Deep Six

Vernon and presumed sunk. Little else. “Who said anything about VIP’s being on board?”

“Army and Navy helicopters are as thick as locusts overhead, and you can walk across the river on the Coast Guard ships crowding the water. There’s more to this search project than you’ve let on, Admiral. A hell of a lot more.”

Sandecker didn’t reply. He could only admit to himself that Pitt was thinking four jumps ahead. His silence, he knew, only heightened Pitt’s suspicions. Sidestepping the issue, he asked, “You see something that caused you to begin looking this far below Mount Vernon?”

“Enough to save us four days and twenty-five miles,” Pitt answered. “I figured the boat would be spotted by one of our space cameras, but which one? Military spy satellites don’t orbit over Washington, and space weather pictures won’t enhance to pinpoint small detail.”

“Where did you get that one?” Sandecker asked, motioning toward the photograph.

“From a friend at the Department of Interior. One of their geological survey satellites flew 590 miles overhead and shot an infrared portrait of Chesapeake Bay and the adjoining rivers. Time: four-forty the morning of the boat’s disappearance. If you look through the glass at the blowup of this section of the Potomac, the only boat that can be seen downriver from Mount Vernon is cruising a mile below this dock.”

Sandecker peered at the tiny white dot on the photograph. The enhancement was incredibly sharp. He could detect every piece of gear on the decks and the figures of two people. He stared into Pitt’s eyes.

“No way of proving that’s the boat we’re after,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t fall off a pumpkin truck, Admiral. That’s the presidential yacht Eagle!”

“I won’t run you around the horn,” Sandecker spoke quietly, “but I can’t tell you any more than I already have.”

Pitt gave a noncommittal shrug and said nothing.

“So where do you think it is?”

Pitt’s green eyes deepened. He gave Sandecker a sly stare and picked up a pair of dividers. “I looked up the Eagle’s specifications. Her top speed was fourteen knots. Now, the space photo was taken at four-forty. Daylight was an hour and a half away. The crew who pirated the yacht couldn’t risk being seen, so they put her on the bottom under cover of darkness. Taking all that into consideration, she could have traveled only twenty-one miles before sunup.”

“That still takes in a lot of water.”

“I think we can slice it some.”

“By staying in the channel?”

“Yes, sir, deep water. If I was running the show, I’d sink her deep to prevent accidental discovery.”

“What’s the average depth of your search grid?”

“Thirty to forty feet.”

“Not enough.”

“True, but according to the depth soundings on the navigation charts, there are several holes that drop over a hundred.”

Sandecker paused and gazed out the wheelhouse window as Al Giordino marched along the dock carrying a pair of air tanks on his beefy shoulders. He turned back to Pitt and observed him thoughtfully.

“If you dive on it,” Sandecker said coldly, “you’re not to enter. Our job is strictly to discover and identify, nothing else.”

“What’s down there that we can’t see?”

“Don’t ask.”

Pitt smiled wryly. “Humor me. I’m fickle.”

“The hell you are,” grunted Sandecker. “What do you think is in the yacht?”

“Make that who.”

“Does it matter?” Sandecker asked guardedly. “It’s probably empty.”

“You’re jerking me around, Admiral. I’m sure of it. After we find the yacht, what then?”

“The FBI takes over.”

“So we do our little act and step aside.”

“That’s what the orders say.”

“I say screw them.”

“Them?”

“The powers who play petty secret games.”

“Believe me, this project isn’t petty.”

A hard look crossed Pitt’s face. “We’ll make that judgment when we find the yacht, won’t we?”

“Take my word for it,” said Sandecker, “you don’t want to see what might be inside the wreck.”

Almost as the words came out, Sandecker knew he’d waved a flag in front of a bull elephant. Once Pitt dropped beneath the river’s surface, the thin leash of command was broken.

29

Six hours later and twelve miles downriver, target number seventeen crept across the recording screen of the Klein High Resolution Sonar. It lay in 109 feet of water between Persimmon and Mathias points directly opposite Popes Creek and two miles above the Potomac River Bridge.

“Dimensions?” Pitt asked the sonor operator.

“Approximately thirty-six meters long by seven meters wide.”

“What kind of size are we looking for?” asked Giordino.

“The Eagle has an overall length of a hundred and ten feet with a twenty-foot beam,” Pitt replied.

“That matches,” Giordino said, mentally juggling meters to feet.

“I think we’ve got her,” Pitt said as he examined the configurations revealed by the sidescan sonar. “Let’s make another pass — this time about twenty meters to starboard — and throw out a buoy.”

Sandecker, who was standing outside on the after deck keeping an eye on the sensor cable, leaned into the wheelhouse. “Got something?”

Pitt nodded. “A prime contact.”

“Going to check it out?”

“After we drop a buoy, Al and I’ll go down for a look.”

Sandecker stared at the weathered deck and said nothing. Then he turned and walked back to the stern, where he helped Giordino hoist a fifty-pound lead weight attached to a bright orange buoy onto the Hoki Jamoki’s bulwark.

Pitt took the helm and brought the boat about. When the target began to raise on the depth sounder, he shouted, “Now!”

The buoy was thrown overboard as the boat slowed. One of the engineers moved to the bow and lowered the anchor. The Hoki Jamoki drifted to a stop with her stern pointed downstream.

“Too bad you didn’t include an underwater TV camera,” said Sandecker as he helped Pitt into his dive gear. “You could have saved yourself a trip.”

“A wasted effort,” Pitt said. “Visibility is measured in inches down there.”

“The current is running about two knots,” Sandecker judged.

“When we begin our ascent to the surface, it will carry us astern. Better throw out a hundred-yard lifeline on a floating buoy to pull us aboard.”

Giordino tightened his weight belt and flashed a jaunty grin. “Ready when you are.”

Sandecker gripped Pitt on the shoulder. “Mind what I said about entering the wreck.”

“I’ll try not to look too hard,” Pitt said flatly.

Before the admiral could reply, Pitt adjusted his face mask over his eyes and dropped backwards into the river.