He swam back to the anchor line and began his ascent.
When Taft surfaced, the yellow glow of daylight was fast approaching. He switched off the dive light and tossed it inside the boat. Next he climbed onto the rear platform of the boat and removed his tank. Then he stood and peeled off his wet suit. Dressed only in his shorts, he balanced on the platform, unbuttoned his fly, and urinated into the ocean. After he had stowed the gear in the proper compartments, he went to the cabin below to phone Martinez.
"Are you fully awake yet?" Taft asked.
"Yeah, I took a shower and I'm having a cup of coffee."
"You prick. I'm freezing my ass off out here."
"You claimed to be the fisherman," Martinez said, slurping loudly from his cup. Taft paused to blow his nose into a paper towel. "I found the stern of a sailboat down there. It looked like the ground nearby had been disturbed."
"No forward section? No bow, masts, or cabin?"
"I believe that was just salvaged by the Deep Search. That would explain the disturbance. It kind of looked like something had been dug up then dragged a little ways."
"Interesting."
"I know the name of the vessel that was salvaged."
"Let's have it."
"Windforce," Taft said quietly. "Judging by the small engine I saw, it was probably a smaller sailboat, but don't hold me to that."
"Let me check into this at the office," Martinez said. "I'll get back to you shortly."
"It would be nice if you did some of the work," Taft said, hanging up on his partner. Taft closed up the phone, then reached into a compartment under a seat and withdrew a frayed green towel to dry himself. Climbing out of the cabin, he pulled on a blue fleece warm-up suit he had in his bag. He then started the fishing boat's engine and let it idle. Walking onto the bow, he pulled the anchor line taut then tied it to a cleat. The boat rocked and the anchor came loose. Feeding the line into the rope locker, he hoisted the anchor from the water and secured it.
With a quick final check of the fishing boat to ensure all was in order, he eased the throttle partway forward to cruising speed and began the trip back. Taft had no way of knowing the impact of the events he had just set into motion.
CHAPTER 18
Less than thirty minutes later, in his office at the NIA, Martinez again looked at the name Windforce, which he had written on a pad of paper. He widened his eyes in amazement as he read the ownership records off the computer twice more. Straightening himself in his chair, he rubbed his reddened eyes and reached for the phone. On a treelined street in Alexandria, Virginia, a lone dog barked as a paperboy pedaled his way along the sidewalk, slinging papers from a bag hanging from his handlebars. Most of the houses on the block had at least their porch light on, and the paperboy used the lights as a target.
General Earl Benson had awakened at 5:00 A.M., as was his custom. Sitting in the nook of his kitchen, he had eaten a breakfast of buttered grits. His first wife had passed away just over a year before and Benson still felt strange when he rose from bed and glanced down at his newlywed second wife. His first wife had never risen before 7:00
A.M. She had always awakened with just enough time to pad downstairs in her slippers and kiss him goodbye before he left for work. His second wife followed suit. After finishing breakfast and placing the dishes in the dishwasher, Benson walked to his wood-lined study and began reading the intelligence reports the night shift had posted on his computer. He had finished reading the reports and writing his comments and now sat lingering over his fourth cup of coffee. He scratched the head of Margaret, his aged cocker spaniel, and was staring into her cataract-clouded eyes when the phone rang.
"General Benson," he answered.
"This is Larry Martinez. Sorry to wake you but it's important," Martinez explained.
"I was awake but it still better be important," Benson boomed.
"Taft just came from the site where the Deep Search was anchored yesterday afternoon. The ship's gone. There was diving gear on board his boat and Taft dove the area where the ship had been anchored. In a search of the bottom he found the stern section of a sailboat. He feels that most of the rest of what was a sailboat was salvaged."
"You called me at home to tell me that?" Benson asked.
"It's a little more involved than that, sir," Martinez said. "Taft gave me the name off the stern and I checked the past owners' registry on the Coast Guard computer."
"Spit it out. What's the name and who owned it?"
"The name of the vessel was Windforce. The original owner was Albert Einstein. The boat was resold then reportedly lost ten years after Einstein died."
"How did it sink?"
"The record notes it was believed lost in a storm."
"That's worth calling me at home," Benson noted. "What do you make of all this?" Martinez paused before answering. "This is all speculation, General, but I think the Chinese found out Einstein left something of value on board his sailboat. Now they are trying to recover it. They hired the Axial Group to help locate the area where it sank and paid the company from North Carolina to actually find and salvage the vessel."
"I tend to agree with your theory, as far-fetched as it sounds," Benson said. "If you're right, we need to find the Deep Search. I want to assign you and Taft to see if you can find where the salvagers are now. Keep me up to date on your efforts. I'll be in the office within the hour. If that was Einstein's sailboat, whatever the Deep Search recovered could prove to be quite interesting."
"Very good, sir. I'll keep you informed as to our progress," Martinez replied and hung up the phone.
Benson immediately phoned his assistant. "Get me the latest file on the Axial Group and try to establish contact with our insider."
"Should I set up a meeting with the insider?"
"If possible, yes," Benson said. "I'll be in the office in less than an hour."
"I'll get on it right away," the assistant said.
Taft was in his motel room on Long Island washing the salt water off his body in a steamy shower when the phone rang. He shut off the water and walked from the bathroom. "Make it quick, I'm dripping wet. What did you find out?" he said to Martinez as he tightened a towel around his waist.
"That boat has quite a history."
"The research ship or the wreck?"
"The wreck," Martinez said. "I'm still working on the history of the Deep Search."
"Hit me," Taft said.
"It was formerly owned by Albert Einstein," Martinez answered flatly.
"Wild," Taft said, whistling. "Have you got any idea why someone is after his sailboat?"
Martinez paused. "Not yet, but I'm still looking into it, you can be sure. I've got a call into the satellite guys at NSA asking them to trace the overnight course of the Deep Search. Benson wants us to locate that ship posthaste."
"Let me finish my shower and get dressed and I'll be ready. If I go for breakfast I'll keep the secure phone with me. Call me on that."
"Count on it," Martinez said.
"Einstein," Taft said to himself as he walked back into the bathroom. "What does Einstein's sailboat have aboard that anyone could possibly want?" Martinez was thinking the same question as his computer signaled he had an E-mail. The message answered the question about ownership of Deep Search. Owned by a leasing company based in Wilmington, North Carolina, the vessel was currently being rented to the marine salvage firm of SeaSearch.