Yaeger was truly a magician, but his sleight of hand was per formed with computers rather than a top hat and wand. He was an unlikely-looking magus, dressed with a studied scruffiness in Levi's jeans and denim jacket over a plain white T-shirt. Beat-up cowboy boots adorned his feet. Yet he presided like a master sorcerer over the vast computer network that covered nearly the en tire tenth floor of the NUMA building. The National Underwater amp; Marine Agency oceans center stored and processed the most enormous amount of digital data on oceanography and related sciences ever assembled under one roof.
"That was nothing," he said with boyish delight. Excitement danced in the gray eyes behind wire-rimmed granny glasses perched on his narrow nose. "Wait until you see the treat Max and I have planned for you."
"I can hardly wait. That was Sovereign of the Seas?"
"Right. Launched in 1637 at the orders of Charles I. One of the largest seagoing vessels constructed up to that time."
'Also one of the most top-heavy, as I recall. She had her top deck cut down, which was appropriate, given that Charles lost his head."
"I'll add the modifications later. The new program will be available for the nautical archaeology department of any university that wants it. Max has been making a list of hundreds of old vessels. We feed their plans, architect's renderings, dimensions, history, everything we know about a vessel, into the computers. Max pulls it all together into a holographic reconstruction. She'll even fill in missing details when information is incomplete. Max, would you mind telling Kurt what you found with the material he gave us?"
The face of a lovely woman appeared on the huge monitor just beyond the platform. Her lips parted in a white smile.
"I'd come off my coffee break any time for Mr. Austin," the voice said flirtatiously.
The air above the platform shimmered with blue light at the nexus of lasers scattered in the walls. Stud by stud, beam by beam, but with lightning speed, the flashing lasers assembled a long open ship with a single square sail.
"C'mon." Yaeger got up, and they walked onto the platform. Austin's vision blurred for a second. When it cleared they were
standing on the deck of the vessel looking toward the gracefully upturned bow. Circular wooden shields adorned the sides.
"This is the next evolution in the program. Not only will you be able to see the ships in our inventory, you'll be able to walk around on the decks. The virtual perspective changes as you move. The simplicity of design made this one fairly easy. "
"I'd say I'm standing on the deck of the Gogstad ship."
"Correct. Built in Norway between A.D. 700 and 1000. The original ship was seventy-nine feet long and was constructed entirely of oak, something a bit more substantial than light beams. This is a half-scale model."
"It's beautiful," Austin said, "but what does it have to do with the material I gave you?"
"I'll show you what I found."
They walked through the shimmering walls back to the con sole.
"It wasn't hard getting some data on the Mulholland Group," Yaeger said. "As your dead lawyer friend told you, the company is involved in hydraulic projects. I had to dig around, but I found that it was part of a larger corporation called Gogstad. The logo of the parent company is the ship you see be fore you." The hologram disappeared, and a stylized version of the ship appeared on the monitor.
"Tell me more."
"I asked Max to start playing around with Gogstad. I didn't get much on the company, but apparently it's a huge trans national corporation involved in all kinds of stuff. Finance. Engineering. Banking. Construction."
He handed Austin a computer disk. "This is what I found Nothing startling. I'll keep trying."
"Thanks, Hiram. I'll review it. In the meantime I've got an other favor to ask of you and Max." He related his visit to the Garber center and his interview with the pilot's son. "I'd like to know if this plane was ever built and what happened to the I pilot."
Max had been attentive again. A photograph of a large wing shaped craft appeared on the screen.
"This is a picture from the Smithsonian files of the YB-49A, the last Northrop flying wing bomber to take to the air," the low voice purred. "I can give you a three-D rendering, like the ships."
"This is fine for now. The designation etched on the cylinder was YB-49B."
The photograph was replaced by a drawing. "This is the YB 49B," Max said.
"What's the difference between this model and the one you just showed us, Max?"
"The designers ironed out the oscillation problem that bothered the bombardiers. In addition it would have flown faster and farther than the earlier model. It was never built."
Austin knew better than to argue with Max. Instead, he watched the statistical and performance figures roll under the picture. Something in the data bothered him.
"Wait," he said. "Go back. See there, it says the cruising speed was five hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. How would they have known the speed if they hadn't conducted field trials?"
"It may be an estimate?" Yaeger ventured.
"Maybe. But it doesn't say that it's estimated."
"You're right. They would have to have conducted field trials back then because they didn't have smart machines like Max to simulate flying conditions."
"Thank you for the compliment, although it does state the obvious," Max said. "Kurt has a point, Hiram. While you were talking I checked and found that in every instance where a plane was designed but not actually built, its speed was estimated. Except for this one."
Yaeger knew better than to argue with Max. "It seems that maybe this plane did exist? But what happened to it?"
"This may be as far as we get for now," Austin said. "The Northrop and Air Force records were lost. What can Max tell us about the pilot, Frank Martin?"
"Do you want the quick economy search or the full-blown probe?" Max asked.
"What's the difference?"
"The quick tour goes to the Pentagon's armed services registry, which contains the name of everyone, living or dead, who served in the armed forces. The full monte digs additional information from the Pentagon's classified files. I'll throw in the National Security Council, the FBI, and the CIA just for ha-has."
"This is a mere technicality, but isn't it illegal to hack into those databases?"
"Hack is such an ugly word," Max said. "Let's say I'm simply paying social calls on fellow computer systems so we can ex change gossip."
"In that case, do all the socializing you want to," Austin said.
"Interesting," Max said after a moment. "I've tried to open several doors, but in every case Harry has put a lock on them."
"Who's Harry, another computer?" Yaeger said.
"No, silly. Harry Truman."
Austin scratched his head. "Are you saying that all the files on this pilot were sealed by order of the president?"
"That's right. Aside from the most basic information about Mr. Martin, everything else is still classified." There was an un characteristic pause. "That's peculiar," Max said. "I just got a trace. It was as if someone opened a door that was locked. Here's your boy." A picture of a young man in an Air Force uniform appeared. "He lives in upstate New York near Coopers town."
"He's still alive?"
"There seems to be some disagreement on that. The Pentagon says he died in a plane crash in 1949. This new information says just the opposite."
"A mistake?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. Humans are fallible. I'm not."
"Does he have a phone?"
"No. But I have an address."
A printout came out of a slot on the console. Still puzzled, Austin looked at the name and address as if they were in vanishing ink. He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. "Thanks, Hiram and Max. You've been a great help." He started for the door.
"Where you off to now?" Yaeger said.
"Cooperstown. This may be my one and only chance to get into the Baseball Hall of Fame."