several tries. Max connected the aquaculture operation to the only lake large and remote enough to fit Nighthawk's description.
“We can run some satellite photos on this site, but my instincts tell me this is the right place,” Austin said.
“Thank you, Max. You can shut down now,” Sandecker said.
The screen went blank. Sandecker, who was obviously pleased with himself, turned to Zavala and said, “Now that's how you han- dle a woman.” His face grew serious. “I think it's time to get mov- ing,” he said.
Zavala raised his hand and cleared his throat.
“This is pretty rugged country. Assuming we find these hombres with no trouble, do we just drop in on them?”
Sandecker looked as if the question surprised him. “I'm open to suggestions.”
“I've got one. Call in the Royal Canadian Mounties.”
“I'm sure you can do it without their help.” Sandecker showed his even teeth in a crocodile smile. “You have carte blanche.”
“I'd rather have the Mounties,” Zavala said. “If they're busy, a contingent of Special Forces might do.”
“I don't blame Joe for being doubtful,” Austin said, coming to his partner's aid. “As the Trouts and I know, Oceanus shoots first and asks questions later.”
“It would take too long to go through the red tape necessary to in- volve the Canadian military or police. As for Special Forces, we would need presidential authority to trespass on Canadian turf. I don't see that coming.”
“In that case, I'd like to make a proposal,” Austin said. He related his conversation with Aguirrez.
Sandecker puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. “Let me see. You'd like to use the resources of this Basque, who may or may not be a terrorist, to carry out a NUMA mission in a foreign country?” Sandecker said.
“If we can't use the U.S. Marines or the Mounties, he might be all we have.”
“Hmm,” Sandecker said. “Can he be trusted?”
“He can be trusted to do whatever he can to find his relics. Beyond that I can't say, other than to remind you that he saved my life on two occasions.”
Sandecker tugged at his precisely trimmed beard. The idea of using the Basque appealed to the admiral's unconventional side, but he was reluctant to lose control of the situation. On the other hand, he had complete confidence in Austin and his team.
“Use your best judgment,” Sandecker said. “There's something else,” Austin said. He told them about the overnight closing of the museum exhibition and the accident in- volving Senator Graham.
Unknown
“But I know Graham well,” Sandecker said.
Gunn nodded. “And guess what his commerce committee has been involved in lately? Legislation trying to close loopholes that would allow biofish to be shipped into the U.S.”
“Quite a coincidence, isn't it?” Austin said. “Especially since he was returning from a party hosted by Oceanus.”
“Are you suggesting,” Sandecker said, “that this exhibition was an elaborate cover for an assassination crew?”
“It fits. With Graham out of the way, those loopholes may never be closed.”
“I agree. There are certainly enough party hacks around to raise the possibility of bribes,” said Sandecker, who had a low opinion of Congress.
Austin said, “Oceanus has cleared away a major obstacle. I think they're about to make their move.”
Sandecker rose from his seat and glanced around the table with his cold blue eyes. "Then it's high time we made ours/9 he said.
When Austin returned to his office, a message was waiting for him from the captain of the NUMA research vessel William Beebe, work- ing with the Danes in the Faroe Islands. Call immediately, the mes- sage said, and left a phone number.
“I thought you'd want to know,” the captain said, when Austin reached him. “There's been an accident out here. A research vessel working with a Danish scientist named Jorgensen blew up some- how. They lost eight people, including the professor.”
Austin had forgotten about Jorgensen's plans to continue his re- search near the Oceanus plant. Now he recalled warning the profes- sor to be careful.
“Thank you, Captain,” he said. "Any idea what caused the expio- sion :-
“The lone survivor said something about a helicopter in the area before the explosion, but she didn't make sense. She was the one who suggested that we call you, in fact. Seems she was on the boat as a guest of the professor. Name was Pia something.”
“She's a friend of mine. How is she?”
“Few broken bones, some burns. But the doctors expect that she'll pull through. Sounds like a tough lady.”
“She is. Could you give her a message?”
Of course.
“Tell her I'll be over to see her as soon as she's feeling better.” “Will do.”
Austin thanked the captain and hung up. He stared into space, his jaw muscle working, his blue-green eyes at the topaz level on Moh's scale of hardness. He was thinking of Jorgensen's horsy smile and pia's kindness. Barker, or Toonook, or whatever his name was, had made the mistake of his life. By killing the professor and injuring Pia, he had made it personal.
NUMA 4 - White Death
30
THE SINGLE-ENGINE floatplane flew low, looking like a toy against the vastness of the Canadian wilderness. Therri Weld sat next to the pilot in the front passenger seat, where she had a good view of the ranks of sharp, pointed treetops, any one of which could have ripped the belly out of the fuselage.
The first part of the flight had been spent in white-knuckled ter- ror. Therri had not been reassured when she saw the pair of fuzzy dice hanging in the cockpit. But as the flight proceeded without a hitch, she had concluded that the pilot, an enormous, grizzled man whose name was Bear, actually seemed to know what he was doing.
“Don't get up here very often,” Bear shouted over the roar of the engine. “Too remote for most of the 'sportsmen' who come up to go hunting and fishing. Their idea of roughing it is staying at a lodge with inside plumbing.” Bear pointed through the windshield at the featureless terrain. "Coming up on Looking Glass Lake. It's really two lakes joined by a short connector. Locals call it the Twins, al- though one's bigger than the other. We'll drop down on the little guy
in a few minutes."
“All I see is trees and more trees,” said Marcus Ryan, who sat be- hind the pilot.
“Yeah, bound to find trees in these parts,” Bear said, with a cheer- ful grin. He glanced over to see if Therri appreciated the joke on Ryan. She smiled gamely, but her heart wasn't in it. She would have felt far more confident if Ben Nighthawk were with them. Her calls to his apartment had gone unanswered. She'd wanted to keep trying, but Marcus had been in a hurry to get rolling.
“You can pull out if you want to,” Ryan had said. “Chuck and I can go it alone, but we've got to move fast because the plane's wait- ing for us.” Therri barely had time to pack before Ryan picked her up. Before long, they were piling into the SOS executive jet with Chuck Mercer, the former first mate of the Sea Sentinel. With his ship on the bottom, Mercer was eager to see action.
Therri would have been more enthusiastic if she didn't think Ryan was making up his strategy as he went along. Thanks to the infor- mation from Ben, Ryan knew where to go. Ben had told him the name and location of the lake. It was Ben, too, who had given him Bear's name.
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