articles was an excuse to take a break from the demanding assignment he'd been working on at Sandecker's request. On the surface Sandecker's directive had been uncomplicated. Find out if there were any attacks on archaeological expeditions similar to what happened in Morocco. It turned out to be a monumental task. He'd neglected his understanding wife and children even more than usual in his passion to solve the puzzle.
Although the NUMA system was geared to the oceans, Max routinely hacked into other systems, without authorization, to gather information and transfer data among libraries, newspaper morgues, research libraries, universities, and historic archives anywhere on the globe. Yaeger began by compiling a master list of expeditions, divided chronologically by decades and going back fifty years. There were hundreds of names and dates on the list. Then he prepared a computer model based on the facts that were known about the Moroccan incident. He asked Max to compare the model to each expedition, drawing on various sources such as published academic papers, scientific journals, and news reports, cross-checking the accounts to determine if any of these expeditions had come to a similar unscheduled end, always searching for patterns.
The sources were often fragmentary and sometimes dubious. Like a sculptor trying to find a figure in a piece of marble, he chipped the master list down in size. It was still long and complicated enough to daunt the most experienced researcher, but the challenge only whetted his appetite. After several days he had brought together an enormous amount of information. Now he would instruct the computers to sift through the data and refine the results into a palatable serving.
'Max, please print out your findings when you've exhausted your networks;' he instructed the computer.
'I will get back to you shortly. Sorry for the delay' the soft monotone voice responded. 'Why don't you pour yourself another cup of coffee while you wait?'
Time was irrelevant to a computer, Yaeger reflected as he followed Max's suggestion. It did what it did at unimaginable speeds, but no matter how fast and smart Max was, it had no concept of what it was like to have Sandecker breathing down its circuits. Yaeger had promised Sandecker the results by the following morning. While Max labored, Yaeger could have taken a break, walked to the NUMA cafeteria, or simply left his sanctum sanctorum for a brisk walk. He hated to leave his electronic babies and instead used the time to explore other options.
He stared up at the ceiling and remembered that Nina Kirov had said the killers came in the night, massacred the party then disposed of the bodies.
'Max, let's take a look at 'assassins.''
Max was actually a number of computers that, like the human brain, could work on several complicated tasks at the same time.
'That should be no problem.' A second later the computer voice said: Assassins. An English analog of the Arabic hashshashin, meaning one who is addicted to hashish. A secret eleventh-century politicoreligious Islamic order presided over by an absolute ruler and deputy masters. Unquestioning obedience was demanded of sect members known as 'the devoted ones,' the actual hit men who murdered political leaders and put their skills out for hire. The killers were given hashish and a heavy dose of sensual pleasures and told this was a taste of the paradise that awaited them if they did their job. The sect spread terror for more than two hundred years.'
Interesting. But how pertinent? Yaeger tugged at his scraggly beard while Max described other groups of assassins such as the thugs of India and the Japanese ninja. These groups didn't quite fit the profile of the Moroccan killers, but, more important, they had been out of business for centuries. He didn't dismiss them out of hand. If he were forming an assassin squad he'd look toward the past to see how others had operated.
Dr. Kirov said the killers destroyed a stone carving that could be evidence of pre-Columbian contact between the Old and the New World. If he called up everything on pre-Columbian culture, even with Max's speed, it would take ten years to sort things out. Instead, Yaeger had established what he called a 'parallel paradigm,' basically a set of questions that asked the computer in different ways who would be upset by revelations that Columbus had not been the first Old World representative to set foot in the New World. And vice versa.
A few days ago he started the computers working on the problem but had been too busy until now to call up the findings.
With the machines working on the. main question posed by Sandecker, he had some time to review the results.
He said, 'Call up `ParPar,' ' the code name he had given the unpronounceable Parallel Paradigm.
'ParPar is ready, Hiram.'
Thanks, Max. Who would be upset at revelations Columbus did not discover America?'
'Some scholars, historians, and writers. Certain ethnic groups. Would you like specifics?'
'Not now. Would this belief be dangerous?'
'No. Would you like me to pursue a link to the past?'
Yaeger had programmed his computers to give short answers so they wouldn't go off on interminable tangents without exact instruction.
'Go ahead,' Yaeger said.
'The Spanish Inquisition had made belief in pre-Columbian contact a heresy punishable by burning. The Inquisitors said Columbus was divinely inspired to bring Spanish civilization to the New World. Link to Vespucci?'
'Go ahead.'
'When Amerigo Vespucci proved scientifically that Columbus had not reached India but had discovered a new continent, he was threatened with heresy, too.'
'Why was this so important?'
Admitting someone else had discovered the New World would invalidate claims to its riches and weaken power of the Spanish state.'
Yaeger pondered the reply. Spain was no longer a world power, and its former lands in the Americas were all independent countries. There was something there he couldn't see. He felt like a child who knows there's a monster lurking in the shadows of his closet, can hear its heavy breathing and see the green eyes, only to have it disappear when he turns the lights on.
The computer softly dinged the Big Ben chimes, and a hologram caricature of himself smiling appeared.
'Processing and printing are complete,' his animated doppelganger said. 'Whew! I'm going out for a beer.'
Yaeger spent so much time with this computer it was inevitable that he would program in a few personality traits.
'Thanks, Max, I'm buying,' he said.
Wondering what he would do if Max ever took him up on his offer, Yaeger went into an adjoining room and retrieved the lengthy printout he'd requested. As he studied the ParPar report on archaeological expeditions his eyes grew wider, and he began to repeat the word 'incredible' under his breath. He was only partially through the report when he picked up the phone and punched out a number. A crisp voice answered.
'If you've got a minute, Admiral,' Yaeger said, 'I've got something I think you'd like to see.'
15 AT EIGHT FORTYFIVE A.M., AUSTIN slotted his standardissue agency turquoise Jeep Cherokee into the reserved space in the underground parking garage at NUMA headquarters, the imposing solar glass building in Arlington, Virginia, that housed two thousand NUMA scientists and engineers and coordinated another three thousand scattered around the globe. Joe Zavala called Austin's name as he crossed the atrium lobby with its waterfalls and aquariums and huge globe at the center of the seagreen marble floor. Austin was glad to see that Zavala walked with only a slight limp.
The elevator rocketed to the top floor where Admiral Sandecker had his suite of offices. As they exited the elevator a pair of men stood waiting to enter. One was a tall, hardbodied man standing six-foot-three with an oak- tanned, craggy face. He had deep opaline green eyes and wavy ebony hair with a touch of gray at the temples. Not quite as broad-shouldered as Austin, his body was lean and wiry.
The other man was a contrast. He was only five-feet-four but built with the massive chest of a bulldog; his arms and legs were well muscled. His hair was black and curly. The swarthy face anti walnut eyes betrayed his Italian ancestry.
The tall man stuck out his hand. 'Kurt, it must have been three months since we've seen each other.'
Dirk Pitt, NUMAs special projects director, and his able assistant, Al Giordino, were legends within the agency. Their exploits in the many years since NUMA was launched by Admiral Sandecker were the stuff of which adventure novels were written. Though Pitt's and Austin's tracks seldom crossed, they had become good friends
