Kurt looked at Captain Haynes, who nodded. “I already ran it by the Director. He’s in agreement.”
“There are many parties who want to see this site,” the admiral said. “Already I have a stack of petitions from scientists who want to come and study it. But rules must be established and followed. If you would help us put them in place…”
Kurt turned to Haynes. “Captain, that’s up to you and Dirk. Not us. We do what we’re told.”
“You are the discoverers,” Admiral Sienna said. “And you are well known for other things you have found, including the statue the Navigator, and for your part in learning the truth about the blue medusa and stopping the plague that threatened the world last year. It would be good for you to be here. All sides would respect your presence.”
“You want us to be administrators,” Kurt said, unable to hide his disdain for this plan.
“The other officers and I will handle the paperwork and logistics,” Captain Haynes said. “You and Joe will be on point, keeping everyone in line out there.”
“You want us to be the disciplinarians?” Kurt asked.
The captain smiled. “Turnabout, if ever I’ve seen it.”
Kurt glanced at the map on the wall. Five hundred miles to the east of their position, the Trouts were getting ready to dive on the Kinjara Maru. Her sinking continued to monopolize his thoughts during any downtime, and with his and Joe’s early exit from the contest, he’d hoped to return and take part in that dive. It seemed events would not allow it.
They were stuck here, he knew that. And if that was the case, he figured it was better to be running the show and dishing out the red tape than trying to cut through it.
He turned to Joe. “Mr. Zavala?”
“You know I’m always at your back,” Joe said.
If Joe was in and Captain Haynes was on board, at least Kurt knew he wasn’t going it alone. “All right,” he said. “I’m game.”
15
Moscow, Russia, June 21
KATARINA LUSKAYA CLIMBED THE STEPS fronting the Science Ministry’s building after returning from lunch in one of Moscow’s magnificent parks. On a sunny June day, it was 82 degrees, not very humid at all, and absolutely beautiful in the great city.
It seemed hard to believe that in three months the first snows would be falling, and, six weeks after that, it would be twenty below and dangerous to walk around outside.
Savor it while you can, she told herself.
Fit and athletic, Katarina had a warm smile but a relatively plain look about her. Her short mahogany hair was cut in an attractive style that angled along her chin line. At times, her bangs fell across her face, hiding her eyes. She was not the kind of woman who would stir up attention by walking into a room, but after being there for a while she might have a crowd around her, drawn to her energy and laughter and spirit over the perhaps more superficial charms of others.
Thirty-one years old, Katarina had just recently completed her doctorate in advanced energy systems and was now a full-fledged member of the Science Directorate. Her unit was charged with figuring out what Russia should do if it ever ran out of oil and natural gas. Current estimates had that occurring in fifty to a hundred years, so every member of the team knew their work was not exactly aimed at a pressing need.
In a way, that made it better. No one bothered them, no one interfered. They were one of the few groups in the Science Directorate allowed to practice unadulterated research, done for no other reason than for the sake of the science itself.
Katarina enjoyed that. She did not build weapons. She did not pollute the sky or the water or the land. She did not work for a corporation that would take what she had done, earn billions from it, and give little back.
There was freedom in such a setup, a sense of purity. And yet, if she were honest, she felt restless more often than not. Enough so that on such a gorgeous day, she didn’t relish going back to work.
That feeling multiplied the instant she reached her office.
She stepped inside to find a pair of men in dark suits waiting. One, with a broad face, flattened nose, and a sharply defined case of five o’clock shadow, lingered by the far wall. He stood like a statue, with his hands clasped in front of him. The other man, bald and squat, sat at her desk.
“Sit down,” the Bald Man said.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing in my—”
“We are from the State,” the Bald Man said ominously.
That was never a good thing to hear.
Reluctantly, Katarina sat across from him, finding it odd to be on this side of her own desk.
“You are Katarina Luskaya,” the Bald Man said, and then pointed to the flat-nosed man standing by the wall. “He is Major Sergei Komarov.”
Katarina waited, but the Bald Man didn’t give his own name. A disconnected fear began to grow inside her. Even in today’s Russia, a visit from the State could go very badly.
And yet, try as she might, Katarina could think of no reason for the government to be offended with her. She wasn’t political in any real way. She wasn’t a criminal. She did her job and paid her taxes. Years prior, she had even waved the Russian banner as a skater at the Winter Olympics. And while she hadn’t won, she had performed admirably, finishing fourth, even with a partially torn ligament in her knee.
“What do you want?” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Your brother was a paratrooper,” the Bald Man said, ignoring her question.
“Yes,” she said. “He died two years ago.”
“Unfortunate,” she was told. “He was a loyal soldier. He did what his country asked him to do.”
She noticed the words came respectfully.
The man leaned forward, steepling his fingers together and looking into her eyes. “We know that you are loyal also,” he said. “And we want you to do something for your country.”
His first statement eased her fears a little while the second raised them back up. “I’m just a scientist, and I’m junior here. What can I possibly do besides my work?”
“Something that your background, athleticism, and small amount of fame will be an asset in performing.”
The Bald Man slid a folder across the desk. It rested in front of her, but Katarina kept her hands to the side.
“You are a scuba diver,” the Bald Man said. “In the Black Sea, every summer.”
This was true. It was a hobby. “Yes,” she said.
“Then you will do fine,” he said. He nodded toward the folder. “Open it.”
She looked inside. She saw photos of a group of islands, some ships, and a few news clippings. She realized she was looking at a collection of information on the strange discovery in the Azores. Her group had already been talking about it.
“We want you to go there,” the Bald Man said.
She pictured the beaches, the sun, the simple pleasures of an island vacation. Suddenly, working for the State didn’t sound so bad.
“You want me to investigate this discovery?”
“Yes,” he said unconvincingly. “At least, you should appear to be doing that.”
Her nerves returned. “What am I really to be doing?”
“Look at the final page.”
Katarina leafed through the loose papers and found the last one. On it, she saw several black-and-white photos. One was of a weather-beaten older man. The photo itself looked ancient, like one she had of her grandmother, the color slightly off, the clothing poorly constructed and course. A second photo showed two stainless steel trunks. The third showed a propeller-driven aircraft. She noticed the distinctive triple tail.