Zavala wheeled his chair aside to give Austin a clear view of his monitor. Floating in a slow rotation against a black background was a three-dimensional neon-blue image of the manta-ray AUV that had cut the bathysphere cable and attacked Austin.
Austin let out a low whistle.
“That’s it. Where did you find this thing?”
“I went back to the original video from the Hardsuit camera.”
Zavala clicked his mouse to replay the skirmish with the AUV. There was a quick succession of images, a confusion of bubbles, and glimpses of the vehicle.
“I didn’t give you much to go on,” Austin said.
“You gave me enough. I slowed the action and culled details here and there. I used those bits to create a rough outline of the AUV and then compared it with the automated underwater vehicles in my database. I’ve got info on practically everything self-propelled ever made, but at first I couldn’t find this one anywhere.”
“My first impression was that it resembled the Manta, the sub that the Navy developed for mine detection and destruction.”
“Not a bad call,” Zavala said. “Here’s the Manta. There are some of the same features that you get when you have a computer-generated design. But your guy didn’t have the launching pads for mini mine sniffers and torpedoes like the Navy’s model.”
“Good thing. Neither one of us would be here if our little friend had been armed with the hard stuff.”
“After I breezed through military models, I went to scientific applications. Most of the AUVs I found are torpedo-shaped, like Woods Hole Oceanographic’s ABE or Scripps’s Rover. After ruling out military and scientific, I looked to industry. But oil, gas, and communications didn’t pan out, so I tried commercial fishing.”
He called up an article from a commercial-fishing magazine.
Austin looked at the photos with the article and smiled.
“Jackpot,” he said.
“The vehicle in the magazine piece is used to film experimental fishnet designs,” Zavala said.
“That would account for the manta shape,” Austin noted. “You’d need something flat and smooth to get under the nets, no projecting fins that might catch.”
“The pincers allow the AUV to cut its way through tangled nets,” Zavala said. “It was used by a Chinese company, Pyramid Seafood Exports.”
“Chinese? That’s significant. The men who attacked the ship were Asian. The weapons they carried were Chinese.”
“I Googled the name,” Zavala said. “Pyramid is headquartered in Shanghai, but they’re a global company.”
Austin said, “Why would a legitimate fishing company be involved in the attacks on the Beebe and the bathysphere?”
“I may be able to answer that question after seeing my friend Caitlin Lyons at the FBI’s Asian Crime Unit later today,” Zavala said.
Austin had to admit that Zavala’s wide network of women friends sometimes came in handy.
“Have you figured out how the attack on the B3 may have been set up?” Austin said.
“The vehicle could have been launched from any of the press and party boats watching the dive,” Zavala said.
“Maybe someone saw the launch,” Austin said. “We could get Detective-Superintendent Randolph and the Bermuda Coast Guard to ask around.”
“That’s not a bad idea, but my guess is that the vehicle went into the water hours before the bathysphere dive and was put into a sleep mode, programmed to wake up after a certain time to begin the hunt. It could have been directed from the surface, in the general area of the Beebe.”
“How would it have picked its target?”
“Sonar combined with the optical sensors would look for a vertical line. The AUV homes in on the B3’s tether. Snip-snip. There goes the bathysphere.”
“And there goes Doc Kane and the mysterious research project that was going to affect everybody on the planet.”
“Any word from Kane since he took off into the wide blue yonder?” Zavala asked.
“I’ve tried a number of official and nonofficial channels,” Austin answered. “Bonefish Key may be our only lead.”
“Doubt he’s there. Somebody wanted him to die a horrible death at the bottom. Bonefish Key would be the first place to look after finding out he wasn’t on the Beebe.”
A look of alarm crossed Austin’s tanned face.
He dug his cell phone out of a pocket and called Paul Trout.
“Have you heard from Gamay?” he asked.
“I’ve been trying to reach her but my calls won’t go through,” Trout said.
“Keep trying,” Austin said. “I’m at Zavala’s place. I may have been too casual when I asked you to poke around Kane’s lab. Gamay should be alerted to possible danger from the people who wanted to take down Kane.”
Trout said, “Don’t worry, Kurt, Gamay can take care of herself.”
“I know she can,” Austin said. “Just tell her to be careful and not take any chances.”
HAVING DONE ALL HE could to warn the Trouts, Austin put in a call to NUMA and asked for a dossier on the Pyramid Trading Company. The agency’s computer center, under the supervision of cybergenius Hiram Yeager, was one of the greatest repositories of specialized information in the world. The powerful computers at NUMA were linked with databases around the world and in an instant could churn out reams of information on any subject having to do with the world’s oceans.
Austin said he would talk to Zavala after he’d studied the results of the computer search. He got back in his Jeep and drove to the thirty-story green-glass tower, overlooking the Potomac, that housed NUMA’s headquarters. He parked in the underground garage and took the elevator up to his Spartanly furnished office.
A thick file was sitting on his desk with a note from Yeager telling him to “Enjoy!”
He opened the file, but had only made it past the first page when his telephone buzzed. Caller ID couldn’t identify the number.
He realized why after he picked up the receiver and heard the crisp voice of James Sandecker, the founder and longtime director of NUMA before being appointed Vice President of the United States when the elected second-in-command died. As was his usual style, Sandecker got right to the point.
“Pitt forwarded your report on the B3 incident to me. What in blazes is going on, Kurt?”
Austin could imagine Sandecker’s crackling blue eyes and flaming red Vandyke beard, fixtures around NUMA for years.
“I wish I knew, Admiral,” Austin said, using Sandecker’s hard-earned Navy title over his more recent political one.
“How is Zavala faring after his ordeal?”
“Joe’s fine, Admiral.”
“That’s fortunate. If Zavala had bought the farm, half the female population of Washington would go into mourning and we’d have to shut down the whole damned town . . . Then this attack on the Beebe . . . Shocking. It was a miracle no one was hurt. Are you making any progress?”
“We think there’s a Chinese connection,” Austin said. “The AUV that went after me and the B3 is the same model used by a Chinese fishing company that’s part of a multinational called Pyramid Trading. The men who attacked the ship carried Chinese weapons and were Asian. Joe will chase down any possible criminal connection. I’ll check with the Bermuda police to see if their forensics turned up anything we can use. We think Doc Kane’s research may hold the key to everything. Gamay is on Bonefish Key checking out the lab.”
Sandecker chuckled.
“I don’t know how Gamay wangled her way in, but she’s not likely to learn a thing. The work they’re doing is highly classified.”
“Sounds like you know what the lab is up to.”
“More than I’d like. This is part of something very big, Kurt, and we’ll have to move quickly. The situation is reaching critical mass. I’m setting up a meeting that will explain things. I’ll call you in about an hour, so stand by. In the meantime, pack your bags for a trip.”
“I still haven’t unpacked from my last assignment.”