Текст книги "White Death"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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6

THE BOAT CREW was watching for Austin to pop out of the

water, and they snagged him like a runaway calf. Within min– utes, he was back on the deck, where he spelled out the situation to Becker and Captain Larsen.

"Dear God," Becker said. "What a terrible way to die. My govern– ment will spare no expense to retrieve their bodies for the families."

Becker's pessimism was starting to annoy Austin. "Please stop playing the role of the melancholy Dane, Mr. Becker. Your govern– ment can hold on to its wallet. Those men aren't dead yet."

"But you said-"

"I fylow what I said. They're in tough shape, but that doesn't mean they're doomed. The Squalus submarine rescue took more than a day to accomplish, and thirty-three were saved." Austin paused as his sharp ears picked up a new sound. He stared at the sky and shaded his eyes against the glare of the overcast.

"Looks like the cavalry has arrived."

A gigantic helicopter was bearing down on the ship. Dangling below the helicopter in a sling was a blimp-shaped submarine with a blunt nose.

'That's the largest helicopter I've ever seen," Captain Larsen said. 'Actually, the Mi-26 is the biggest helicopter in the world,)) Austin said. "It's more than a hundred feet long. They call it the flying crane.

Becker smiled for the first time in hours. "Please tell me that strange-looking object hanging below the helicopter is your rescue vehicle."

"The Sea Lamprey isn't the prettiest craft in the sea," Zavala said with a shrug. "I sacrificed form for function in designing her."

"To the contrary," Becker said. "She's beautiful"

The captain shook his head in wonderment. "How on earth did you get this equipment here so quickly? You were twelve hundred miles away when the rescue call went out."

"We remembered that the Russians like to do things in a big way," Austin said. "They jumped at the chance to show the world they're still a first-rate nation."

"But that helicopter couldn't have carried it all that way in such a short time. You gentlemen must be magicians."

"It took a lot of work to pull this rabbit out of a hat," Austin said, as he watched the helicopter maneuver. "The Mi-26 picked up the submersible at sea and transferred it to a land base, where two Antonov N-124 heavy-duty transport planes were waiting. The Sea Lamprey went on one plane. The big chopper and the NUMA heli– copter were loaded on the other. It was a two-hour flight to the NATO base in the Faroes. While they unloaded the submersible and got it ready to fly, we came out here to prepare the way."

The powerful turboshaft engines drowned out the captain's reply as the aircraft moved closer and hovered. The eight rotor blades and five-bladed tail rotor threshed the air, and the downdraft they cre– ated scooped a vast watery crater out of the sea. The submersible was released a few feet above the roiling water, and the helicopter moved off. The Sea Lamprey had been fitted out with large air-filled pontoons. It sank beneath the waves, but quickly bobbed back to the surface.

Austin suggested that the captain ready the sick bay to treat ex– treme hypothermia. Then the boat crew ferried them out to the sub– mersible. The launch crew detached the pontoons. The submersible blew air from its ballast tanks and sank below the blue-black surface.

The Sea Lamprey hovered, kept at an even keel by its thrusters. Austin and Zavala sat in the snug cockpit, their faces washed by the blue light from the instrument panel, and ran down the dive check– list. Then Zavala pushed the control stick forward, angled the blunt prow down and blew ballast. He steered the submersible in a de– scending spiral as casually as if he were taking the family out on a Sunday drive.

Austin peered into the gauzy bluish blackness beyond the range of the lights. "I didn't have time to ask you before we came aboard," he said, almost in afterthought. "Is this thing safe?"

"As a former president once said, 'Depends on your definition ofis/"

Austin groaned. "Let me rephrase my question. Are the leaks and the pump fixed?"

"I think I stopped up the leaks, and the ballast pump works well under ideal conditions."

"What about actual conditions?" "Kurt, my father used to quote an old Spanish proverb. 'The closed mouth swallows no flies.' "

"What the hell do flies have to do with our situation?"

"Nothing," Zavala said. "I just thought we should change the sub– ject. Maybe the problem with the ballast control will go away."

The vehicle had been built as a rescue system of last resort. Once its lasers punched a hole in a sunken vessel, water would rush in after the sub disengaged. There was no way to plug the opening. All trapped crewmen had to be evacuated in one trip. This was a proto– type, built to carry only eight people plus a pilot and co-pilot. If all thirteen men and their captain were taken off the cruiser, they'd be over the weight limit by six.

Austin said, "I've been running the figures in my head. Estimate a hundred-fifty pounds per man, and we've got more than a ton of weight. There's a safety margin built into the Lamprey, so it's prob– ably no big whoop, except for the lame ballast tank."

"No problem. We've got a backup pump if the main isn't work– ing." In designing the Sea Lamprey, Zavala had followed common

practice and built redundant systems. Zavala paused. "Some of the crew might be dead."

"I've been thinking about that," Austin said. "We'd increase our safety margin if we left bodies down there, but I'm not leaving until we've got every man aboard. Dead or alive."

The cockpit grew silent as both men considered the awful possi– bilities. The only sound was the hum of electric motors as the un– gainly craft dropped into the depths. Before long, they were at the side of the cruiser. Austin directed Zavala to the penetration point. Then came a soft clunk as the front end of the submersible bumped the curved steel plates. Electric pump motors hummed, and the sub– mersible stayed where it was, glued to the steel by a vacuum.

The escape tunnel, made of a tough but pliable synthetic material, was extended. Eight vertical and horizontal thrusters kept the vehi– cle steady under the direction of computers that monitored its move– ment in relation to the current. The instruments indicated when the seal was complete. Normally, a thin probe would penetrate the hull to look for explosive fumes.

Sensors gauged the pressure within the seal and kept the vacuum on place. Given the safe signal to enter, Austin strapped on a small air tank and a scuba regulator and emerged from the air lock. There was some leakage around the seal, but not enough to worry about. He started to crawl through the escape tunnel.

Inside the cruiser, the crew and captain had slipped into a deathlike sleep. Captain Petersen was roused from his cold slumber by the sound of a giant woodpecker. Damned bird! While one level of his brain cursed the source of the noise, another was automatically ana– lyzing it, grouping the raps into familiar patterns, each the equiva– lent of a letter.

HELLO

He flicked the torch on. The chef had heard the noise, and his eyes were as big as fried eggs. The captain's stiff fingers groped for the wrench by his side and banged it weakly against the hull. Then again, with more force.

The reply was immediate.

MOVE AWAY

More easily said than done, the captain thought. Petersen told the chef to back off from the bulkhead, then followed, rolling out of his bunk. He crawled across the deck and called out to the other men to move. He sat with his back to a locker for what seemed an eternity, not sure what to expect.

Austin crawled back into the Lamprey. "Mission accomplished," he said.

"Turning on the can opener," Zavala said. He hit the switch for the ring of cutting lasers. They sliced through the two-inch metal skin as easily as a paring knife through an orange. A monitor showed the penetration and the brilliant red of the lasers. The lasers automati– cally shut off.

Petersen had been watching as a faint pink circle deepened in color until it was a bright molten reddish-orange. He felt welcome heat against his face. There was a hollow clang as a section of the hull fell into the cabin, and he had to shield his eyes against a bright disk of light.

Steam filled the escape tunnel, and the edges of the opening were still hot from the laser cutters. Austin pushed a specially made lad– der over the rim and stuck his head through the opening.

"Any of you gentlemen call a taxi?" he said.

Despite his lighthearted manner, Austin wondered if the rescue was too late. He had never seen such a bedraggled bunch. He called out for Captain Petersen. A grease-covered apparition crawled for– ward and croaked, "I'm the captain. Who are you?"

Austin climbed into the ship and helped the captain to his feet. "The introductions will have to wait. Please tell your men who can still move to crawl through that hole."

The captain translated the order. Austin threw a couple of soggy blankets onto the rough edges of the opening, then helped those who couldn't make it under their own power. Petersen collapsed as he was trying to crawl into the submersible, and Austin had to give him a shove, then clambered in behind him. As he entered the air lock, he saw water trickling in through the rim of the seal where Zavala had done a hasty patch job.

He quickly closed the hatch behind him. Zavala had put the con– trols on auto while he pulled the crew through the air lock. The bulky survival suits didn't make the task any easier. It was a miracle that any of the crew was still alive. Amazingly, some had made the trip themselves. The passenger space consisted of two padded benches running the length of the sub, separated by a narrow aisle. The survivors crowded onto the benches or stood in the aisle like commuters on a Tokyo subway.

"Sorry there's no first-class section," Austin said.

"No complaint," said the captain. "My men will agree that it is bet– ter than our former living arrangements."

With the crew settled, Kurt returned to the cockpit. "We had a lit– tle leakage around the seal," he reported.

Zavala indicated a blinking light on a computer-generated dia– gram of the submersible. "More than a little. The 0-ring blew out like a flat tire a second after we closed the air lock."

He retracted the telescopic escape tube, disengaged the sub– mersible from the dead ship and backed off, clearly revealing in its floodlights the round hole where the lasers had cut out the escape route. When the sub was clear of the wreck, he activated the ballast pumps. The electric motors clicked into action with a low hum, ex– cept from the front right pump, where there was a sound like a fork going down a garbage disposal. One ballast tank still had water in it, disrupting the sub's equilibrium as the others filled with com– pressed air.

The Sea Lamprey operated like any other submarine; it pumped water into its ballast tanks to dive, pumped in air to ascend. The computer tried to compensate by giving more power to the vertical thrusters. The submersible lurched into a nose-down angle, and the smell of hot metal came through the vents. Zavala pumped water back into the other tanks, and the Lamprey leveled out, more or less.

Austin stared at the instrument panel. A light was blinking on a schematic troubleshooting diagram. He ran a check on the computer that served as the brains of the vehicle. The trouble system indicated that the warning light had been triggered by an actual mechanical problem, the kind of glitch that could show up with new equipment, and was probably easily repairable. But this was not a test run; it was a deep submergence dive to fifty fathoms. Another light started blinking red.

"Both front motors are gone," Austin said. "Better use the backup pumps."

"Those were the backup pumps," Zavala said.

"So much for redundant systems. What's the problem?"

"I could tell you in a minute if I had this thing up on a lift."

"I don't see any garages nearby, and in any case, I forgot my credit card."

"As my father used to say, 'All it takes to move a stubborn burro is a stick of dynamite.5 " Zavala said.

Around the halls ofNUMA, Austin had a well-deserved reputa– tion for having an unflappable stubbornness in the face of adversity. Most men wisely cut and run in the face of sure disaster; Austin faced it with equanimity. The fact that he was still alive and breathing showed that he possessed a remarkable combination of resourceful– ness and luck. Those who'd had to tough it out with him found his serendipity frightening. Austin always shrugged off their complaints. But now, Joe was giving him a taste of his own medicine. Austin compressed his lips in a tight smile, laced his fingers behind his head and sat back in his seat.

"You wouldn't be so relaxed if you didn't have a plan," Austin said.

Zavala gave his partner an exaggerated wink and removed the two-pronged key that had been hanging from a chain around his neck. He flipped open a small metal cap in the center of the console and inserted the key. "When I turn this key and flick the little switch next to it, the third redundant system comes into play. Explosive charges will blow off all the ballast tanks, and up we go. Smart, eh?" "Not if the Thor is in the way when we come flying out of the

water. We'd sink the ship and us."

"If it makes you feel any better, press that button. It sends up a warning buoy to the surface. Flares, whistles. The whole nine yards."

Austin punched the button. There was a swoosh as the buoy was ejected from the sub. He advised their passengers to hold tight.

Zavala jerked his thumb skyward, a boyish grin on his face.

"Going up" He hit the switch and they braced themselves. The only sound was Zavala swearing under his breath in Spanish. "The switch didn't work," he said with a sheepish grin.

"Let's see if I can summarize this. We're three hundred feet down, with overloaded capacity, the cabin full of half-dead sailors, and the panic button doesn't work."

"You have a knack for brevity, Kurt."

"Thanks. I'll expand further. We've got two front tanks full of water, two rear ones empty, and that spells neutral buoyancy. Any way of lightening the Lamprey?"

"I can jettison the connector tube. We'll get to the surface, but it won't be pretty."

"Doesn't seem we have much of an alternative. I'll tell our pas– sengers to hold on."

Austin made his announcement, buckled himself into his seat and gave the signal. Zavala crossed his fingers and blew off the rescue tube. It had been made detachable as a precaution, in case the sub– mersible had to extricate itself from a rescue in a hurry. There was a muffled explosion, and the submersible lurched. The Sea Lamprey rose a foot, then a yard, then several yards. Their progress was ex– cruciatingly slow at first, but the craft gained more speed the higher it went. Before long, it was speeding to the surface.

The Sea Lamprey exploded from the sea stern-first and splashed down in a fountain of white water. The vehicle rolled violently, toss– ing those inside around like dice in a shaker. Alerted by the warning buoy's sound-and-light show, small boats dashed in and their crews attached pontoons that stabilized the craft in a more or less horizon– tal position.

The Thor got a line on the vehicle and hauled the Sea Lamprey close to where a crane could lift it to the deck. Medical personnel swarmed over the submersible the second the hatch was popped, and the sur– vivors were extracted one by one, loaded onto stretchers and hustled onto waiting MediVac helicopters that transferred them to the land hospital. By the time Austin and Zavala climbed from the sub– mersible, the deck was practically deserted, except for a handful of crew who came over and congratulated them, then quickly left.

Zavala looked around the near-empty deck. "No brass band?"

"Heroism is its own reward," Austin said pontifically. "But I wouldn't turn down a shot oftequila if someone offered it to me."

"What a coincidence. I just happen to have a bottle of blue agave tucked away in my duffel bag. Primo stuff."

"We may have to delay our celebration. Mr. Becker is coming our way."

The Danish bureaucrat was striding across the deck, his face beaming with unmistakable happiness. He pumped their hands, pounded the NUMA men on the back and showered them with ef– fusive praise.

"Gentlemen, I thank you," he said breathlessly. "Denmark thanks you. The world thanks you!"

"Our pleasure," Austin said. "Thanks for the opportunity to test the Sea Lamprey under actual conditions. The Russian chopper is at the NATO base with the transport planes. We'll give them a call, and we can be out of here in a few hours."

Becker's face reassumed its usual mask of businesslike dourness. "Mr. Zavala is free to go, but I'm afraid you might have to delay your trip. A special investigative court that was formed to look into the cruiser incident is convening a hearing in Torshavn tomorrow. They would like you to testify."

"Don't see how I can help. I didn't see the actual sinking."

"Yes, but you dove on the Eri/yson twice. You can describe the damage in detail. It will help make our case." Seeing the doubt in Austin's face, he said, "I'm afraid we'll have to insist that you be our guest in the Islands until the hearing is terminated. Cheer up. The U.S. embassy has been informed of our request and will transmit it to NUMA. I've already arranged lodging for you. We'll be staying in the same hotel, in fact. The Islands are beautiful, and you'll only be delayed a day or two before you can rejoin your ship."

"It's no problem for me, Kurt," Zavala said. "I can get the Lam– prey back to the Beebe and wrap up the tests."

Austin's eyes flashed with anger. He didn't like being told what to do by an officious little government drone. He made no effort to dis– guise the annoyance in his voice. "Looks like I'll be your guest, Mr. Becker." He turned to Zavala. "We'll have to put off our celebration. I'll call the NATO base and get things moving."

Before long, the engine roar of the huge Russian helicopter filled the air. The sling was attached under the Sea Lamprey's belly, and the helicopter lifted the vehicle from the ship's deck. Then Zavala took off in the NUMA helicopter and followed the submersible back to the base where the sub would be loaded onto a transport plane for the return trip.

"One other thing," Becker said. "I'd like you to keep that re– markable suit on board in case the court has the need for further ev– idence. If not, we'll gladly ship it anywhere you wish."

"You want me to make another dive?"

"Possibly. I would clear it with your superiors, of course."

"Of course," Austin said. He was too tired to argue.

The captain came over and announced that the shuttle was ready to take them back to the mainland. Austin wasn't enthusiastic about spending any more time than he had to with the Danish bureaucrat. "I'll come ashore tomorrow if it's all right with you. Captain Larsen wants to show me some of the results of his whale research."

The captain saw the desperation in Austin's eyes and played along. "Oh yes, as I said, you'll find our work fascinating. I'll deliver Mr. Austin to shore in the morning."

Becker shrugged. "Suit yourself I've spent enough time at sea to last me a lifetime."

Austin watched the shuttle boat head toward land and turned to the captain. "Thanks for rescuing me from Mr. Becker."

Larsen sighed heavily. "I suppose bureaucrats like Becker have a value in the scheme of things."

"So do the stomach bacteria that aid in digestion," Austin said.

The captain laughed and put his hand on Austin's shoulder. "I think a liquid celebration of your successful mission is in order."

"I think you're right," Austin said.

7

AUSTIN RECEIVED V IP treatment aboard the research ves– sel. After drinks in the captain's cabin, he enjoyed a delicious meal, then he was entertained with incredible underwater footage of the ship's whale research. He was given a comfortable cabin and slept like a log, and the next morning he said his farewell to Captain Larsen.

The captain seemed sorry to see him go. "We're going to be here a few days doing survey work on the cruiser. Let me know if there is anything I can ever do for you or for NUMA."

They shook hands and Austin climbed into the shuttle for the short trip to the Western Harbor. Happy to be on dry land once more after weeks on and under the sea, he made his way along the cob– blestone quay past the line of fishing boats. The capital city of the Faroe Islands was named Torshavn, "Thor's Harbor," after the mightiest of the Scandinavian gods. Despite its thundering namesake, Torshavn was a quiet settlement located on a headland between two busy boat harbors.

Austin would have preferred to explore the narrow streets that ran between the colorful old houses, but a glance at his watch told him he had better get moving if he wanted to make the hearing. He dropped his duffel bag off at the hotel room that Becker had arranged for him. He figured he wouldn't be in the Faroes more than another day or so, and decided to leave whether Becker wanted him to or not. On his way out, he asked the desk to book him a flight to Copen– hagen in two days.

His destination was a short walk up the hill toward Vaglio Square in the heart of the city's commercial center. A few minutes later, he stopped in front of an impressive nineteenth-century building built ofdark-hued basalt. The plaque on the exterior identified the struc– ture as the Raohus, or Town Hall. He mentally girded his loins for the ordeal ahead. As an employee of a federal agency, Austin was no stranger to the hazards of navigating governmental seas. The rescue of the men trapped in the LeifErisson might have been the easiest part of his Faroese adventure, he reflected.

The receptionist in the Raohus lobby told Austin how to get to the hearing room. He followed a corridor to a door guarded by a burly policeman and identified himself. The officer told him to wait and slipped into the room. He reappeared a moment later with Becker. Taking Austin by the arm, Becker moved out of earshot.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Austin." He glanced at the policeman and lowered his voice. "This matter requires a great deal of delicacy. Do you know anything about the Faroe Islands government?"

"Only that there's an affiliation with Denmark. I don't know the details."

"Correct. The Islands are part of the Kingdom of Denmark, but they have had home rule since 1948. They're quite independent, even keeping their own language. However, when they get into financial trouble, they don't hesitate to ask Copenhagen for money," he said, with a faint smile. "This incident occurred in Faroese waters, but a

Danish warship was involved."

"Which means SOS wouldn't win any popularity contests in Den– mark."

Becker brushed off his comment with an airy wave. "I've made my feelings clear. Those crazy people should be hanged for sinking our ship. But I am a realist. The whole regrettable incident would never have happened if it hadn't been for the Islanders' stubbornness in keeping their old customs."

"You mean the whale hunt?"

"I won't comment on the morality of the grindarap. Many in Den– mark regard the grind as a barbaric and unnecessary ritual. More important are the economic considerations. Companies that might buy Faroese fish or explore for oil don't want the public to think they are doing business with whale murderers. When the Faroese can't pay their bills, Copenhagen must open its pocketbook."

"So much for independence."

Becker smiled again. "The Danish government wants to resolve this case quickly, with the minimum amount of international pub– licity. We don't want these SOS people seen as courageous martyrs who acted rashly but in defense of helpless creatures."

"What do you want from me?"

"Please go beyond your technical observations in your testimony. We know what sank the cruiser. Feel free to emphasize the human suffering you witnessed. Our goal is to convict Ryan in the court of public opinion, then get these reckless hooligans out of our country and make sure they don't come back. We want to make sure that the world sees them as pariahs rather than martyrs. Perhaps then, some– thing like this won't happen again."

"Suppose Ryan is innocent in all this?"

"His innocence or guilt is of no concern to my government. There are greater issues at stake."

"As you say, a matter of great delicacy. I'll tell your people what I saw. That's all I can promise.

Becker nodded. "Fair enough. Shall we go in?"

The policeman opened the door, and Becker and Austin stepped inside the hearing room. Austin's eyes swept around the large dark– paneled chamber and took in the suits, presumably government and legal people, who filled several rows of chairs. He was wearing his usual working gear of jeans, turtleneck and windbreaker, having no need on board ship for dressier outfits. More suits sat behind a long wooden table at the front of the room. Sitting in a chair to the right of the table was a man in a uniform. He was speaking in Danish, his words taken down by a stenographer.

Becker indicated a seat, sat next to Austin, and whispered in his ear. "That's the representative from the coast guard. You're next."

The coast guard witness concluded a few minutes later, and Austin heard his own name called. Four men and two women sat at the table, with the group evenly divided between Faroese and Danish representatives. The magistrate, an avuncular Dane with a long Viking face, said his name was Lundgren. He explained to Austin that he would ask questions, with the others on the board offering follow-up. This was only an inquiry to collect an informational base, not a trial, he explained, so there would be no cross-examination. He would also translate when necessary.

Austin eased into the chair, and under questioning, offered a straightforward account of the rescue. He didn't have to embellish the suffering or the crew's ordeal in its dark and practically airless tomb. The expression on Becker's face showed that he was pleased with what he heard. Austin stepped down after forty-five minutes, with the thanks of the board. He was anxious to leave, but decided to stay when the court's chairman announced, in Danish and Eng– lish, that the captain of the Sea Sentinel would present his case.

Austin was curious how anyone could defend himself against eye– witness accounts. The door opened and two policemen walked in. Between them was a tall and ruggedly built man in his mid-forties. Austin took in the ginger Captain Ahab chin-fringe, the coifed hair and the gilt-trimmed uniforrri.

The magistrate asked the witness to sit down and introduce him– self.

"My name is Marcus Ryan," the man said, his gray eyes making direct contact with those in the audience. "I am the executive direc– tor of the Sentinels of the Sea organization and captain of the SOS flagship, the Sea Sentinel. For those who don't know us, SOS is an in– ternational organization dedicated to the preservation of the sea and the marine life that dwells within it."

"Please give the court an account of the events surrounding your collision with the Danish cruiser Leif Eriksson/'

Ryan started into a diatribe against the whale hunt. Speaking in a firm voice, the magistrate asked him to keep his remarks confined to the collision. Ryan apologized and described how the Sea Sentinel had suddenly veered toward the cruiser, striking it.

"Captain Ryan," Lundgren said with unconcealed amusement. "Do you mean to tell me that your ship attached and rammed the Leif Eriksson of its own accord?"

For the first time since he'd started testifying, Ryan lost his aplomb. "Uh, no, sir. I'm telling you that the controls of my ship did not respond."

"Let me see if I understand this clearly," said a woman on the board of inquiry. "You are saying that the ship took control of itself and went off on its merry way."

There was a ripple of laughter in the audience. "It seems so," Ryan conceded.

His admission opened the doors for a round of probing questions. The hearing may not have been adversarial, Austin thought, but the court was nibbling Ryan apart like a flock of hungry ducks. Ryan did his best to parry the questions, but with each reply, his case became weaker. Finally he lifted his hands, as if to say enough.

"I realize that my explanation raises more questions than it an– swers. But let me say this unequivocally, so there is no misunder– standing. We did not deliberately ram the Danish ship. I have witnesses who can back me up. You can check with Captain Pe– tersen. He'll tell you that I warned him."

"How long before the collision did this warning occur?" Lundgren asked.

Ryan took a deep breath and let it out. "Less than a minute before we hit."

Lundgren asked no further questions. Ryan was excused, and the female reporter from CNN took the stand. She was calm during her recounting of the collision, but she broke down and glared at Ryan with accusing eyes when she described the death other cameraman.

Lundgren signaled a court officer to insert a videotape into a TV set that had been set off to one side where everyone had a good view of the screen. The tape began to roll. It showed Ryan standing on the deck of his ship surrounded by reporters and photographers. There was some joking about rough seas, then the reporter's voice saying:

"Just make sure the story is worth all the damned Dramamine I swallowed."

The camera executed a close-up of Ryan's grinning face as he replied: "I can almost guarantee that you'll see action." As the cam– era followed his finger pointing toward the Danish cruiser, there was a muttering in the audience. That's it, Austin thought. Ryan is toast.

The tape ended, and Lundgren asked the reporter one question. "Was that your voice on the tape?"

When the reporter replied in the affirmative, Ryan sprang to his feet.

"That's unfair. You're using my comment completely out of con– text !"

"Please be seated, Mr. Ryan," Lundgren said, a bemused expres– sion on his face.