YOU'RE STILL BEAUTIFUL IN MY EYES.
FLATTERY WILL GET YOU EVERYWHERE. THE PROBLEM, PLEASE.
Yaeger had been working for hours to carve away the useless and misleading data in the files Austin and Trout had transmitted from the Ataman ship. He'd run into countless dead ends and had had to cut through more layers than an onion. Finally, he had distilled his findings into a series of commands that would cut through the dross. He typed them out one at a time and waited. Before long, words written in Cyrillic appeared. He entered a command to use translation software.
Yaeger scratched his head, mystified at the image on the screen. It was a menu.
As he was watching, the menu disappeared and in its place was a message from Max.
MAY I TAKE YOUR ORDER, SIR? WHAT'S THIS ALL ABOUT?
I COULD TELL YOU BETTER IF WE USED THE HOLOGRAM.
Yaeger blinked. Max was trying to bribe him. He rotated his shoulder blades to relieve the stress of working, breathed a weary sigh and brought his fingers back to the keyboard.
30
WASHINGTON, D.C.
THE NUMA EXECUTIVE jet was one of dozens of planes coming into Washington National Airport. Unlike the regularly scheduled arrivals that followed the bug-like ground vehicles to their respective terminals, the turquoise plane taxied to a restricted section on the south end of the airport not far from an old airplane hangar with a rounded roof. The engines whined to a stop and a trio of dark blue Suburban SUVs emerged from the shadows with darkened headlights, and lined up alongside the plane.
Two Marine guards and a man dressed in civilian clothes got out of the lead vehicle. While the guards took their place at the foot of the gangway, standing stiffly at attention, the third man, who carried a black satchel, strode quickly up the gangway and rapped on the door. It opened a second later, and Austin stuck his head out.
'I'm Captain Morris, a doctor from the naval hospital,' the man said. 'I've come to check out our people.' He looked past Austin and saw the unconscious forms of the captain and the pilot slumped in their seats. 'Dear God! Are they dead?'
'Yeah, dead drunk,' Austin said. 'We celebrated their homecoming on the trip from Portland and they had a little too much of the bubbly. Those strapping young Marines down there might want to assist your men off the plane.'
Captain Morris called the Marines, and they managed to help the NR-1 men down the gangway to the tarmac. The cool night air revived Captain Logan and the pilot. They gave Austin and Trout an emotional and slurred thank- you, staggered to the middle vehicle and were whisked off into the night in a squeal of tires, leaving Austin and Trout breathing in their engine exhausts.
The taillights were barely out of sight when a figure stepped from the shadows and a familiar and unmistakable voice said, 'That's gratitude for you. The least the navy could have done was call a cab to run you home.'
Austin glanced at the departing SUVs. 'The navy doesn't like fly-by-night operations like us showing up their expensive intelligence services and aircraft carriers.'
'They'll get over it,' Admiral Sandecker said, with amusement. 'Can I offer you a lift?'
'Best offer I've had all night.' Austin and Trout got into the Jeep Cherokee parked nearby. Sandecker deplored limousines, or any of the trap- pings of power for that matter, and preferred to drive a four- wheel drive from NUMA's agency pool. The pilot and copilot finished buttoning down the plane and Sandecker gave them rides home.
Austin had called Sandecker from Maine to tell him about the mission. As he drove onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway, Sandecker said, 'I said it before, but you boys deserve a medal for getting aboard that ship.'
'It was getting off the ship that I preferred, although I may give up fishing forever now that I've seen a trawl from a cod's point of view,' Trout said with his understated New England humor.
Sandecker chuckled. 'You're reasonably certain no one on board the Ataman ship will suspect the navy men were spirited away?'
'A few crewmen might remember seeing us and put two and two together with the missing dry suits and the open moon pool. I doubt they'd think anyone was crazy enough to do what we did, and get away with it.'
'I agree. They will report the missing navy men to Razov, but they'll assume they drowned or died from hypothermia. Even if they suspect an intrusion, I doubt whether they'd tell Razov, for fear of their lives.'
'He might learn the truth when the navy announces that all the NR-1 crew have been rescued.'
'I've asked the Navy Department to keep a lid on the announcement, which they were glad to do. The crew members will be reunited with their families and whisked off to a seaside retreat for some R amp; R.'
'That will buy us some time.'
'We'll need every minute. Get a good night's sleep, both of you, and we'll have a meeting first thing in the morning.'
Sandecker drove Trout to his Georgetown town house and gave Austin a lift to Fairfax. Austin dropped his overnight bag inside the door and went into the den-study, a spacious room with dark wood colonial furniture and walls lined with shelves for his books and progressive jazz collection. The red light was blinking on his telephone answering machine. He clicked through the messages and was happy to hear that Joe Zavala was back from England. Austin grabbed a tall can of Speckled Hen ale from his refrigerator and settled into a black leather chair with his phone. Joe answered on the first ring. They talked at length. Zavala filled him in on his interview with Lord Dodson, and Austin gave a summary of Jenkins's visit to NUMA and the successful mission to the Ataman ship.
After he hung up, Austin walked out onto the deck and drew a deep breath of river air into his lungs. The exercise cleared his head, and he began to think about the drama that had played out on the Black Sea decades ago. With the passage of time, the people who had struggled for their lives had no more substance than the lights glowing like fireflies along the Maryland shore. Yet the long-ago echoes of their voices were still being heard more than eighty years later.
According to Zavala's report, the empress and her daughters were traveling on the Odessa Star with some of the royal treasure when the ship was attacked and sunk. Razov probably had the treasure now. Austin was uncertain why a man who already had more money than Croesus would go through so much trouble to dive for treasure. Greed knows no bounds, he concluded.
More important was the fact that the Grand Duchess Maria had escaped. Lord Dodson was worried about political turmoil if and when the news got out. Austin frowned at the tacit approval of the British Crown in the sordid tale. The story might embarrass some families, but all those involved were long dead. Mendacity by those in high office was no longer the scandal it once had been. Austin was more concerned about how the story connected to Ataman and the supposed plot against the United States.
Austin glanced at his watch. He hadn't realized the late- ness of the hour or how worn-out he was. He crawled up to his bedroom in the turret of the old Victorian boathouse, crashed into bed and was asleep within minutes.
AUSTIN WAS UP at dawn, dressed in T-shirt, shorts and baseball cap, put a pot of Jamaican coffee on to brew and went downstairs to where his twenty-three-foot Mass Aero racing scull was stored under the house. He was lifting the forty-pound scull off its rack in preparation for a morning row on the Potomac, when he heard the telephone ring. Irritated at having his routine interrupted, he sprinted up the stairs to the main level and snatched the phone from its cradle.
'We've got it,' Yaeger said, his voice scratchy from weariness. 'That is to say, Max and I almost got it.'
'Should I be happy or sad?'
'Maybe both,' Yaeger said. 'I had Max working on the file all night. She did a hell of a job. Click on your computer, and I'll show you what I've got.'
Austin did as he was told and called up the e-mail and the attachment Yaeger had forwarded. The image that came up showed a document with several lines of Russian written in graceful script, the words bounded by fancy
