Serpent

satisfaction of knowing he was irritated or flummoxed.

'Some of you may be wondering why an agency whose precinct is the ocean and what lies under it is in any way involved with a bunch of desert diggers,' he said. 'The major reason is that NUMA has the best intelligence capacity in the world. Many of these sites were reached by the ocean or rivers that run out to the sea, so technically we have a vested interest. Well, gentlemen, ideas?'

Austin, who had watched the battle of the cigars with interest, turned his mind to Sandecker's question. 'Let's go over what we know.' Ticking the points off on his fingers, he said, 'There is a pattern to the disappearances. People don't simply vanish but are murdered by well-organized and equipped assassins. The expeditions were all linked to art outfit called Time-Quest that seems to have something to hide.'

Yaeger interjected, 'Could be they're just hiding assets from the IRS and it has nothing to do with the murders?'

'We may well find that's the case,' Sandecker said, 'which is why I want you to keep digging. Explore every possible angle.'

'Did you ever get any leads on the hovercraft that tried a hit-and-run on Dr. Kirov?' Zavala asked.

'Slightly better luck,' Yaeger said. 'From your description I narrowed the manufacturer to an English outfit called Griffon Hovercraft Ltd. Only so many were built of. the model you described. This one is especially interesting. It's called an LCAC type.'

'Navy jargon for landing craft air cushion, as I recall,' Gunn said

'That's right. It's a souped-up high-speed over-the-beach version of a commercial model. Eighty-eight feet long. Two props and four gas turbines give her a speed of forty knots with payload. Gun mounts for .50caliber machine guns, grenade launcher, and M60 machine gun. We've got a few in the U.S. Navy.'

'Why didn't they use their guns to stop Dr. Kirov?' Zavala said.

'My guess is that they were afraid her body would be found. There would have been questions. Have any orders come in from private parties?' Austin asked Yaeger.

'Only one. An outfit in San Antonio.'

Austin leaned forward. 'That's where Time-Quest has its headquarters.'

'Right,' Yaeger replied. 'Could be coincidence. The hovercraft is owned by an oil exploration corporation, but the company could be one of a series of dummies. It's going to take a while to see if they're linked. Careless of them to allow the chance of a connection.'

'Not really,' Austin said. 'They didn't expect any witnesses: If they'd been successful with their attack on Dr. Kirov, nobody would have known about the killers. Those on the Nereus noticed the hovercraft, but it was too far away to see that it was being used for assault and battery'

Sandecker said, 'Kurt is right, Hiram. I'd like you to keep exploring the San Antonio connection. Any proposals on more direct action?'

'Yes, I've been thinking,' Austin said. 'Maybe we can make them come to us. The trigger in these incidents is the pre-Columbian angle. What if we set up an archaeological expedition and let TimeQuest, know we've found something pre-Columbian?'

'Then we put on our Kevlar jackets and see what happens,' Zavala said. He puffed on his cigar like Diamond Jim Brady. 'A sting. Brilliant.'

Sandecker arched an eyebrow. 'Zavala's dry wit aside, how would we go about doing that?' Sandecker asked. 'It would take weeks, perhaps months, to organize, wouldn't it, Rudi?'

'I'm afraid so, sir. There would be a lot to pull together.'

Austin couldn't figure why Gunn looked so amused at his proposal, and the irritation showed in his voice when he said, 'Maybe if we really try we can accelerate the process somehow.'

'No need to go hellbent for leather, my friend.' Sandecker showed his teeth in his familiar barracuda smile. 'While you and Joe were laid up, Rudi, Hiram, and I came up with the same scheme and started things moving. Everything is in place. For reasons of speed and ease of logistics, we've set it up in the American Southwest. The bait will be an Old World `artifact' found on American soil. That should attract someone's attention. Consider this a task for the NUMA Special Assignments Team.'

'Assignment accepted,' Austin said. 'What about Gamay?'

'A marine biologist in the desert might be harder to explain,' the admiral said. 'I see no need to take her away from her work in the Yucatan. Let her know what we're up to. If we need her, she can be on hand in a few hours. She's been working pretty hard lately. She's probably enjoying the tropic sun on the beaches of Cozumel or Cancun even as we speak.'

Zavala took along puff on his cigar and blew a smoke ring. 'Some people have all the luck,' he said.

The Yucatan Mexico

16 THE FOURTH PERMANEMT MEMBER OF the NUMA Special Assignments Team would have been the last person to describe herself as lucky. While her colleagues enjoyed their air-conditioned comfort, Gamay MorganTrout was drenched with perspiration, and her usual good nature was ebbing in direct proportion to the rise of the ambient air temperature, which was in the eighties and climbing. She couldn't believe the humidity was 100 percent without a cloud in the sky.

Arms folded across her chest, she leaned her tall, willowy body against the Jeep parked on the grassy shoulder of the asphalt ribbon that slashed through the lowlying rain 'forest Shimmering water puddle mirages danced on the mottled gray tarmac. The desolate spot reminded her of the lonely highway in North by Northwest where Cary Grant gets chased by a crop duster.

Gamay looked up at the pale sky. No crop duster. Only a couple of turkey vultures making lazy circles. Bad place for hungry buzzards. The roadkill pickings must be slim indeed. One vehicle had passed in the last hour. She heard the old pickup coming for miles. It rattled by with its load of half-dead chickens leaving a trail of white feathers in its wake. The driver hadn't even slowed down to see if she needed help.

Thinking it was dumb standing out in the sun, Gamay climbed back into the shade under the Jeep's convertible top and took a slug of cooling water from a thermos. For at least the third time she unfolded the map Professor Chi had faxed her from Mexico City. The paper was damp and limp from her moist hands. Earlier that morning she had driven inland from Ciudad del Carmen where the Nereus was anchored, following the map to the letter through the monotonous flat Yucatan landscape, paying strict attention to the neatly written precise mileage notations, pulling over exactly where the arrow indicated. She studied the carefully drawn lines. No mistake. X marked the spot. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

The middle of nowhere.

Gamay was regretting having begged off when she and her husband, Paul, got the call to return to Washington for an important meeting of NUMAs Special Assignments Team. She, had been trying to arrange this rendezvous with Professor Chi for days and didn't know if she would ever have another opportunity. She wondered what merited yanking them back to headquarters on such short notice. They had joined the Nereus shortly after it arrived in the Yucatan to take part in the meteorite project. Paul would be creating the undersea computer graphics that were his specialty. Gamay would bring in her expertise as a marine biologist. It seemed like a very pleasant assignment indeed. No heavy lifting. Then the call came in from headquarters.

She smiled to herself. Kurt Austin must be back on the scene. Things tended to happen when Austin was around. Like the shootout she'd heard about on the Nereus. She'd call Paul when she got back to the ship to see if she should hop a plane home.

Good God, she wondered, taking in her surroundings, why had the professor asked to meet her in this dismal place? The only signs of human habitation, past or present, were the faint grass-grown tire tracks that disappeared into the forest. She waved away an insect that strafed the tip of her nose. The Cutter's bug repellent was wearing thin. So was her patience. Maybe she should leave now. No, she would wait fifteen more minutes. If Professor Chi didn't show, she would pack it in and head back to the NUMA ship. She would have to admit that the two hour drive in the rented Jeep had been for nothing.

Damn. She'd never get a chance like this again. She really wanted to meet Chi. He sounded so pleasant on the phone, with his American accent and a Spanish courtliness. Wilted by the heat, a strand of the long darkred hair swirled up on her head dropped down over her nose. She stuck her lower lip out and tried to blow the wisp out of the way. When that didn't work she brushed it away, checking from habit in the rearview minor. She saw a speck in the road. The dot grew larger, vibrating in the heat waves. She leaned out the door for a better look. The object materialized into a blue and white bus. Obviously lost, she concluded. She withdrew her head and was taking