Текст книги "Fire Ice"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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18

THE TRIP FROM Novorossiyskto Istanbul was an aviation nightmare. Unspecified mechanical problems delayed the flight on the ground. The Trouts sat in the hot and crowded cabin for an hour before being switched to another plane. The passengers who sampled the mystery meat served for the in-flight meal paid a price for their daring when the plane encountered turbulence. Adding to everyone's misery, only one toilet was operable.

Paul and Gamay thought their suffering had ended after the white-knuckle flight, but the taxi driver who picked them up at the airport drove as if he had a death wish. When Paul asked him to slow down, he punched the gas pedal.

"I think something got lost in the translation," Gamay said over the squeal of tires.

"Must be my New England accent," Paul said.

"Don't worry about it," Gamay said, with a determined set to her jaw. "After what we've been through on this trip, nothing, not even death, will stand between me and a hot shower, a Bombay Sapphire gin martini and a long nap."

The cab narrowly missed the doorman, who stepped back like a matador playing a bull, and screeched to a jarring stop in front of the Marmara Istanbul Hotel on Taksim Square. They exited the cab as if they were in a twin ejection seat, paid off the smiling cabby and made their way across the spacious lobby to the check-in desk.

The desk clerk was a dapper man whose slicked-down hair and razor-trimmed mustache made him resemble Hercule Poirot. He saw the Trouts approach and flashed a high-wattage smile. "Welcome back, Drs. Trout. I hope you had a pleasant journey exploring Ephesus." When they'd left the hotel for Novorossiysk, the Trouts had announced with great fanfare that they were going to visit the ancient ruins on the coast of Asia Minor.

"Thank you, yes, the Temple of Artemis was fascinating," Gamay gushed with the proper amount of awe. The clerk smiled and handed Paul an envelope along with the room key. "This message came for you earlier today."

Paul opened the envelope, unfolded the paper inside and handed it to Gamay. She read the single sentence neatly printed on hotel stationary: "Call me soonest. A."

A telephone number followed the brief message.

"Duty calls,” Paul said.

Gamay rolled her eyes. "Sometimes duty calls at the worst damn time!" She snatched the key from his hand and headed for the elevator.

Back in their room, Paul suggested that Gamay take the first shower while he called Austin. She snapped up the offer without hesitation and left a trail of clothes leading to the bathroom. Concluding that a palliative was in order, Paul called room service and asked to have a shaker of extra-dry martinis sent up. The tray arrived about the same time the shower stopped running. Paul poured a glass and knocked on the bathroom door. It opened in a cloud of steam, and a hand reached out for the martini. He poured himself a drink, propping his long legs up on a footstool, took a grateful sip and pronounced the cocktail tolerable for Istanbul. Fortified for the task ahead, he dialed the number on Austin's note.

"We're back in Istanbul," Trout said, when Kurt's voice came on the line. "Got your note."

"Good. How was your trip?"

"lnformative and full of surprises." Trout gave Austin a summary.

"From your description of Razov's yacht, it sounds like a FastShip. Probably powered by gas turbines that can kick it up to speeds twice that of comparable boats. Smart. Razov can move his center of operations anywhere on the globe within days. I'm glad no one was hurt, but it's too bad about the professor's cottage. As soon as we hang up, I'll start the ball rolling on an official NUMA invitation to Orlov and his son."

"They'll be thrilled. How did your excursion go?"

"Like you and Gamay, we got a warm reception, but I wouldn't advise it for a Cook's Tour. I'll fill you in when we meet."

"Can't wait to hear the details."

"You'll get your chance sooner than you think. I'm on the Argo, and I could use the immediate services of a deep-ocean geologist and a marine biologist who will work cheap."

"Unfortunately, I know where you can find a couple of poor wastrels who fit that description exactly."

"I knew I could count on you. I've made arrangements for transportation. How soon will you be ready to travel?"

"We arrived at the hotel a few minutes ago, so we won't even have to pack." Paul glanced at the bathroom door and smiled. Gamay was singing an off-key version of "Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair." "Do we have time to finish our martinis?"

"Oh hell, Paul, have two. You'll be sharing space with a VIP from the States. You've got a couple of hours before he flies in."

"Wonderful! We get to ride with a six-chinned Senator Claghorn with a comb-over."

Austin chuckled. "Incredible, Paul. You must be psychic. How'd you know it was the good senator?"

"Lucky guess. I'll break the news to Gamay. We'll see you tonight."

Paul jotted down the travel time and place. As he hung up, Gamay came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her slim body, another turban-style on her head and a half-empty martini glass in her hand. The shower and drink had mellowed her mood. When he told her they would have to hit the road again, Gamay even greeted the news with a smile, saying that she missed Kurt and Joe.

Paul took his turn in the shower, and Gamay sent down to room service for lamb shish kebab and pilaf. The food arrived as they were starting on their second martini. After dinner, they changed their clothes, and with full stomachs, clean bodies and refreshed spirits, they took another cab to the airport. The cab driver had no kamikaze yearnings and except for the usual heavy traffic, the trip was uneventful.

As Austin instructed, they asked to be dropped off away from the main airport terminal at a section used by small private airlines. They made their way to a hangar whose floodlights gleamed off the turquoise paint of a midsized helicopter. The letters NUMA were painted in black on the side. The rotor turned slowly as the engines warmed up. The pilot stood on the tarmac talking to someone. Even though the man's back was turned, the Trouts immediately recognized the narrow shoulders and hips and thinning hair of NUMA's deputy director. Rudi Gunn turned, greeted them with a wide grin and jerked his thumb toward the open door of the aircraft.

"Need a lift?"

Gamay turned to Paul. "So this is the six-chinned senator with the major comb-over that you were telling me about?"

Trout did a classic double-take. "For God's sakes, Rudi, why didn't you tell us you were the bigwig VIP?"

"Didn't want to spoil your fun. Admiral Sandecker thought I should be in the neighborhood in case the situation got complicated. I've been in Athens representing NUMA at a conference on nautical archaeology. It was only a short hop here via executive jet. The helicopter flew in from a project in the eastern Aegean. Sandecker figured it was time for me to jump in with both feet after Kurt called him with news of the 'package' he had to deliver."

"Package?" Paul said.

"I'll tell you everything I know on the way. Shall we?"

They climbed into the chopper and took their seats in the spacious cabin. The engines revved up, and minutes later the Sikorsky S-76C lifted rapidly into the sky. The sprawling lights of Istanbul straddling the Bosporus on two continents spread below them like a sequined tapestry. Powered by its twin Arriel engines, the helicopter headed north at a cruising speed of one hundred seventy-five miles per hour.

The pilot's voice came over their earphones in a lazy, slightly western Chuck Yeager drawl.

"Hi, folks. My name is Mike. Make yourselves comfortable. Should be plenty of room to stretch. They designed this chopper for oil-rig support, so it's pretty much a flying bus. We can take twelve passengers. You're lucky to be going on this leg. We expect to be pretty crowded on the return trip. There's a thermos of hot coffee up near the bulkhead. Help yourselves. Please let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, sit back and enjoy the flight."

Gunn poured the coffee and passed the steaming cups around. "Good to see you both. Sorry your sabbaticals were cut short. Officially speaking, you're still on leave, I'm sitting in an auditorium at the Greek National Archaeological Museum, and this meeting is not taking place."

"What's been going on, Rudi?" Paul said. "We've only heard bits and pieces."

"I'm not sure what the total picture looks like, but here's what we do know. Several days ago, Admiral Sandecker was invited to a White House meeting with the president and his advisors. The White House was worried about the deteriorating political situation in Russia. Some of the president's men scolded Sandecker for allowing Kurt to violate Russian sovereign territory at the abandoned Soviet submarine base. They were worried that it would give Russian opposition forces ammunition to use against the government, which is already fighting for its life. The admiral apologized, said it was an accident and offered to talk directly to the Russians. His offer was rejected. Then he asked what the White House was doing about the NR-1. Strangely, the president and his people had forgotten to tell Sandecker the sub was missing."

Paul grinned and said, "Assuming the admiral wouldn't know was pretty dumb on their part."

Gamay shook her head. "It's unbelievable that the NR-1 could vanish with no trace, as if it had been swallowed by a sea monster."

"You're not far off the mark. The NR-1 was hijacked and transported on the deck of a submarine."

"That's more far-fetched than the sea monster theory," Gamay said.

"We were trying to figure things out, when Kurt called and said a source had told him that a mining tycoon named Mikhail Razov is behind the political unrest in Russia. According to the White House, there's a tie between the NR-1's disappearance and the mess in Moscow. In addition, Razov's company, Ataman Enterprises, has leased the sub base from the Russian government."

Gamay said, "That's why Kurt asked us to look into Razov's operation at Novorossiysk."

"You think the NR-J was taken to this old sub base?"

Paul said. "We thought that was a possibility. But we were more worried about something else Kurt's source said, that Razov was connected to a plot against the United States."

"What sort of plot?" Paul asked.

"We don't know. Sandecker considered the tip serious. When Kurt said he was assembling the Special Assignments Team and planned to go back to the base, the admiral gave his unofficial blessing. Kurt must have mentioned that his mission was, uh, unofficial."

"He put it quite colorfully," Gamay said, laughingly.

"I won't even ask," said Rudi, imagining Austin's report. "The White House specifically warned Admiral Sandecker to stay clear of the NR-1 investigation. I'm sure it won't surprise you to know he managed to get around that warning by a technicality. He agreed not to search for the sub, but said nothing about the sub base."

"I'm shocked, shocked," Gamay said with mock horror, echoing Casablanca.

"Me, too," said Paul. "Who would have thought such a thing?"

"Your sarcasm is dutifully noted and ignored. But you get the point. We had to keep the admiral insulated to give him room to maneuver.

"Risky," Paul said. "The whole thing could blow up in NUMA's face."

"Sandecker was well aware of that possibility, but the gods who watch over the Black Sea were in a benevolent mood."

"You look like the cat who swallowed the canary," Gamay said, noting Gunn's enigmatic smile. "Apparently, Kurt has some good news."

"Very good. He and Joe found the NR-1's crew – the package I mentioned. They were being held captive at the Russian base. They're on the Argo now."

"That's great, but I don't understand," Paul said, furrowing his brow. "The Russians were holding them prisoner?"

"It's more complicated than that, from what I gather. The captain and pilot are still missing, along with the sub itself. Kurt wanted us all to be at the crew's debriefing."

"Finding these guys is quite a coup for NUMA and the admiral," Paul observed.

"Unfortunately, we can't claim credit for the rescue. I'm not sure how it will be announced, since no one has ever told the public of the hijacking. The top brass has been keeping the sub's hijacking a secret."

"Hard to keep a secret in Washington," Paul said. "The story is bound to get out."

"I agree. We've notified the navy that we found the sub's crew, but we've deliberately been short on details. We won't be able to get away with that strategy forever. Which is why this brainstorming session with the crew is so important. We've got to get to the bottom of this. Why don't we help ourselves to more coffee while you fill me in on your encounter with Ataman?"

Gamay volunteered to refill their coffee mugs. "I'll let Paul do the play-by-play and I'll add the color," she said.

Gunn listened to their story without interrupting. From experience, they knew that Gunn would absorb every detail; his analytical skills were legendary. He had been the first in his class at the U.S. Naval Academy, had formerly held the rank of commander and before he became second-in-command to Sandecker, had overseen logistics and oceanographic projects for NUMA.

Gunn peppered them with questions after they finished their tale. He was particularly interested in Boris, the "mad monk," and in Yuri's comment about the absence of the big drilling ships. Ataman's violent reaction was simple to explain. Razov had something to hide and didn't like people snooping around. But Boris and the missing drilling ships didn't fit into any equation he could formulate. He sat back in his seat, adjusted the horn-rimmed glasses on his hawkish nose and tented his fingers, much as Sherlock Holmes would have looked, absorbed by a puzzle. All he needed to complete the picture was a pipe and a deerstalker's cap.

The pilot's voice broke Gunn's concentration. "We're coming up on the Argo, folks. If you look off to the right, you'll see the ship."

The Argo had switched on every light in greeting and looked look like a giant floating Christmas tree against the inky darkness of the sea. The helicopter hovered over the ship and slowly descended onto the large, blinking X that marked the landing pad. The touchdown was nearly perfect, marked by a slight thump of the wheels on the deck. The rotors spun to a stop, and the copilot came back to open the door. The passengers thanked the crew for a smooth flight and descended the boarding steps, eyes blinking against the brilliant floodlights that turned the night into day.

Austin's broad shoulders and pale hair were easy to spot among the crowd that had gathered to greet the arrivals. He strode over, shook hands with Gunn and put his arms around the Trouts.

"Hope you had time for your martinis," Austin said.

Gamay smiled and pecked his cheek. "We squeezed in two drinks apiece, thank you."

"Sorry to drag you out here so soon after your Novorossiysk trip." He guided them to the mess hall and brought them three tinkling glasses of fresh-squeezed lemonade. "Joe's baby-sitting the crew in the conference room. We're meeting with them in fifteen minutes to hear their story. The crew is anxious to get home, and I've asked them to give us an hour while the chopper fuels up."

Gunn puckered his lips in amusement as Austin filled them in on the crew's rescue. "I don't mean to demean the dangers you described, Kurt, but it sounds like a Pink Panther movie, with all those people running around."

"I was thinking more of the Keystone Kops," Austin said. "Someday I'll look back and chuckle over the whole crazy episode." He brushed his head lightly with his fingers. "But if my hair could have gotten any whiter, it would have."

"I'm intrigued by this Russian you call Ivan," Gunn said. "How do you know him?"

"Our paths crossed when I was working for the CIA."

"Is he a friend or foe?"

"I'd call him a friend for the moment. I suspect that he'll do pretty much what he thinks is in the best interests of Russia. He is devious and shrewd – and he didn't survive all those purges in Russian intelligence by being a choirboy."

"That's quite a resume. Despite his checkered background, you think we should trust him?"

"For now. And for one very good reason."

"What's that?" Gunn said. "He's all we've got."

19

TH E SOGGY BUNCH Captain Kemal had rescued from the sea and transferred to the Argo was gone. In their place was a happy band of submariners who could laugh about their ordeal, which was what they were doing when Austin and the others arrived at the conference room.

After boarding the Argo, the NR-1 crew had been checked out by the ship's medical technician, filled with extraordinary meals from the galley and given the loan of NUMA work coveralls. Except for scratches and bruises, the men in the conference room showed few visible effects from their ordeal. Sitting at the metal table that occupied center place were Captain Atwood, Ensign Kreisman and Joe Zavala. Joe smiled broadly when he saw his NUMA colleagues come through the door. He rose and went over to shake hands with Gunn and Trout. Ever the ladies' man, he gave Gamay a kiss on the cheek.

After a quick round of introductions, Austin announced, to claps and whistles, "In a few hours you'll be back in Istanbul, where a jet is waiting to fly you home. Your relatives have been notified that you're safe." More applause. "You must be anxious to be on your way, but I've got a favor to ask. We've only heard parts of your remarkable story. While the chopper is fueling up for the return trip, I'm hoping you can tell us what happened from start to finish."

Ensign Kreisman stood and said, "It's the least we can do. I'm sure I speak for the crew when I say thanks to you and Joe for getting us out of that place in one piece."

"Remind us to bring a Bradley fighting vehicle the next time," Austin said. He waited for the laughter to die down. "If you don't mind, Ensign, I'll play Perry Mason. I think it will go faster that way."

"No problem, sir."

"Good. Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Kreisman took a position in front of a wall chart that showed the eastern Aegean. "Our mission was to dive on underwater archaeological sites off the Turkish coast. Here." He tapped the map. "In addition to our regular crew under the command of Captain Logan, we carried a guest scientist who called himself Dr. Josef Pulaski, supposedly from MIT."

Gunn raised his hand. "Point of information. After we learned the sub was hijacked, we went over the roster and found Pulaski's name. When we checked with MIT, they said they'd never heard of him."

"Too bad we didn't check before he came on board," the ensign said, with a shake of his head. "In any event, the mission was an unqualified success. We retrieved some artifacts with our manipulator capacity. We were preparing to surface, when Pulaski pulled a gun. Most of the crew was aft of the control room and didn't see it happen. The captain in– formed us over the intercom. He ordered us to stay put.or Pulaski would shoot us. The sub went up a few hundred feet and hovered."

"For how long?" Austin said.

"About twenty-five minutes. Then a huge shadow appeared in the monitors. It looked like a whale or shark coming up under the sub, and then there was a horrendous clang. The sub shook so hard, anyone who wasn't holding on was thrown to the floor. Next we heard a scraping and clawing, as if big metal beetles were crawling around on the outside of the hull. Divers. We could see them on the monitors. One clown even waved at the camera! Next thing we knew, the divers were gone and we were flying through the ocean."

Where were the captain and pilot and the other scientist during all of this?" Austin asked.

"In the control room."

"Did the captain say anything more?"

"Yes, sir. He said to send coffee and sandwiches forward."

"What was the support ship doing at this time?"

"We heard them calling on the radio until Pulaski ordered all communications shut down. I assume they tracked us until we were out of range."

"How long did you travel underwater?" Austin asked.

"A matter of hours. When we surfaced, it was as dark as Hades. Not a light to be seen anywhere. Then armed men came down the hatch into the NR-1."

"Russians?"

"We couldn't tell, although 1 think they were carrying AK-47s. They were wearing cami and acted like professional soldiers. Not like those jerks on horseback that you saved us from. They kept their mouths shut. Pulaski did all the talking. He told us to get out of the NR-1. We climbed out onto the deck of a big sub."

"Any idea on the sub's length?" Gunn said.

Kreisman looked around the room. "Anyone want to take a stab at a guess?"

Another seaman spoke up. "I served on a boomer when I first joined the navy. Judging from its beam, around thirty feet, I’d estimate this baby was as long as a Los Angeles class. About three hundred sixty feet."

"The NR-1 is only one hundred fifty feet long. They could easily piggyback you with more than two hundred feet to spare," Austin said.

The sailor nodded. "That sub was bigger than our support vessel."

Austin glanced around the room. "Anyone see markings?"

Nobody responded. "Too dark and no moon," Kreisman explained.

"So they moved you into the big sub?"

"Correct. They locked us in a bunk room. Not enough beds for all of us, so we took turns sleeping. They brought food from time to time. We submerged for twenty-four hours. When we surfaced again, it was night. The ocean was different from the Aegean. The air didn't have the saltiness we'd been used to. More like one of the Great Lakes."

"Tell them about the ship sounds we heard before that," one of the submariners said.

"Sorry, I forgot about that. It was a while before we surfaced. The bunk room was as quiet as a grave. Some of the guys in the bunks said they could hear the sound of ship engines through the bulkheads. We all put our ears up to the hull and listened. It was true."

"You were in an area of heavy ship traffic?"

"That's what we figured. Eventually, the noise died out. Several hours later, we came up next to a surface ship. It must have been waiting for us. They hustled us onto the ship and into another bunk room. That was our home sweet home for three days."

"They kept you there all that time?" Gunn said.

"Hell, no! Early the next morning, we were assembled on the deck. Guys with guns kept us covered, and the big sub was nowhere to be seen. Pulaski was there. He gave us that creepy smile of his. 'Good morning, gentlemen,' " Kreisman imitated Pulaski's accent. " 'In return for this delightful cruise, we are going to ask that you do a little job for us.' He said we would be salvaging material from an old ship. Pulaski and another thug were going with us. So we piled into the NR-1 alongside the ship, which was acting as our tender, and down we went."

"How deep?"

"Four hundred feet plus. No big deal for the NR-1. We noticed the water buoyancy was different. We needed less ballast to bring us down. The sea bottom was mud for the most part, sloping before it abruptly dropped off into the deep. The wreck sat on the bank of an underwater canyon or valley that ran at right angles to the cliff face."

"Was there a name on the ship's hull?"

"None that we could see. The vessel was covered with seaweed and barnacles. The bow was more up-and-down than raked, like those pictures you see of the Titanic." He used his hand to demonstrate.

"What was its position on the bottom?"

"The ship sat on the slope, leaning over at a sharp angle. It looked as if a good shove would tip it over. We saw a big hole in the starboard side."

"Could you see inside the hole?"

"It was filled in with rubble. We only stayed there a minute. They were more interested in the other side. They had fitted out the manipulator arm with a cutting torch. We touched down on the slanting deck. It was pretty dicey putting the sub down at an angle. We had the feeling the ship could roll over at any time. Then they told us to cut a hole in the superstructure."

"Not in the hold?" Austin said with surprise. "That's where the cargo would be."

"You'd think so, but we weren't in a position to argue. We made an opening around ten by ten feet. It wasn't too hard – the metal was old and rusted. We had to be careful, though. It was like a surgical operation. One nudge and the ship would drop off into the deep; we were all aware of that. We could see the old bunks and mattresses. Pulaski and his buddy got real agitated. They started to jabber over some diagrams of the wreck that they had with them."

"In Russian."

"Sounded like it. Apparently, they'd had us cut through the wrong spot. We tried two more times before they found what they wanted. It was a fairly big cabin filled with metal boxes the size of those old steamer trunks you see in antique shops."

"How many boxes?"

"About a dozen, jumbled every which way. Pulaski told us to grab them with the NR-1's manipulator arm. We had a tough time moving them. They were obviously heavy and strained the manipulator to capacity. We pulled the boxes to the opening and called the surface ship and told them to lower some lines with hooks on the ends of them. We attached the lines, stood off and let the ship winch the stuff up with its superior lifting power."

Austin, who had been trained in deepwater salvage, nodded. "Exactly the way I would have handled it."

"Captain Logan's idea." Kreisman smirked with embarrassment. "We were like the British soldiers in that movie, Bridge on the River Kwai. We really got into it. Professional pride, I guess."

"Don't feel bad. They probably would have killed you if you hadn't done the job."

"That's what the captain said. We worked round-the-clock shifts. There were a few of the hitches you'd expect with a job that complicated, but we got all the stuff they wanted off the ship."

"Did you see what was in the steamer trunks?"

"That was a funny thing. They shoved us around the corner, but we could hear them prying the boxes open with a crowbar. They sounded pretty excited. Then there was this silence, and next we heard them yelling. It sounded like an argument. Then Pulaski appeared and started shouting at us in Russian, like whatever happened was our fault. He looked real angry, but I think he was a little scared." Kreisman glanced around the room and got nods of agreement from the other crewmen.

"No indication what the dustup was all about?"

He shook his head. "They put us below, and when they brought us on deck again it was night. The monster sub was back. There was a ship nearby, too. We couldn't see in the dark, but it sounded like a big one. They loaded us aboard the sub, except for the captain and pilot-same first-class accommodations. We traveled underwater, a shorter time than before. When we were allowed out, we were in a place as big as an airplane hangar."

"That would be the sub pen. What happened to the NR-1?"

"We don't know. It was still tied up alongside the salvage vessel when we left. The captain and pilot are okay, I hope," he said with consternation. "Why would they keep us prisoner and let them go?"

"They may have further work for the NR-1 or simply want hostages. What happened next?"

"They put us in yet another bunk room. A real dump. We were there a couple of days. Bored as hell. The only excitement was what sounded like a big explosion from somewhere below."

"They were sealing the entrance to the sub pen."

"Why would they do that?"

"The base had been discovered, and they wanted to make sure no one would find the evidence. The big sub used in the hijack had served its purpose. I wouldn't be surprised if they planned to plug the surface entrance later. Maybe with you inside. What was the guard situation?"

"Same bunch who kept an eye on us on the salvage ship. Military types with automatic weapons. They gave us black bread and water, and locked us in. Next thing we know, these guys with the funny hats and the baggy pants showed up. The first guards were Girl Scouts compared to this gang. They beat up a couple of the guys just for chuckles, dragged us outside and herded us into that big field. You know the rest."

Austin looked around the room. "Any questions?"

"Did you get a glimpse of your GPS position when you were on the NR-1?" Gunn asked.

"They kept us away from the positioning gauges, then turned them off later so we couldn't see."

"Damn shame," Gunn said.

Laughter rippled around the room.

"Are we missing a joke?" Gunn said.

A slim blond-haired crewman in his midtwenties stood and identified himself as Seaman Ted McCormack. He passed a sheet of paper toward the table. "These are the GPS coordinates for the wreck."

"How can you be sure?" Gunn said, reading the figures.

McCormack held out his arm and displayed what looked like an overgrown digital wristwatch. "My wife gave this to me. We got married just before I shipped out. She's got a chart back home so when I called her she could mark exactly where I was."

"We used to kid Mac about being on a short leash," Kreisman said. "Not anymore."

"When we were hijacked, I slid this thing up my arm and kept it covered under my sleeve," McCormack said. "They never frisked us. Figured we were harmless, I guess."

The ProTek GPS watch was a miracle of miniaturization, said by its manufacturer to be the world's smallest GPS device. It could give the wearer his position anywhere on the planet within a few yards.

Austin grinned. "Let's hear it for love." He looked around the room. "Now, to quote the immortal words of Porky Pig, 'That's all, folks.' Thanks for your help. And bon voyage."

The NR-1 crew rose to their feet as one and stampeded out of the conference room like thirsty steers who'd smelled water. Austin turned to the NUMA team.

Paul flipped open his laptop computer and connected it to the modem that would allow files to be projected on a large screen at one end of the room. Gamay stood next to the projection screen with a laser pointer. Paul tapped a few keys, and a map of the kidney-shaped Black Sea and the surrounding land appeared.