Riptide

not seem bad for four weeks' work, until you consider what happened to Ken Field. If any of you are contemplating leaving, now is the time to do it. You'll get the standard Thalassa compensation package, but no share. There will be no bad feelings, no questions asked. But don't come to me later, saying you've changed your mind. We're seeing this through, no matter what. So speak now.'

The Captain turned to a cabinet and extracted an old briar pipe. He removed a tin of Dunhill tobacco from the cabinet, pinched out a bowlful and placed it in the pipe, tamped it thoughtfully, and lit up with a wooden match. All this was done with deliberate slowness, while the silence around the table deepened. Outside, the omnipresent Ragged Island mist had grown denser, curling around the Griffin with an almost sensuous caress.

At last, the Captain looked back and spoke through a wreath of blue smoke. 'Very good. Before we adjourn, I'd like to introduce you all to the newest member of the expedition.' He glanced at Hatch. 'Doctor, I was hoping to have you formally meet my senior staff under more pleasant circumstances.' He took in the group with a sweep of his hand. 'As most of you know, this is Malin Hatch, owner of Ragged Island and partner in this operation. He will be our medical officer.'

Neidelman turned. 'Dr. Hatch, this is Christopher St. John, the expedition's historian.' He was the plump-faced man Hatch had seen looking back at him from the launch two nights before. A shock of unruly gray hair topped his round head, and the man's rumpled tweed suit displayed the telltale traces of several breakfasts. 'You'll find him an expert on all areas of Elizabethan and Stuart history, including piracy and the use of codes. And this'— Neidelman indicated the slovenly looking man in Bermuda shorts, who was picking at his nails with a look of intense boredom, one leg thrown over an arm of the chair—'is Kerry Wopner, our computer expert. Kerry is highly adept at network design and cryptanalysis.' He stared hard at the two men. 'I don't need to tell you the paramount importance of cracking the second half of the journal, especially in light of this tragedy. Macallan must not keep any more of his secrets from us.'

Neidelman continued around the table. 'You met our team foreman, Lyle Streeter, yesterday. He's been with me ever since our days cruising the Mekong. And here'—he pointed to a small, severe, prickly looking woman in sensible clothes—'is Sandra Magnusen, Thalassa's chief engineer and remote sensing specialist. At the end of the table is Roger Rankin, our geologist.' He indicated a broad, hirsute brute of a man who sat in a chair that looked two sizes too small for him. His eyes met Hatch's, his blond beard parted in a spontaneous grin, and he tipped two fingers to his forehead.

'Dr. Bonterre,' Neidelman continued, 'our archaeologist and dive leader, has been delayed and should arrive late this evening.'

He paused a moment. 'Unless there are any questions, that's all. Thank you, and I'll see you all again tomorrow morning.'

As the group broke up, Neidelman came around the table to Hatch. 'I've kept a special team on the island, preparing the net grid and the Base Camp,' he said. 'Your medical area will be stocked and ready by dawn.'

'That's a relief,' said Hatch.

'You're probably eager for some more background on the project. This afternoon would be a good time. How about coming by the Cerberus around fourteen hundred hours?' A thin smile appeared on his lips. 'Starting tomorrow, things are liable to get a little busy around here.'

Chapter 11

At 2:00 P.M. precisely, the Plain Jane, moving slowly in the calm water, pulled free of the last tendrils of mist surrounding Ragged Island. Ahead, Hatch could see the white outlines of the Cerberus riding at anchor, its long, sleek superstructure low in the water. Near the waterline, he made out a boarding hatch, with the tall, thin shape of the Captain silhouetted within it, awaiting his arrival.

Cutting the throttle, Hatch angled in alongside the bulk of the Cerberus. It was cool and still under the vessel's shadow.

'Quite a little boat you've got here,' Hatch called out as he came to a stop opposite the Captain. The ship dwarfed the Plain Jane.

'Biggest in Thalassa's fleet,' Neidelman replied. 'She's basically a floating laboratory and back-office research station. There's only so much equipment we can off-load to the island. The big stuff—the electron microscopes and C14 particle accelerators, for example—will stay on the ship.'

'I was curious about the harpoon gun up in the bows,' Hatch said. 'Do you spear a blue whale every now and then, when the deckhands get peckish?'

Neidelman grinned. 'That betrays the ship's origins, my friend. It was designed as a state-of-the-art whaler by a Norwegian company about six years ago. Then the international ban on whaling happened, and the ship became a costly white elephant even before it was fitted out. Thalassa got it for an excellent price. All the whaling davits and skinning machinery were removed, but nobody ever got around to dismantling the harpoon gun.' He nodded over his shoulder. 'Come on, let's see what the boys are up to.'

Hatch secured the Plain Jane to the side of the Cerberus, then ran the gangplank across to the ship's boarding hatch. He followed Neidelman through the hatch and into a long, harrow corridor, painted a light gray. The Captain led him past several empty laboratories and a wardroom, then stopped outside a door marked COMPUTER ROOM.

'We've got more computing power behind that door than a small university,' Neidelman said, a trace of pride in his voice. 'But it's not just for number crunching. There's also a navigational expert system and a neural-net autopilot. In emergencies, the ship can practically run itself.'

'I was wondering where all the people were,' Hatch said.

'We keep only a skeleton crew on board. It's the same with the rest of the vessels. It's Thalassa's philosophy to maintain a fluid resource pool. If necessary, we could have a dozen scientists here tomorrow. Or a dozen ditchdiggers, for that matter. But we try to operate with the smallest, ablest team possible.'

'Cost containment,' Hatch said jokingly. 'Must make the Thalassa accountants happy.'

'Not only that,' Neidelman replied, quite seriously. 'It makes sense from a security perspective. No point tempting fate.'

The Captain turned a corner and walked past a heavy metal door that was partially ajar. Glancing in, Hatch could make out various pieces of lifesaving equipment attached to wall cleats. There was also a rack of shotguns and two smaller weapons of shiny metal he couldn't identify.