“He was working an assignment for us in the Indian Ocean,” Pitt began. “Perry Halverson and Thalia Quivaros were with him. We lost contact with them two days ago.”
Kurt didn’t like the sound of that, but radios failed, sometimes entire electrical systems did, often the boaters turned up safe and sound.
“What happened?”
“We don’t know, but this morning their catamaran was spotted adrift, fifty miles from where it should have been. An aircraft from the Maldives made a low pass this afternoon. The photos showed extensive fire damage on the hull. No sign of the crew.”
“What were they working on?”
“Just analyzing water temps, salinity and oxygen levels,” Pitt said. “Nothing dangerous. I save those jobs for you and Joe.”
Kurt couldn’t imagine any reason such a study might offend someone. “And yet you think it was foul play?”
“We don’t know what it was,” Dirk said firmly. “But something’s not right. We can see the life-raft containers from the air. The casings are burned but otherwise untouched. Halverson was a ten-year vet, he was a merchant marine sailor for eight years before that. Kimo and Thalia were younger, but they were well trained. And none of us can come up with a reason for a widespread fire aboard a sailboat to begin with. Even if we could, no one can tell me why three trained sailors would fail to deploy a life raft or get off a distress call under such conditions.”
Kurt remained silent. He couldn’t think of a reason either, unless they were somehow incapacitated.
“The bottom line is, they’re missing,” Dirk said. “Perhaps we’ll find them. But you and I have been around long enough to know this doesn’t look good.”
Kurt understood the math. Three members of NUMA were missing and presumed dead. Something both Dirk Pitt and Kurt Austin took personally.
“What do you need me to do?”
“A salvage team from the Maldives is getting set up,” Pitt said. “I want you and Joe on-site as soon as possible. That means you’re on a plane in four hours.”
“Not a problem,” Kurt said. “Is anyone still looking for them?”
“Search-and-rescue aircraft out of the Maldives, a pair of Navy P-3s and a long-range squadron from southern India have been crisscrossing the zone since the boat was spotted. Nothing yet.”
“So this isn’t a rescue mission.”
“I only wish it was,” Pitt said. “But unless we get some good news that I’m not expecting to receive, your job is to figure out what happened and why.”
In the dark bay, unseen by Pitt, Kurt nodded. “Understood.”
“I’ll let you wake Mr. Zavala,” Pitt said. “Keep me posted.”
Kurt acknowledged the directive, and Dirk Pitt hung up.
Placing the phone down, Kurt thought about the mission ahead. He hoped against all reason that the three NUMA members would be found bobbing in their life jackets by the time he crossed the Atlantic, but considering the description of the catamaran and the length of time they’d been missing, he doubted it.
He slid the phone into his pocket and took a long look at the gleaming craft he’d built.
Without another second of hesitation, he reached for the light switch, flicked it off and walked out.
His date would have to wait for another morning.
CHAPTER 4
CENTRAL YEMEN
A FIGURE CLOAKED IN WHITE STOOD ON A ROCKY OUT cropping that jutted above the sand of Yemen’s sprawling desert. The wind tugged at his caftan, producing a muted flapping sound as it waved in the breeze.
A gleaming white helicopter sat on the bluff behind him. A green insignia, depicting two date palms shading an oasis, decorated its side. Three stories below lay the entrance to a wide cave.
In times past, the cave would have been guarded by a few Bedouin men hidden in the crags of the bluff, but on this day there were a dozen men with automatic rifles in plain view, another twenty or so remaining hidden.
Jinn al-Khalif raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and watched as a trio of Humvees rolled across the desert toward him. They rose and fell on the dunes like small boats crossing the swells of the sea. They traveled in an arrow formation, headed his way.
“They follow the ancient track,” he said, speaking to a figure beside and slightly behind him. “In my father’s time they would have been spice caravans and traders, Sabah. Now only bankers come to see us.”
He lowered the binoculars and looked to the bearded older man who stood beside him. Sabah had been his father’s most loyal hand. Sabah was dressed in darker robes and he carried a radio.
“You are wise to understand their motives,” Sabah said. “They care nothing for us or our struggle. They come because you promise them wealth. You must deliver before we can do as we choose.”
“Is Xhou with them?”
Sabah nodded. “He is. Upon his arrival, all the members of the consortium will be present. We should not keep them waiting.”
“And what of General Aziz, the Egyptian?” Jinn asked. “Does he continue to withhold the funds he’s promised?”
“He will speak with us three days from now,” Sabah said. “When it is a better time for him.”
Jinn al-Khalif took a deep breath, inhaling the pure desert air. Aziz had pledged many millions to the consortium on behalf of a cadre of Egyptian businessmen and the military, but he had yet to pay a cent.
“Aziz mocks us,” Jinn said.
“We will talk with him and bring him back in line,” Sabah insisted.
“No,” Jinn said. “He will continue to defy us because he can. Because he feels he is beyond our reach.”
Sabah looked at Jinn quizzically.
“It’s the answer to the riddle of life,” Jinn said. “What matters isn’t money or wealth or lust or even love. None of those things were enough to save me when the bandits took our camp. There is only one thing that matters, now just as it did then: power. Raw, overwhelming power. He who has it, rules. He who doesn’t, begs. Aziz has us begging, but I will soon turn the tables on him. I will soon attain a kind of power that has never been held by a man before.”
Sabah nodded slowly and a smile wrinkled his beard. “You have learned well, Jinn. Even better than I could have hoped. Truly, you surpass your teacher.”
Below them, the Humvees were slowing to a stop in front of the cave.
“You have been the pole star that guides me,” Jinn said. “That is why my father entrusted me to your care.”
Sabah bowed slightly. “I accept your words of kindness. Now, let us greet our guests.”
Minutes later they were inside the cavern, four levels below. The interior temperature was eighty-one degrees, a stark contrast to the one-hundred-and-five-degree winds beginning to blow outside.
Despite the primitive setting, the assembled guests sat in comfortable office chairs at a black conference table. The room around them had been engineered and carved from what was once an uneven chamber. It now resembled a great hall filled with modern decor.
Small screens lay recessed in the table in front of them. Computers lined the walls. Hidden rooms beyond this one held sleeping quarters and racks of weapons.
At great expense, Jinn had transformed this old Bedouin meeting place from a dusty fissure to a modern headquarters. It had proven a long and complicated process, much like the evolution of his family from a group of nomads who traded camels and traditional goods to a modern enterprise with its hands in technology, oil and shipping.
Long gone were the camels and the oasis that his family had claimed for centuries, traded away in exchange for small stakes in modern companies. All that remained were his father’s words: You must never have pity … And without the waters, we inherit only wandering and death.