“I will be back from Spokane this evening. If you can assemble the crew, I can help the ship's doctor check each man for symptoms in the morning.”
“Consider it done. Sarah, I could use another favor from you as well. Okay if I pick you up in the morning?”
“Sure, that would be fine. And, Dirk ... I pray that you are not infected.”
“Don't you worry,” he replied confidently. “There's way too much rum in my blood to keep any bugs alive.”
Dirk immediately called Captain Burch, and, with Leo Del-| gado's help, quickly contacted each crew member who had sailed on the Deep Endeavor. To their relief, none of the men reported signs of illness, and all appeared at the NUMA field office the next morning As promised, Dirk picked up Sarah at her apartment early in the: morning, electing to drive the big '58 Chrysler.
“My word, this is an enormous car,” Sarah declared as she climbed into the finned behemoth.
“It's the original definition of heavy metal,” Dirk grinned as he stoked the car out of the parking lot and drove toward the NUMA building.
Many of the Deep Endeavor's crew greeted Sarah warmly when she arrived before the assembled group, and she noted to herself how the entire crew behaved more like close family members than coworkers.
“It is great to see my NUMA friends again,” she said, addressing the crew. “As you may know, my associate Irv Fowler, who was on the ship with us, has been diagnosed with smallpox. The smallpox virus is highly contagious and it is critical that those infected be quickly isolated. I will need to know if any of you have suffered from the following symptoms since Irv, Sandy, and I left the Deep Endeavor, fever, headache, backache, severe abdominal pain, malaise, delirium, or rashes on the face, arms, or legs.”
One by one, she examined the apprehensive crew, taking temperatures and grilling each man or woman on signs of the deadly disease. Even Dirk and Captain Burch were subject to her checkup, after which Sarah gave a noticeable sigh of relief.
“Captain, just three of your crewmen are showing minor flu like signs of illness, which may or may not be preliminary symptoms of the virus. I request that these men remain isolated until we can complete their blood tests. Your remaining crew should avoid large public venues for at least a few more days. I would like to do a follow-up check at the end of the week, but it appears promising there has been nO outbreak among the ship's crew.”
“That is good news,” Burch replied with audible relief. “Seems odd to me that the virus did not spread easily through a confined ship.”
“Patients are most infectious after the onset of rash, which typically occurs twelve to fourteen days after exposure. Irv was well off the boat and working in Anchorage when he reached that stage, so it's possible that the virus had not spread while we were aboard. Captain, I would ensure that his stateroom on the Deep Endeavor is thoroughly sanitized, along with all linen and dining ware aboard the ship, just to be safe.”
“I'll see that it's taken care of right away.”
“It would appear that the source of the smallpox outbreak was on Yunaska,” Dirk speculated.
“I think so,” Sarah replied. “It's a wonder that you and Jack were not exposed when you picked us up off the island.”
“Our protective gear may have saved us.”
“Thank God,” she said gratefully.
“It would seem that our mysterious friends on the fishing boat may have been dabbling with something even nastier than cyanide. Which reminds me ... the favor I asked?”
Dirk led Sarah to the Chrysler, where he popped open the large trunk lid. Inside was the porcelain bomb canister from the I-403, carefully wrapped inside a milk crate. Sarah inspected the item with a quizzical look on her face.
“Okay, I give up. What is it?”
Dirk briefly explained his trip to Fort Stevens and the dive on the Japanese submarine.
Can you have your lab identify any remaining residue? I have a hunch there may be something to it.'
Sarah stood silent a moment before speaking.
“Yes, we can have it examined,” she said in a serious tone. “But it will cost you lunch,” she said, finally breaking into a wry smile.
Dirk drove Sarah to the state Public Health Lab on Fir-crest Campus, where they carefully transferred the fragmented bomb casing into a small working lab room. After some chiding for bringing an explosive into the building, a jovial, slightly balding research scientist named Hal agreed to examine the fragment after the conclusion of a staff meeting.
“Looks like a long lunch is in order. Where shall we go?” Sarah asked.
“I know a quiet spot with a nice water view,” Dirk replied with a mischievous grin.
“Then take me away in the green machine,” she laughed, climbing into the turquoise Chrysler.
Dirk drove the car out of the laboratory's narrow parking lot, easing past a familiar-looking black Cadillac CTS that sat with its engine running. Exiting the campus grounds, he drove south past Seattle's st ling downtown, then turned west, following a road sign to Fauntleroy. Reaching the water's edge of Puget Sound, Dirk turned to the Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal, then steered the Chrysler up a loading ramp and onto the car deck of a waiting automobile ferry. As he parked the Chrysler amid several rows of tightly packed commuter cars Sarah reached over and squeezed his hand tightly.
“A ferryboat snack bar Donuts and coffee?” she inquired.
“I think we can do better than that. Let's go upstairs and look at the view.”
Sarah followed him up a stairwell that emptied onto the open upper deck, where they found a vacant bench facing the northern expanse of Puget Sound. A loud blast from the ferry's horn and a gentle nudge beneath their feet told them they were on their way, as two 2,500-horsepower diesel engines gently pushed the 328-foot vessel away from the dock.
It was a crystal clear day on the Sound, the kind that reminded local residents of why they endure the long, drizzly Pacific Northwest winters to call the area home. In the distance, the Cascade and Olympic mountain ranges sparkled along the horizon, almost shimmering against an azure blue sky so intense it felt close enough to touch. The Seattle downtown cut the skyline in a brilliant reflection of steel and glass, with the landmark Space Needle rising like a futuristic monolith from a George Jetson cartoon. Dirk pointed out a half-dozen other ferries plying their human cargoes about the harbor and watched as they dodged large freighters that cruised along the international shipping lanes.
It was only a fifteen-minute ride to their destination of Vashon Island, and when the boat's captain began aligning the ferry to dock Dirk and Sarah made their way back down to the Chrysler. As he held the door open for Sarah to climb into the passenger seat, Dirk glanced down the row of cars parked behind him. Sitting four spaces behind them, a black Cadillac sedan caught his eye. The same black Cadillac that had been parked with the motor running at the Public Health Lab. And, he now recalled, the same Cadillac that he had seen during his | drive around Fort Stevens.
“I think I see a friend parked behind us,” Dirk said calmly to Sarah. “Think I'll go back and say hello. I'll be right back.”
Strolling casually down the row of cars, he observed two Asian men sitting in the Cadillac staring directly at him. As he approached the driver's-side door, he suddenly leaned down and stuck his face into the open window.
“Excuse me, fellas, do you happen to know where the restroom is?” Dirk asked in a hick voice.
The driver, a heavyset goon with a bad crew cut, looked straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact, and slowly shook his head. Dirk looked for, and found, a slight protrusion under the man's coat near his left armpit, the telltale sign of a holstered weapon. Across the car's interior, the accomplice in the passenger seat showed none of the shyness of the driver. A skinny man with long hair and a stringy goatee glared back at Dirk with a menacing grin, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. On the floorboard between his feet was a large leather case, which concealed something more than a calculator and cell phone, Dirk surmised.
“Find your friend?” Sarah asked when he returned to the Chrysler.
“No,” Dirk replied, shaking his head. “I was quite mistaken.”
A long blast from the ship's horn followed by two short blasts announced that the ferry was docking and
