Текст книги "Zero Hour"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Graham Brown
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

THIRTY

Tartarus

Deep beneath the surface of the ice-covered island, Patrick Devlin found his ears ringing. The bone-shaking sound of a huge rock drill grinding away had all but deafened him over the past hour. When it suddenly stopped, the silence was almost painful.

“That’s deep enough,” a burly foreman shouted.

Devlin backed away from the wall. The heavy drill was mounted on an ore cart of sorts. Padi’s job was to keep pressure on it and drill a series of boreholes in the wall. Covered in dust and grime, he stepped back as another man placed a series of charges in the holes and began attaching wires to the caps.

A sharp whistle sounded. “Everyone to the tunnel,” a foreman demanded.

Spread about the large cavern, a dozen other workers busy crushing rocks and scooping the rubble onto a conveyor belt stopped what they were doing and began trudging toward a small tunnel entrance on one side of the room.

They fit themselves inside, taking shelter under the steel-reinforced arch, weary souls glad to put down their tools for a moment. Devlin noticed their faces were drawn but their bodies fit.

With the armed foreman and his assistant checking the explosives, he took a chance. “What’s your name?” he asked a black man who stood beside him.

“My name is Masinga,” the man replied in a distinct South African accent.

Devlin nodded. “I’m Patrick,” he said. “Sometimes, people call me Padi. What is this place?”

“Don’t you know?”

Devlin shook his head.

“Diamond mine,” Masinga said.

Devlin studied the crumbled rock sitting on the motionless conveyor belt. “I don’t see any diamonds.”

“They’re in the rock,” Masinga explained. “Not much of a miner if you don’t know that.”

“I’m not a miner,” Devlin said.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I was bloody well shanghaied,” Devlin swore under his breath. “Weren’t you?”

“No,” Masinga said. “I signed a contract. We all did. Paid us twice the rate De Beers was offering. Only when it came time to leave, we were kept on against our will.”

“Have you tried to escape?”

The man laughed. “Do we look like fish? We’re on an island in the middle of the ocean. Where would we escape to?”

“But your families,” Padi said. “Surely, they can protest.”

“They’ve been told we died in an accident,” another man said. He sounded like he might be from South America. “And they never knew where we were in the first place. None of us did until we got here.”

It sounded like madness to Devlin, but then little had made sense since he’d spotted the Voyagerin the harbor off the coast of Jakarta.

“What about you?” Masinga asked. “Maybe someone will come looking.”

“Not likely,” Padi said, remembering that Keane was unconscious when he found the Voyager. “If I had to guess, the whole world probably thinks I’m dead too.”

“You are, then,” Masinga said. “We all are.”

“Tartarus,” Devlin mumbled, prison of the underworld. Now it made sense to him.

“Fire in the hole!” the foreman called out.

The burly man pressed a switch. A dozen small charges went off in rapid succession. The wall bulged out, holding its shape for an instant and then crumbling in a great clamor and cloud of dust.

Fans designed to draw the dust and heat out of the room kicked on, and the cloud was evacuated up a large vertical shaft that led to the surface. It swirled past them, sticking to their sweat-covered bodies. By the time it cleared, Padi’s face was as dark as Masinga’s. In fact, all of them were the same gray color no matter the shade of their skin.

The foreman looked over, the shotgun resting on his shoulder. “Break’s over,” he shouted. “Back to work.”

Masinga and the others rose up and wearily began moving into position. Against his will, Devlin followed.

THIRTY-ONE

MV Rama, 1745 hours

Location 61°37′ S, 87°22′ E

Fifteen hours after abruptly ending his chess game, Gregorovich stood over the lighted chart table as another new course line was drawn. This one led off to the northwest.

Kirov stood across from him with one of the commandos at his side. “That’s the ninth course change he’s ordered.”

The MV Ramacould be felt turning to starboard.

“Approaching new heading,” the navigator called out nervously. “Three hundred twenty-three degrees.”

“He’s toying with us,” Kirov said dangerously. “And you’re indulging him.”

Gregorovich stared. The presence of the second commando was Kirov’s idea. A show of force. No doubt the mutiny he felt brewing was close to being launched.

The men were getting nervous. It was palpable. They were land-based commandos far from home in a dangerous situation with deteriorating conditions. The ship was rolling appreciably in the growing swells, and the sky had turned gray-white. It looked like snow would be falling soon. At Austin’s direction, they’d come so far south they’d begun dodging small icebergs, an effort not helped by the reduced visibility.

Worst of all, they’d heard in detail how the Orionwas crushed and dragged to the depths as if by a monster from the deep. So far, order remained, but Gregorovich sensed it would not last.

“At least we’re heading north,” he said, turning to the navigator. “What’s in this direction?”

The navigator tapped the screen, and the map zoomed out slowly until finally Gregorovich spotted a yellow dot directly in their path.

“Heard Island,” the navigator said.

By tapping the screen at the island’s location, Kirov was able to bring up a block of information about it.

“Australian territory,” he said, reading from the screen. “Volcanic. Last appreciable eruption 2005. Covered in glaciers and completely uninhabited.”

Kirov looked up, a grin plastered from ear to scabbed-over ear. “That’s it,” he said. “Heard Island is the target. That’s where Thero’s hiding. Austin finally showed his hand. We can kill him now along with his crew and finish the job without worrying about them.”

Gregorovich didn’t like the idea of losing his counterweight. Nor did he think, after proving so crafty for so long, that Austin would have been dumb enough to blunder into revealing his secret with such ease.

“Zoom out,” he ordered.

The Vietnamese navigator did as he was told, and the map expanded again. Another set of dots appeared. These were roughly two hundred and seventy miles beyond Heard Island, directly on the same course line, 323 degrees.

Austin had maneuvered the Ramato a point where they were approaching both islands simultaneously.

“French Southern and Antarctic lands,” the navigator said.

“What kind of a name is that?” Kirov blurted.

“One you won’t forget, I trust,” Gregorovich said. “The same course line takes us to both of them. Thero could be hiding on either one. Or Austin could take us a little closer and then turn us in a new direction. We can’t kill him until we know for sure.”

“And once we know for sure?”

“Can you not think more than one move ahead?” Gregorovich asked. “Suppose Thero’s lab is on Heard Island. Our orders are to destroy it with a nuclear weapon. It’s Australian territory. Do you not see the advantage of leaving a few charred and radiated American bodies at the outer limit of such a blast?”

Kirov nodded.

“Launch the long-range drones,” he said. “If anything’s moving on Heard Island, I want to know about it.”

* * *

The noisy hum of piston engines caught Joe Zavala’s attention as he neared the ship’s mess with Hayley Anderson at his side.

“What’s that?” Hayley asked.

Joe cocked his head to listen. The sound reminded him of unmanned military aircraft he’d worked with a few months back. “The Russians are launching something up on deck,” he said. “A small plane, or maybe a drone.”

“Why would they be doing that?”

Joe considered several possibilities but put the thought aside when he saw a gaggle of the Russian commandos coming down the passageway. “No idea,” he said. “But let’s get in that chow line before those guys do.”

Turning quickly, he ducked into the mess hall. Hayley lingered just behind him, keeping an eye on the hallway.

Stepping to the buffet, Joe inhaled deeply. He loved Vietnamese food, the spices and all the vegetables. The ship’s cook had whipped up a pretty good spread. It almost seemed a shame to ruin it.

“They’re coming,” Hayley whispered.

Joe nodded, smiled at the chef, and began to load up his plate with heaping piles of everything on the menu. It was enough food for him and two others.

As the cook stared at him in wonder, Joe rubbed his stomach. “Nothing works up an appetite like being shipwrecked in frigid waters and then being kidnapped by your would-be rescuers.”

The cook’s face remained blank. Joe guessed English was not one of his languages. He put his hands together and bowed slightly. “Kam ung,”he said, thank youbeing one of the few phrases he knew in Vietnamese.

The cook smiled, his smooth face genuine and true. In a way, the Rama’s crew were as much prisoners of the situation as the Orion’s survivors.

Hayley sidled up to him, and began filling her own plate. “It’s now or never,” she said.

Joe pointed behind the cook to a wok that was smoking and starting to catch fire. As the cook turned around and went to put it out, Joe slipped a pouch from his sleeve as neatly as any magician. With a quick swish of his arm, he sprinkled the contents across everything in the buffet line. When the pouch was empty, he drew his hand back and stuffed it in his pocket.

As the Russians came in, they eyed Joe and Hayley for a moment and then moved to the head of the line. However odd they found the situation, they seemed more interested in feeding themselves than starting a confrontation they would catch hell for later.

Joe and Hayley sat down in the corner, trying not to watch as the commandos all but inhaled generous helpings of the tainted food.

* * *

Eight hours later, Kurt found himself on the bridge, staring at photos of Heard Island and wondering if the jig was up.

About fifteen miles long and ten miles wide, the island was roughly almond shaped and tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. A thin tail of land called Elephant Spit jutted out to the east like a breakwater, and a small blob called Laurens Peninsula clung to its northwest corner connected by a narrow isthmus.

In profile, Heard Island was obviously volcanic. The central peak, named Big Ben, towered nine thousand feet above the sea in a classic conical shape. It was actually one of the highest peaks in Australian territory, higher than anything on the continent itself.

A satellite view showed glaciers spreading out from Big Ben like the spokes of a wheel. They followed the steep grades down to the ocean in every direction, calving icebergs where they met the water. White chunks of ice, many larger than the MV Rama, encircled the island like pilot fish around the head of a great shark.

As Kurt studied the photos, Kirov and Gregorovich stood quietly, looking smug and very pleased with themselves. They were more than happy to show Kurt everything they’d discovered.

“Do you have any infrared shots?” Kurt asked.

Gregorovich slid a new series of photos across the table toward him.

These shots, taken by the Russian drones, showed seals and penguins and colonies of nesting birds. The next photo depicted a series of distinct heat sources grouped on the southeast coast of the island. A spot called Winston Lagoon.

“The first group of targets are thermal vents of some kind,” Gregorovich explained. “They could be naturally occurring and linked to the volcano or they could be man-made, indicating underground activity. The other images are unequivocal. They’re men on snowmobiles. Whoever they were, they disappeared into holes in the ground moments after these shots were taken.”

Kurt studied the location of the snowmobile photos. “Just inland from Winston Lagoon,” he said. “A good place to shelter. But I don’t see any ships there.”

“So they were dropped off,” Gregorovich said. “This is Thero’s way. His lab in Yagishiri was underground. His experiments involve delving deep into the Earth. Those hatches lead to Thero’s compound. I’m sure of it.”

Kurt didn’t doubt it. But nor did he doubt that Thero would be prepared for an assault. “Do you think they heard your drones?”

“The men we spotted showed no sense of alarm,” Gregorovich said. “Our drones are nearly silent, and almost invisible to the naked eye.”

Kurt nodded. The Ramawas still over the horizon and making only enough steam to hold station in the current. “Did you scan for radar sources?”

Gregorovich nodded. “No emissions. It seems they’re relying on stealth alone to protect them. They don’t know we’re coming.”

“There are other, more passive ways to detect an enemy’s approach,” Kurt said. “Infrared like your drone used. Visual. He could have motion-detecting cameras or even track you by sound. You head right for him and he’ll take your helicopters out before you hit the beach. And since he’s underground, lobbing a few missiles in his direction won’t do much to him either.”

“We have no reason to believe Thero possesses antiaircraft weapons,” Kirov sneered.

“He doesn’t need them,” Kurt said. “He has his death ray. If he spots this ship, he’ll send a massive distortion out to crush it just like he did the Orion. And if he spots your birds in the air, he’ll hit you with another weapon he’s developed. Something they call a flash-draw. He used it on the ASIO. It will shut down every system on your aircraft including the pilot’s nervous system. You’ll all be dead on impact before anyone wakes up.”

Kurt was talking fast, urgently trying to seize the initiative before they decided they no longer needed him. The Russians stared at him as if he were making it up.

“You’re just trying to save your neck,” Kirov guessed.

“Well, I’m rather fond of my neck,” he said. “I’ve become attached to it after all these years.”

Kirov didn’t seem to appreciate the humor.

Gregorovich glanced down at the map. “We could hold our current position,” he began. “Take the helicopters out to the north, well beyond visual range, and then swing around behind the island. By coming in from the north side of the island, we’ll be using the central massif to conceal our approach. In that way, we should arrive undetected.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kirov said. “Now we’re taking orders and tactical advice from our prisoner?”

Gregorovich ignored him and pointed to a spot on the map near the shoulder of Big Ben. “If we come in over saddle point and set down here on the far side of Big Ben, they shouldn’t be alerted to our presence. From there, it’s no more than seven or eight miles to the Winston Lagoon. Most of it downhill.”

It was a good plan. And they certainly didn’t need Kurt to pull it off. “Well, there you go,” he said, his hand edging closer to the Makarov in case he’d just outlived his usefulness.

“Not just us,” Gregorovich replied.

Kurt narrowed his gaze.

“We’re taking you and your crew with us.”

“Gonna be a little tight on those helicopters with so many people and the extra fuel you’ll need for the long circular journey.”

“As it turns out, a few seats have become available,” Gregorovich said. “Twelve of the commandos have taken ill with a horrendous stomach virus.”

“So give them some fluids and tell them to quit goldbricking,” Kurt said, hoping no one would actually listen to his advice.

Gregorovich shook his head. “We’re not going to hike a glacier with men puking their guts out every five minutes. They’re too dehydrated and weak to be of any use. You and your people will take their place.”

“Not all of our people are healthy either,” Kurt said. “Four of them are in your sick bay.”

“Only three,” Kirov corrected. “It seems one of them died during the night. From lingering effects of shock.”

“All they needed were basic treatments,” Kurt said angrily. “What kind of people are you?”

“The kind who will draw blood if we need to,” Gregorovich said, taking the conversation back from Kirov and unmistakably referencing their chess game and the altercation that nearly ended in both of their deaths. “The others will get the attention they deserve as long as you cooperate.”

Kurt stared. “Who do you want to bring?”

“You, your friend Zavala, and Ms. Anderson.”

“There’s no reason to bring her at this point,” Kurt said.

“I don’t need a reason,” Gregorovich said.

Kurt wondered if the Russian knew this was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Fine,” he said. “But not until I’m sure the others have been treated.”

A smirk appeared on the Russian’s rugged face. “Still protecting your pawns?” he asked. “So be it. They will receive what they need. But for you and I, the time has come. We’ll finish our game tonight right here where you said we’d be: at the very ends of the Earth.”

THIRTY-TWO

NUMA vessel Gemini

Gamay Trout sat in the darkened room of the Gemini’s ROV control center. She stared at the flickering black-and-white monitor in front of her. Twelve thousand feet below them, one of the ship’s deep-diving ROVs had come across a debris field.

Broken and mangled wreckage littered the seafloor in a familiar pattern. She had seen dozens like it before as NUMA explored and cataloged various wrecks. Only, this wreck was one of their own.

“Magnetometer reading peaking,” Paul said from beside her. “She’s got to be close.”

Paul and Gamay and the Gemini’s captain were crowded into the room along with three other techs. The quarters were tight, and no one wanted to see what they were about to find. Gamay slowed the ROV and tilted the camera upward. A moment later, the red hull plating of the Orion’s keel came into view along with her bent rudder and six-bladed propeller. The ship was lying on her side.

“That’s her,” the captain said grimly. “Bring the ROV up a hundred feet. Let’s see the big picture.”

Gamay did as ordered, operating calmly, despite the sick feeling in her stomach.

The ROV rose above the wreckage to reveal the true extent of the damage. The ship’s keel had been split wide open, like someone cracking a giant egg. Somehow, the two halves remained attached as she sank, but there was so much damage it was hard to make sense of it.

“No wonder they went down so fast,” Paul said.

As the ROV drifted on the current, they could see that the breach ran the width of the hull.

“Never seen a ship holed like that,” the captain said.

The ship began to drift out of view.

“Gamay?” Paul said, concerned at seeing her white face.

She stood up. “Someone else take over, please.”

As one of the other techs took her seat, she stepped through the crowd and made her way to the aft deck. She pushed the hatch open and welcomed the icy chill of the outside air.

A deep breath helped ease the feeling that had come over her, but as her gaze fell upon a tarp lashed to the deck, the uncomfortable feeling returned. Under the tarp were three bodies they’d found and pulled from the sea. Crewmen from the Orionwho’d drowned or died of hypothermia awaiting rescue. They now lay in bags on the deck. The ship had no cold storage, but the freezing air of the Antarctic waters was the next-best thing.

She turned away as Paul came out behind her.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I can’t treat this like some regular investigation. That’s one of ourships down there. These people are our friends.”

“And we need to know why it went down,” Paul reminded her. “We need to see if there are explosive burns or melted plates. We need to know if they were buckled from a mine or a torpedo or a missile impact, or if the plates were bent outward from some kind of an internal explosion. If the damage came from the outside, then we can rule out Ms. Anderson’s sensor device and activate our own.”

“I know all that,” she said.

“But?”

She sighed. “What if we find Kurt or Joe in there? What if we put the ROV inside the hull and come face-to-face with one of them? Every time we plucked someone out of the sea, I was afraid it would be someone we knew.”

Paul took her hand. “I understand,” he said. “I’ll have one of the other techs guide the ROV.”

She knew he was going to say that. She didn’t want that result. She just needed a moment. “Do you suppose there’s any chance they’re alive?”

Paul hesitated for a moment, then he shook his head. “I don’t see how they could be.”

She appreciated his honesty. Somehow, admitting it was a probability took the edge off the fear. “All right,” she said, stepping back toward the door. “I guess if I was gone, I’d want them to figure out what happened.”

“I would too,” Paul said. He opened the door and held it for her. She stepped inside, steeling herself for whatever they might find.

* * *

Kurt, Joe, and Hayley were given a modicum of winter clothing for the assault: a skintight base layer of wicking material, followed by a heavier thermal layer, and then outer shells of waterproof material. The pants, jackets, and hoods were camouflaged in a pattern of white and light gray. They were given white boots, and white wraps to cover their rifles.

“How do I look?” Joe asked, fully garbed.

“Like the abominable snowman’s little brother,” Kurt said.

“Apparently, they don’t come in my size,” Hayley said, the sleeves of her jacket flopping around well past her hands.

“Best they could do,” Kurt said, standing and ready to go. He found the uniform stifling in the heat of the ship’s cabin. He hoped it would do the trick out on the ice of the glacier.

Sliding the Makarov pistol into the holster strapped to his thigh, he stepped toward the hatch, pushed it open, and walked out onto the deck. There, beyond the stacked containers, were two of the ugliest gray helicopters he had ever seen.

“We’re flying in those contraptions?” Hayley said, looking shocked.

Sleek was not a word used to describe the Russian-built Kamov Ka-32s, code-named Helix by NATO. They resembled old buses, with rounded corners and three tiny wheels underneath. A double tail looked as if it had been stuck on the back as an afterthought, as if the designers had forgotten to include it in the first place.

Making them appear even less airworthy was the Russian double-rotor system. Instead of a tail rotor for stability, the Russians had a penchant for using two rotors above the helicopter. They turned opposite each other, stabilizing the gyroscopic forces. The Russians had been using the system for decades, but on the ground, with the rotors drooping under their own weight, the Helix looked like a science project gone awry.

“I’ve always wondered how those rotors avoid getting tangled up,” Joe said. “This thing’s like a giant eggbeater. The blades really should chop each other off.”

Kurt shot Joe a look, but it was too late. Hayley was hanging on every word.

“Come on,” Kurt said, noticing that the wind had picked up and that snow flurries had begun to fall. “We have less than eighteen hours.”

Gregorovich directed Zavala into one helicopter with Kirov and ordered Kurt and Hayley into the other. He climbed inside with them.

“How many men do we have?” Kurt asked as the door was buttoned tight and the engines began to wind up.

“Ten, not counting the pilots,” he said. “You three. Myself, Kirov, and five commandos.”

Kurt noticed three snowmobiles and piles of rope and climbing equipment in the rear section of the cavernous helicopter. “Are we riding or walking?”

“Both,” Gregorovich said. “We’ll take the snowmobiles for most of the journey, but near the edge of the glacier the sound of the engines will carry through the cavern. At that point, we’ll go on foot.”

As if on cue, the whine of the turbines reached a fever pitch, and the howl of the rotors’ downwash began to shake the heavily laden copter. It rocked back and forth for a few seconds and then slowly began to rise. Kurt stared out the window as a crosswind caught them.

Still rising, they were blown sideways. The pilot corrected just in time to avoid clipping one of the shipping containers. After climbing another thirty feet higher, they peeled away to the port side, accelerating as they passed the bow of the Rama.

Since they were without headsets, the thundering sound of the rotors made it necessary to shout just to be heard. “Think she’ll be here when we get back?” Kurt yelled, taking one last look at the Rama.

Gregorovich shrugged. “I really don’t care one way or another.”

At least three commandos remained behind, not counting those who were sick with food poisoning. Kurt hoped they would honor the uneasy peace, and he figured Captain Winslow and his XO would put up a stiff fight if they didn’t, but there was nothing more Kurt could do to protect them. All that mattered now was completing the mission ahead.

“So how do you plan to stop him?” Kurt asked.

“Take his compound by force,” Gregorovich said, and then pointed to a hard-shell suitcase strapped to the back of one snowmobile and marked with the international symbol for radiation. “And then detonate it.”

“Is that what I think it is?” Hayley asked.

“Afraid so,” Kurt said.

She looked greener with each passing second. Kurt figured that sharing a cabin with a nuclear weapon was not going to help her fear of flying. On the other hand, like the Russian assassin he’d now partnered with, Kurt was glad to have a weapon aboard that would leave no doubt.

* * *

News reaching Washington in the dead of night was seldom good. Dirk Pitt was alone in his office as the clock neared midnight when the latest blow hit.

“… so far, we’ve located eight bodies in the wreckage,”Paul Trout’s voice said from the speakerphone. The signal was scratchy and distorted from the continuing solar activity. “Almost all of them trapped at or near their posts. Considering the size of the hull breach, it seems like those belowdecks didn’t have a chance.”

Pitt rubbed his temples. “Can you tell what caused the breach?”

“The plating is twisted and badly deformed,”Paul said. “But we’ve found no burn marks or signs of explosive impact. It does seem like the hull was bent outward in places. But I can’t give you a definitive answer.”

Pitt was back to square one. He’d hoped to find evidence of a missile or torpedo attack, even an internal explosion if they could prove the presence of explosives. Something that would have told him Ms. Anderson’s sensor array was not at fault. Without it, he couldn’t order the Geminito power up their system and risk the same fate.

“We’ve taken a vote,”Paul volunteered. “Everyone on board is willing to risk using the sensor array if it means we might find the people who did this.”

A thin smile creased Pitt’s face. He was proud of the bravery displayed by the Gemini’s crew. “Too bad NUMA’s not a democracy,” he said. “Keep that thing off until I tell you otherwise.”

“Will do.”

“Report in immediately if you learn anything new,” Pitt said.

“It’s the middle of the night back there.”

“We have seventeen hours until the clock hits zero,” Pitt said. “No one here is going home before then.”

“Understood,”Paul replied.

Pitt waited for him to sign off, but he didn’t. “Anything else Paul?”

Static buzzed for a moment. “You didn’t ask. But I thought I should tell you we haven’t found Kurt or Joe.”

“Keep looking,” Pitt said.

“We will.Gemini out.”

The line went quiet, and Pitt leaned back in his chair. He glanced through the window at the lights twinkling in the dark on the other side of the Potomac. He could not in good conscience order the Geminito risk the same fate as the Orion, but how else could they hope to find Thero and stop him?

He jabbed at the intercom switch, pressing in the number for Hiram Yaeger’s floor.

“Yaeger here,” a tired voice said.

“Tell me you have something new, Hiram.”

“I have something,” Yaeger said sheepishly. “But I don’t think it’s going to help.”

“I’ll take anything at this point,” Pitt said.

“I have the computer on an autosearch mode,” Yaeger said. “It’s looking for anything of significance. The same way it found connections between the obituary notices of Cortland and Watterson.”

“And what has it found this time?”

“It’s discovered another odd coincidence,” Yaeger said, “regarding the handwritten notes sent to the ASIO.”

“Go on.”

“By comparing the samples, the computer determined with a ninety percent probability that both the handwritten threat sent to Australia and the documents sent to the ASIO by the informant were penned by the same person.”

Pitt sat back. “I thought the ASIO had ruled that out. One written by a lefty and the other by someone who was right-handed.”

“The handwriting is disguised to make it seem different,” Yaeger said, “but the word choices, pressure points, and stroke lengths are similar.”

Pitt’s mind raced to the conclusion. “But the threat letter has already been matched to Thero’s handwriting sample.”

“I realize that,” Yaeger said. “So either the computer is wrong or this man Thero is acting as both the perpetrator of the crime andthe informant.”

Pitt had no idea what this latest bombshell might mean, but he guessed there was some sinister reason behind it. Certainly he knew better than to second-guess Yaeger’s computer.

He glanced at the clock on the wall as the minute hand ticked over to the wrong side of midnight. Whatever the significance of this latest twist, it would have to wait till later.

“I don’t care how you do it, Hiram, but you have two hours to figure out another way for us to find Thero. After that, I have to order Geminito power up their sensor array.”

Yaeger grumbled something that Pitt couldn’t make out and then said, “I’m on it.”

Pitt cut the line and turned back toward the window. It was the dead of night in Washington, D.C., but broad daylight over Australia. If they didn’t find Thero and stop him, it might be the last peaceful day that nation experienced for a very long time.