Sea of Greed

by Clive Cussler

  Tessa Franco: Founder, President and CEO of Novum Industria, Inc.

  Kurt didn’t bother getting the rest of the information. He took off the glasses, stood and waited for her to finish her pitch about where her company was going and why.

  “. . . The events in the Gulf of Mexico are only the latest indication of our need to end this mad reliance on fossil fuels,” she said. “We’re burning our way to a new kind of hell on earth—global warming, climate change, record hurricanes, not to mention bleached reefs and drastically affected fish populations. The effects are obvious. But people are kidding themselves if they think any government or UN program will end this reliance, that’s a liberal pipe dream and a foolish waste of money. The only thing that will end the suicidal use of fossil fuels is the development of something better. Novum Industria has come up with that something.”

  She stepped aside and a holographic video vaguely described their newly integrated fuel cell and battery system. It gave away no proprietary details, but Kurt could tell it was different than anything at the other booths.

  He noticed the men around her hanging on every word.

  “Is it money or love they’re after?” Joe whispered.

  “A little bit of both,” Kurt said. “The question is, what does she need?”

  “A little of both,” Joe said.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Each of the potential investors took a moment to address Tessa. They all spoke with confidence, but it was obvious that Tessa had the high ground. She commanded the room well, talking to one man, then the next, turning to avoid follow-up questions and keeping each of them wanting more.

  Kurt wasn’t interested in joining a crowd of fawning onlookers. He needed to stand out in the crowd.

  Instead of waiting his turn, he stepped forward, pushed through the line and offered a hand, interrupting her midsentence. “I know it’s old-fashioned, but a handshake tells you a great deal about a person. Far more than any pair of smart glasses can reveal.”

  Tessa stopped in the middle of an explanation, eyeing Kurt for a moment. Since she wasn’t wearing the sentience goggles, Kurt had her at a disadvantage.

  “Macklin Hatcher,” he said. “Firelight Investing.”

  She paused for another moment and then shook his hand. “Tessa Franco,” she replied. “Pleased to meet you, though it’s odd for a technology investor to choose gut instinct over hardware.”

  “I don’t invest in hardware,” Kurt said with the confidence only a billionaire could have. “I invest in people. Whatever you’ve built here, someone else will copy it soon enough. Maybe even one of these men, if you don’t take their money. Even worse, someone will build off your design and surpass it. But if you’re who I think you are, you’ll be on to something new by then. As they say, the driven soul will always succeed.”

  At this, Tessa brightened and Kurt didn’t need any interactive clothing to know he’d gotten her exactly right.

  “Excuse me,” one of the potential investors said. “We were in the middle of—”

  “Yes, you were,” Kurt said. “My apologies to everyone. Enjoy your evening—especially you, Ms. Franco.”

  With that, Kurt offered the slightest bow and took his leave of the group.

  Joe rejoined him as he walked off. “I never realized that annoying someone was your best way of introducing yourself.”

  “All that matters is making an impression,” Kurt said.

  Joe nodded. “Think she’s storing your name in her favorites?”

  “That or deleting me altogether,” Kurt said.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out,” Joe said. “In the meantime, I looked at their display. The design elements are very similar to what we pulled off that submersible. Though without a microscopic examination, there’s not much I can prove.”

  “It’s our only lead for now,” Kurt said. “If we promise enough money, she might give us a sample to test.”

  They’d gone halfway across the room when Kurt felt a buzzing sensation in his pocket. He pulled out the glasses, found them vibrating and put them on.

  “A message has been delivered,” he said.

  Joe shook his head. “If she’s asking for a date, I’m going to have to rethink my entire existence.”

  At the tap of a button, Kurt opened the message. It displayed out in front of him as if the words were floating in midair.

  You’re right, Mr. Hatcher, I am a driven soul. So perhaps there’s something to this handshake business of yours. Would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow night and explore the possibilities of additional skin-to-skin contact?

  —Tessa F.

  “I haven’t been deleted after all,” Kurt said. “Now, let’s see if I can figure out how to reply.”

  After scrolling through a menu and finding the message app, Kurt spoke softly. “Tomorrow’s no good, it’ll have to be tonight.”

  The words appeared in his vision and then vanished as he hit send. The response was disheartening.

  I’m afraid I’m meeting with Oliver Warren tonight. Perhaps some other time if fate allows.

  —Tessa F.

  Kurt didn’t respond.

  Joe shook his head. “The mighty Casey . . .”

  “So it seems,” Kurt said. “Let’s wander around and see what else we can find.”

  24

  BERMUDA

  BACK ABOARD the Lucid Dream, Kurt took off the expensive jacket, poured himself a drink and made his way to the media room, where Priya had already linked up to the NUMA computer systems using the yacht’s satellite dish.

  “What can you tell me about Tessa Franco?”

  Priya began typing, giving Kurt information as she found it. “Thirty-one years old, born in Italy to American parents. She now has dual citizenship. Her father was a big success in the first computing wave. She had a privileged upbringing but lost her mother when she was ten and her father while she was in grad school. At that point, she inherited a small fortune and immediately plunged vast amounts of funding into all manner of high-tech businesses and start-ups, trying to turn millions into billions.”

  Priya stopped, scanned down and found more pertinent information. “Three years later, she was almost broke. Shortly before being forced into bankruptcy, she sold a design for a new type of lithium battery. It’s been used in half the world’s computers and most of the phones ever since.”

  “Act 1,” Kurt said. “Soar and fail. Act 2, Rebuild your fortune. It’s a classic story.”

  “According to another article,” Priya continued, “she then began spending money on even more varied pursuits. She bought a Formula 1 racing team, funded a historical preservation society that salvaged several wrecks. And then built a one-of-a-kind amphibious aircraft as large as a 747.”

  Joe sat up. “I saw a photo of that in the paper. The Monarch. It’s here now.”

  “Should be,” Priya said. “She lives here. Not sure if it’s for the weather or tax reasons, but Novum Industria is incorporated in Bermuda. And according to this, she owns a private island here in the sound called Baker’s Rock.”

  Kurt moved closer, looking over Priya’s shoulder. “Show me Baker’s Rock.”

  Pulling up the satellite map revealed Baker’s Rock less than a mile from where the Lucid Dream was berthed.

  “Zoom in.”

  Priya tapped the zoom key until the outline of Baker’s Rock filled the monitor.

  Kurt gazed at the setup. It showed a palatial estate built into the side of a hilly island with a semicircular bay surrounded in white marble like the seats of an amphitheater. The Monarch sat in the bay, its wings stretching from one side of the bay to the other, just barely fitting inside the confines of the curved space.

  Up above it, a deck of travertine surrounded a large plantation-style house, fronted by an expansive pool, lit in pur
ple and pink and shaped like a hibiscus flower.

  “Nice digs,” Priya said. “My apartment would fit into the shallow end of her pool.”

  “I know what you’re planning,” Joe said, “but she has another date coming, remember? Oliver Warren.”

  Kurt grinned. “Not once you two figure out how to intercept him.”

  25

  KURT MADE HIS WAY to the top deck of the Lucid Dream, wearing swim trunks and carrying fins and a waterproof pack.

  “Not exactly what I was expecting,” Priya said.

  She was a few feet away, sitting at a table overlooking the Great Sound. “Where’s the face paint, commando gear and twelve-inch knife to fight off the sharks or the bad guys?”

  “Hoping to avoid sharks and bad guys,” Kurt said. “And if I’m right, the face paint is being applied in Tessa’s luxurious bedroom suite. As for the rest of the gear, I have everything I need I here.” He patted the waterproof pouch.

  “I lifted that earlier,” Priya said. “Surprisingly cold on such a warm night.”

  “As it should be,” Kurt insisted.

  Priya smiled. She had her own gear in front of her, including her ever-present laptop, a second computer that was connected to a portable satellite receiver, a handheld radio, a phone and an iPad.

  “I’ll keep an eye on you. And once you activate the listening device, I’ll be able to hear what you say, so keep it PG-13.”

  “I’ll try,” Kurt said.

  He raised a pair of binoculars and studied Baker’s Rock in the distance. They’d moved the Lucid Dream to a new spot, gaining an unimpeded view. Kurt could see the entire side of the island and the half-circular bay that lay at its feet. The Monarch sat there, lit up on both sides by floodlights. A trophy on display.

  Scanning the layers of stone behind the aircraft, Kurt saw two sets of stairs running up from the water and an arrangement of columns on the highest level that added to the sense that he was looking at a Greek or Roman palace.

  As Kurt studied the island through the binoculars, Priya studied it on her computer, viewing the feed from one of the drones. Her view was far more detailed.

  “There’s a guard standing on the promontory on the right-hand side of the bay,” she said. “Another one by the stairs and one patrolling the grounds. The one on patrol has a dog.”

  “I should have packed some treats,” Kurt said.

  He wasn’t worried about the guards, but he did need to appear in the right place at the right time. He could be sure there were cameras situated at various points around the bay and possibly on the Monarch. He decided it would be best to emerge from the water where one of the guards might catch him.

  Putting the binoculars down, he checked his watch. “Time to go. Stay in touch with Joe, he may need assistance . . . or bail money.”

  Priya held up the phone. “I’ve got him right here.”

  Shouldering his waterproof pack, Kurt took the stairs to the lowest deck, climbed down a ladder and dropped into the calm waters of Bermuda’s Great Sound.

  Once he was in the water, he pulled on a pair of compact fins, pushed away from the yacht and began his swim. He moved methodically, using a forward crawl, keeping up a brisk pace.

  After five minutes, he was approaching the lighted bay. Here, he angled to one side, avoiding the aircraft. Once inside the bay, he went straight for the stairs, climbed out of the water and took a seat on the second step.

  He sat there as if he hadn’t a care in the world, calmly taking the fins off, removing a towel from the waterproof pack and drying his hair and face and body.

  That done, he tossed the towel aside, shouldered the pack once more and began to climb the stairs.

  If he wasn’t on camera now, Tessa needed to fire her security team.

  * * *

  • • •

  INSIDE THE COMPOUND, Tessa was exactly where Kurt predicted she’d be, sitting at a mirror, half dressed, applying makeup. A stunning evening gown waited for her a few feet away.

  She had a mascara brush in her hand when the intercom buzzed and the voice of her security chief spoke. “Sorry to interrupt you, Ms. Franco, but we have a breach.”

  She finished her lashes and put the brush down. Pressing a button on the intercom beside her, she spoke aloud. “What kind of breach?”

  “A swimmer just came out of the water. He’s coming up the stairs toward the main house now.”

  “What do you mean, a swimmer?” she replied. “Are we being attacked?”

  “Not exactly, ma’am.” The chief seemed confused. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s one man, on his own. He’s made no effort to conceal himself. Maybe he thinks this is public property.”

  “Is he trying to get a look at the plane?” she asked. “We’ve had that before.”

  “No,” the chief said. “He’s heading for the patio.”

  “Put it on the screen,” she said. “I want to see for myself.”

  A screen lit up inside the mirror in front of her. It was bright enough that she could see a figure walking calmly across her patio like he owned the place. He wore colorful swim trunks. He was admirably fit and carrying a pack, but there was no sense that he posed any danger. If anything, he seemed to be admiring the grounds or looking for a spot to relax.

  As Tessa watched, one of the security guards rushed toward the new arrival, attempting to tackle the swimmer. The guard was immediately flipped and subdued on the ground.

  “Zoom in,” Tessa ordered.

  As the camera closed in on the man in the swim trunks, a second guard arrived with his weapon drawn and Tessa exhaled in frustration.

  “Order your men to back off,” she said. “I’m coming down.”

  Tessa stood up, slipped into her dress and stopped to look in the full-length mirror. Satisfied, she glanced at the screen once more and then left the room.

  26

  CENTRAL BERMUDA

  WHILE KURT was successfully getting captured at Tessa’s compound, Joe was on the road, driving a small van toward a tricky intersection near the estate where Oliver Warren was staying.

  “How do I let Kurt talk me into this stuff,” he mumbled.

  “What was that?” Priya replied over the phone.

  Joe had almost forgotten they were on an open line. “Nothing, just wondering if my olfactory senses will ever recover.”

  He drove with the windows down, the fan on and the A/C running full blast, but nothing—and he meant nothing—seemed to reduce the smell of rotting fish coming from the rear of the van.

  Piles of dead fish filled the back, packed with just enough ice to make it look like they were being shipped somewhere.

  “Catch of the day,” Joe said. “But which day?”

  All he knew for sure was that the load of fish had been destined for a compost pile until Kurt’s bright idea had put them in the back of Joe’s rental van.

  “You’re coming up on the roundabout,” Priya said. “You sure you know how to handle that?”

  Joe was just fine remembering to stay on the left-hand side of the road. With a bit of traffic, all he had to do was follow the car in front of him. “I’ll do my best,” Joe said. “But what do the English have against traffic lights and cold beer?”

  “Roundabouts are fun,” Priya said, defending the country she’d grown up in. “And you can’t really taste ice-cold beer.”

  She had a point. “Any sign of Warren?”

  “I’m still tapped into the limo company’s server,” Priya said. “The driver just reported picking him up. They’re leaving the manor house now.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said. “I’ll keep circling this roundabout like a vulture, just hope I can drive straight when I get back on the road.”

  “Don’t get dizzy,” she said. “Also, the limo isn’t a limousine, it’s a silver Lincoln
MKX. A big sport utility vehicle.”

  “As long as it has tires,” Joe said. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

  Joe could hear Priya tapping away at her keyboard.

  “I’m going to program your map system with the GPS data from the limo company’s internal tracking network,” she said. “That way, you’ll be able to find Warren if you get separated.”

  Joe had never worked directly with Priya before, but he was enjoying it. “Have to say you’re a lot more organized and prepared than Kurt. Don’t tell him I said that.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I would never violate hacker–client privilege.”

  Joe looked down at the navigation display on his phone. He saw two moving dots on the street map, a blue one for him and a red one for the SUV that Warren was riding in.

  “He’s coming down the Middle Road as expected,” Priya said.

  Bermuda was long and thin. It had three main roads that ran the length of the island. North Shore Road on one coast, South Road on the other coast and the aptly named Middle Road running along the spine of the island.

  “I see him,” Joe said. “I’m going to make one more loop and then pull out in front of him.”

  Joe circled the roundabout once more, slowing so he could cut Warren off. Several passing cars honked their horns at him. Joe ignored them and continued to dawdle until he spotted the stark white headlights of the brand-new Lincoln coming his way.

  He sped up, pulled hard to the left and then had to swerve at the last second to avoid a pair of tourists on mopeds. Horns blared again—and not in the friendly way that everyone on the island tended to honk at everyone they knew.

  “You all right?” Priya asked.

  “Barely,” Joe said. “This is turning out to be more dangerous than I thought. I’m in front of the Lincoln now. Just need to get some open space before I stop him.”