afraid of flying. So, apparently, we’ll be traveling by train.”
Pitt would have preferred to send a jet for them, but it would take several days to get the ships and equipment in place anyway. “Understood,” he said. “Plan on shoving off the minute you arrive at the dock.”
“We’ll be ready,” Kurt said.
He signed off, and Dirk Pitt considered the task ahead of them. Pinpointing an experiment in the vast expanse of the Great Southern Ocean would not be an easy task even for a small fleet of high-tech vessels.
He turned back to Sandecker. “Do these neutrino detectors of yours have a directional-sensing component?”
“To some extent,” Sandecker admitted, “but not in a pinpoint-accurate kind of way, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Pitt’s gears were turning. “Any chance we could have them tuned to look for these waves? In case our friends do exactly what Kurt is suggesting but that this sensor Kurt’s scientist friend is building doesn’t pick them up?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Even if it’s a vague directional vector, three stations receiving a signal means we should be able to cross- reference and triangulate. That’ll help us narrow down the target zone.”
Sandecker grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
FIFTEEN
The NUMA vessel
At the moment,
With a walkie-talkie in his hand, Paul Trout moved to the very front of the forward deck. He leaned over the railing and gazed downward. Just aft of where the ship’s bow met the water, an eleven-foot triangular flange stuck out from the side of the hull. This protrusion, along with an identical one on the port side, gave the ship’s bow an odd shape, like the head of a stingray, and the crew had nicknamed it the Skate.
Perhaps it was appropriate. Like her namesake, the Skate was designed to scan the seafloor far below, searching for things hidden beneath eons of piled-up sediment.
It was expected to be a huge leap forward in the hunt for and development of underwater resources. But first, it had to work, which, so far, had proven hit or miss.
Paul pressed the talk switch on the radio. “Flange folded down and locked in place. The hookup bars are secured, the alignment indicators are matched up. The Skate is visually in the correct location.”
The female voice belonged to Gamay Trout, Paul’s wife. She was in
Paul preferred to be out on the deck, partly because the information center was cramped and tight and he was six feet eight inches tall, but also because the idea of signing up for a mission at sea and spending most of it in a darkened room surrounded by computers struck him as the height of absurdity.
“Dolphins?”
Paul hadn’t heard that one before. He checked both sides of the ship. “No dolphins, no pilot whales.”
A long pause followed. Paul figured Gamay was running through a diagnostic protocol or something. He took the time to stretch out and marvel at the blue sky, the fresh breeze, and the warm sun.
After more silence, he decided to risk prodding her. “Everything okay?”
There was no answer, and Paul imagined the computers crashing and all manner of swearing going on in the control room. For the moment, he was doubly glad not to be down there.
He turned as a figure appeared outside the
Paul smiled at Gamay as she approached. At five foot ten, she was relatively tall for a woman, but her proportions were such that she looked neither thin nor reedy the way many tall women do. Glamorous when she needed to be. For now, she was dressed like the rest of the crew, in khaki pants and a NUMA polo shirt. Her dark red hair was pulled sleekly back in a ponytail and tucked beneath a NUMA cap that read GEMINI in gold letters. She flashed a smile at him, and her blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous quality.
“Decide to join me for a stroll?” he said, a New Hampshire accent detectable in his voice.
“Actually,” she said, “I came to tell you the bad news. We have to pull up stakes and head south.”
“South? Why? I’m sure you can get the Skate back online.”
“It’s not the Skate,” she said. “We have new orders.”
Paul sensed the ship beginning a turn to port. “Not wasting any time.”
“Dirk wants us to go help Kurt and Joe with what he called a critical project.”
“Last I heard, Kurt and Joe were on vacation,” Paul reminded her. “Does this project involve bail money or sneaking them out of the country somehow?”
“You know Dirk,” she said, looping an arm around Paul’s waist. “He’s a man of few words. Said we’d be given more details when we arrived on-station.”
Now Paul became deeply suspicious. In addition to Gamay’s words, he could feel the
“Where exactly are we going?”
Gamay shook her head. “All I know is, Dirk told me we’d better break out the cold-weather gear.”
“So that’s why you’re out here,” Paul said.
“Figured I’d better enjoy the sun while I can.”
Paul and Gamay often worked closely with Kurt and Joe. And, in most of those cases, once the ride picked up speed, they got more than they’d bargained for. If the pattern held, the next day or two would probably be their last chance to relax for quite a while.
“How about that stroll?” Paul asked.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Gamay replied.
SIXTEEN
Mist fell on the grassy steppes of the Kamchatka Plain. The mottled gray sky obscured the mountain peaks and threatened rain.
“Pull!”
With that shout, the gates of several cages were opened. The flutter of wings burst forth.
Three shots rang out. Three birds, fleeing in different directions, fell in rapid succession, feathers exploding outward like dust.
Standing in the middle of the carnage, Anton Gregorovich pumped another shell into the shotgun’s breach. Three shots, three hits.
Grinning at his own prowess, he placed the weapon down and glanced at his two assistants, teenage boys
