“And here’s our dinner,” Austin said.
He ordered a dry white Santorini wine to go with the fish. For the next half hour, Austin entertained Kane with accounts of dives he had made in the Greek island’s caldera and theories about Santorini being the site of the legendary Atlantis. He then pushed away his empty dinner plate and ordered a custard and thick Greek coffee.
“Well?” Kane asked expectantly.
“I’ll do what I can, but you will have to be totally up front with me, Doc. No holding back. And I’ll need to be able to get in touch with you at any time.”
“You’ll have my full cooperation, Kurt.” He looked over at his bodyguards. “My babysitters are giving me the eye. I have to leave. They think that there’s a whole army of assassins waiting out there to do me in.”
“Don’t be too tough on them, they’re only trying to keep you alive. I’ll pick up the tab.”
Kane jotted down a number where he could be reached. Austin watched Kane with careful eyes as he left the restaurant trailed by the two men. Then he signaled Stavros for the check.
LIEUTENANT CASEY WAS WAITING outside the restaurant in the navy SUV. Austin got in this time without an invitation.
“Nice to see you again, Lieutenant.”
Casey handed him a phone, and Sandecker’s voice crackled on the line.
“Dr. Kane fill you in on the situation, Kurt?”
“He told me about the blue medusa research and the missing lab.”
“Good. This thing is ready to blow up if we don’t find the lab and get hold of that vaccine. You’ve got to find Davy Jones’s Locker. I’ll put the whole damn U.S. Navy at your disposal.”
“How long do we have, Admiral?”
“The CDC computers say the virus will hit the major Chinese cities seventy-two hours from midnight. It will be raging around the world within weeks.”
“Then there is still time?”
“Not really. Once the virus goes beyond China’s borders, it will become unstoppable. The President is gearing up the National Guard so he can declare a state of emergency.”
“In that case, I’ll take whatever help you can give me, sir.”
“If you need more, give me or Casey a call directly. Don’t bother going through intermediaries.” His voice softened. “Good luck, Kurt. And keep an eye on that libidinous Mexican pal of yours.”
Austin handed the phone back.
“When do we leave, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll pick you up and we’ll be at the airport at three a.m.” He paused, then said, “Just to let you know, I have a wife and two kids, Kurt. I’m told that there will be no way to protect them once this thing spreads to the U.S.”
“Those are three good reasons to move quickly, then.”
Austin said he would see Casey in a few hours and got out of the SUV in front of the NUMA tower. He called Zavala’s number on his way to his office to retrieve the Pyramid file but got no response. He wasn’t surprised. His friend could have joined the surveillance team and might be unable to talk. Austin left him a message to call back as soon as he was clear.
Austin picked up the file, then got on the elevator and headed to the fifteenth floor. He followed a corridor to a door marked NUMASAT and stepped into a large, dimly lit space that had a wide, curving wall lined with glowing television screens. The screens displayed information from NUMA’s satellite system, a complex network that collected information about oceans from around the world for scientists and universities.
Presiding over the communications network was an eccentric genius named Jack Wilmut, who supervised the system from an elaborate console in the center of the room surrounded by workstations. From his perch, he could also keep track of every NUMA research project, ship, and staffer working in the field. He saw Austin approaching, and a smile crossed his plumpish face.
“What a surprise to find you here at headquarters, Kurt.”
Austin pulled a chair up to the console.
“Don’t kid me, Jack, you could figure out exactly where I am in a second. I’ve got a favor. I’ve lost contact with Joe. Can you find him?”
Wilmut patted down one side of his double comb-over.
“He’s probably in a Washington boudoir,” he said. Seeing from Austin’s unsmiling face that he was deadly serious, he added, “I’ll do my best. What’s he got?”
“Transmitter in his Corvette, for one.”
“Easy,” Wilmut said.
He tapped the keyboard in front of him, and seconds later the screen displayed a blinking red star on a map of Falls Church. The location was displayed in a box next to the star.
“The car is at the Eden Center. He probably stopped in for some Vietnamese food.”
The Eden Center was a complex of shops and restaurants that served the Vietnamese population of Falls Church.
“He doesn’t like Vietnamese food,” Austin said. “Try finding his phone.”
Wilmut traced Zavala’s cell through its GPS chip.
A second blinking star appeared on the outskirts of the city, several miles from the first. Wilmut enlarged the map and switched to a satellite picture. The star was on one of a couple of dozen rectangles, apparently the roofs of large buildings. He zoomed in.
“Looks like an industrial complex,” Wilmut said. “All the buildings look pretty much alike.”
“I need an address,” Austin said.
Wilmut punched a button and GOOD LUCK FORTUNE COOKIE COMPANY appeared on the screen. He laughed, and said, “Guess he likes Chinese food.”
Austin thanked Wilmut, and rode the elevator down to the garage to pick up his Jeep Cherokee. As he drove along the Potomac, he found Caitlin’s number in his directory. She immediately recognized his voice.
“This must be my lucky week,” she said. “The two handsomest men at NUMA calling me. How are you, Kurt?”
“I’m a little worried about Joe. Do you know anything about an FBI Asian gang stakeout involving Charlie Yoo?”
“No such thing, Kurt. Charlie is a guest of the Bureau. He is notified of field ops only at our discretion, and we don’t have anything like that going.”
“That’s what I thought,” Austin said. “Thanks for your help, Caitlin.”
“What the hell-”
Austin clicked off, and the unfinished question was lost in the ether. Driving with one hand, he quickly programmed the address Wilmut had given him into the dashboard GPS unit.
Next, he reached for a rack under his seat, pulled out the holster containing his Bowen revolver, put it on the seat beside him, then stomped on the gas.
CHAPTER 27
DOOLEY’S VINTAGE SINGLE-WIDE MOBILE HOME ON A PINE Island canal was no five-star hotel, but it had distinct advantages that would not be found at the Four Seasons.
Pine Island was several miles distant from Bonefish Key. The trailer had a water view. And it had Dooley Greene sitting in a deck chair at the end of a dilapidated dock, cigar stub clenched between his teeth, 16-gauge shotgun on his lap, keeping an eye peeled for trouble.
Relying on his deep knowledge of local waters, Dooley had earlier made a fast crossing to the mainland. He had kept his boat’s running lights turned off until he headed into a canal lined with mobile homes. As the boat coasted up to the dock and Dooley killed the motor, Gamay confronted Paul.
“Before I burst from curiosity, please tell me how you happened to dash from one coast to the other and arrive just in time to rescue the fair maidens in distress. You weren’t scheduled to arrive here for a couple of days.”
“Kurt called and said he might have unknowingly sent you into danger. I couldn’t reach you by phone, so I put the seminar on hold and flew standby to Florida.”
“How’d you hook up with Dooley?”
“More good luck: he hooked up with me,” Paul said. “I was at the Pine Island Marina looking for a ride to Bonefish Key, checking out boats and desperately hoping someone had left a key in the ignition, when Dooley saw me and asked what I was doing. When I mentioned your name, he jumped at the chance to take me to Bonefish. He then noticed that two kayaks were missing, and figured out where you might have gone.”