'All right, Mr. Pitt,' said General Stack dubiously, 'how do we destroy the tunnels without sending in the Special Forces or a squadron of bombers?'
Pitt held their attention, every eye was trained on him. 'I propose we give the job to Mother Nature.'
They all looked at him, waiting for an explanation, their minds beginning to think he may have lost some gray matter. Martin, the scientist, broke the silence.
'Could you please explain?'
'According to geologists, a slope of the Concepcion volcano on Ometepe is slipping. This was no doubt caused by the tunnel excavation under the outer edge of the volcano. When Al and I were in the tunnel closest to its core, we could feel a substantial rise in temperature.'
'Well over a hundred degrees,' Giordino added.
'The Lowenhardts told us that one of the scientists held hostage, a Dr. Honoma from the University of Hawaii—'
'One of the scientists on our list of the missing,' interrupted Martin.
'Dr. Honoma predicted that a sudden slip was possible at any time that would cause the volcano's flank to collapse, with catastrophic results.'
'How extensive would be the catastrophic results?' asked the general, not entirely sold on the report.
'The entire Odyssey research center and everybody in it would be buried under millions of tons of rock that would launch a tidal wave around the lake that would wipe out every town and village along the shoreline.'
'This certainly isn't a situation we considered,' said Hecht.
Seymour gave Pitt a long, considering gaze. 'If what you say is true, the mountain will do the job for us and destroy the tunnels.'
'That's one scenario.'
'Then all we have to do is sit and wait.'
'Geologists haven't witnessed enough volcanic slope collapses to form a timetable. The wait might last a few days or a few years. Then it would be too late to avert the freeze.'
'We can't just sit on our hands,' Stack spoke in a hard tone, 'and watch helplessly as the tunnels go into operation.'
'We
'Kindly tell us what you've got in mind,' Sandecker demanded impatiently.
'Inform the Nicaraguan government that our scientists have monitored the slippage on Concepcion volcano by satellite, and its slope is ready to collapse at any hour. Scare the hell out of them. Describe a possible death toll in the thousands, then feed them the bait.'
Seymour looked confused. 'Bait?'
'We offer to provide massive aid in helping the people inside the facility and the inhabitants around Lake Nicaragua to evacuate the area and head for high ground. Once they are free and clear, you can drop a bomb into the side of the volcano from fifty thousand feet without anybody being the wiser, set off the slide and destroy the tunnels.'
Sandecker leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the surface of the table. 'It sounds too simple, too elementary for such an enormous event.'
'From what I know of the area,' said Martin, 'Mount Concepcion is still active. A bomb might set off an eruption.'
'Dropping the bomb down the volcano's crater might induce an eruption,' said Pitt. 'But we should be safe if we guide it to explode below the base of the volcano's slope.'
For the first time, General Stack smiled. 'I believe Mr. Pitt has something. The simplicity is what makes it logical. I propose we investigate the possibilities.'
'What about the workers below in the tunnels?' asked Seymour. 'They wouldn't have a chance of escaping.'
'Not to worry,' replied Giordino. 'They would have left a good twenty-four hours before the tunnels were to be opened to the sea.'
'We can't waste time,' Pitt cautioned. 'I overheard the two women in Odyssey's headquarters say they were going to open the tunnels in eight days. That was three days ago. We're now down to five.'
Hecht peered over a pair of reading glasses at Seymour. 'It's up to you, Max, to get the ball rolling. We'll need the president's approval to proceed.'
'I'll have that within the hour,' Seymour said confidently. 'My next job is to convince Secretary of State Hampton to launch immediate negotiations with the Nicaraguan officials to allow our rescue force to enter the country.' He glanced at Stack. 'And you, General, I'll rely on you to set up and direct the evacuation.' Then it was Jack Martin's turn. 'Jack, it will be your job to put the fear of God in the minds of the Nicaraguan government that the catastrophe is very real and imminent.'
'I'll help on that score,' offered Sandecker. 'I'm very close with two of the country's ocean scientists.'
Last, Seymour stared at Pitt and Giordino. 'We owe you gentlemen a great debt. I only wish I knew how to repay it.'
'There is something,' Pitt said, grinning, exchanging looks with Giordino. 'There is this Secret Service agent we know by the name of Otis McGonigle. Al and I would like to see him promoted.'
Seymour shrugged. 'I think I can arrange that. Any particular reason you've selected him?'
'We have great rapport,' Giordino answered. 'He's a credit to the service.'
'There is one other favor,' said Pitt, looking at Hecht. 'I'd like to see your file on Specter and the Odyssey conglomerate.'
Hecht nodded. 'I'll have one of my couriers bring it to NUMA headquarters. You think there is anything in it that may prove useful to this situation?'
'I don't know,' Pitt said honestly. 'But I am certainly going to give it a hard look.'
'My analysts have already studied it in depth, but no flags went up.'
'Perhaps, just perhaps,' said Pitt, 'I might run across something that was missed.'
43
Moreau, dressed in white shorts, white open shirt and high kneesocks, was waiting for Dirk and Summer at precisely nine o'clock as they exited the lobby of the hotel with the duffel bags containing their dive gear. The doorman set their bags in the trunk and they all climbed into the 525 BMW under a light rain deposited by a single cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky. The wind was gentle and barely fluttered the fronds of the palm trees.
The drive to the wharf where Moreau had arranged for their chartered boat to be moored was a short two miles down a winding road to the water. He pulled onto a narrow stone jetty that extended from the shore over water that altered from a yellow-green to a blue-green as it deepened. He stopped above a boat that was nestled against the dock like a duckling to its mother, fenders like feathers bumping from stone to fiberglass hull as she dipped in the gentle waves flowing in from the lagoon. The name in gold letters across her stern read:
DEAR HEART.
She was a pretty little sailboat, a masthead sloop with her mainsail and jib going to the top of the mast. Twenty-six feet in length with a nine-foot beam, her draft was only a few inches over four feet. She had three hundred and thirty-one square feet of sail area and a small ten-horsepower auxiliary diesel engine. Her cabin comfortably slept two with a head, shower and a small galley. As Moreau had promised, a Fisher metal detector and a Klein subbottom profiler were mounted and ready for operation in the cockpit. Dirk dropped down a ladder to the deck and caught the bags as they were dropped by Moreau, before carrying them down to the cabin.
'A safe voyage,' said Moreau to Summer. 'I shall keep my cell phone on my person at all times. Please call if you encounter trouble.'
'We shall,' said Summer confidently. Then she slipped lithely down the ladder and joined Dirk as he started the little diesel. At his signal, Moreau cast off the lines and stood on the dock, an expression of dire concern on his face as the little boat's diesel engine knocked across the lagoon and out into the sea.
Once they cleared the last buoy, Dirk ran the mainsail and jib up the mast, with Summer at the wheel. The
