Trojan Odyssey (19 page)

“I'd like that,” accepted Pitt. “I've always wanted to see your antique gun collection.”

“And I've yet to see your auto collection.”

“Why not arrange a tour? We'll have cocktails and hors d'oeuvres at my place and then drive to your house for the barbecue.”

“Consider it a done deal.”

Sandecker's secretary approached. “The admiral is ready for you now.”

They bid their goodbyes, as Austin and Zavala headed toward the elevators and Pitt's group was ushered into Sandecker's office, where the admiral sat behind an immense desk fashioned from the salvaged hatch cover from a Confederate blockade runner.

A gentleman of the old school, he rose as Summer entered, and motioned her to a chair across from the desk. Amazingly, Giordino had arrived early. He was dressed in casual slacks and a Hawaiian flowered-print shirt. Rudi Gunn came up from his office on the twenty-eighth floor and joined them.

Without prelude, Sandecker launched the meeting. “We have two intriguing problems to deal with. The most important is the brown crud which is spreading throughout the Caribbean, which I'll come to later.” He looked across his desk with piercing eyes, first at Summer and then at Dirk. “You two certainly opened up a Pandora's box with your discoveries on Navidad Bank.”

“I haven't heard of the test results since Captain Barnum sent the amphor to the lab,” said Summer.

“The lab is still in the process of cleaning it,” clarified Gunn. “It was Hiram Yaeger and his computer magic that established a date and culture.”

Before Summer could ask, Sandecker said, “Hiram dated the amphor to sometime prior to eleven hundred
B.C.
He also established that it was Celtic.”

“Celtic?” Summer echoed. “Is he sure?”

“It matches every other amphor known to have been created by ancient Celts around three thousand years ago.”

“What about the comb we photographed?” asked Summer.

“Without having the actual objects to study,” answered Sandecker, “Hiram's computer could only make an approximation as to the date. However, his best guess is they're also three thousand years old.”

“Where does Yaeger think the artifact came from?” queried Pitt.

Sandecker stared at the ceiling. “Since the Celts weren't a seafaring people and are not known to have sailed across the Atlantic to the new world, it must have been thrown or lost off a passing ship.”

“No ships sailed over Navidad Bank unless they wanted to have their hulls ripped apart by shallow coral and file a phony insurance claim,” said Pitt. “The only other possibility is that the ship was driven onto the bank by a storm.”

Gunn gazed down at the carpet as if something had entered his mind. “According to insurance records, an old steamer called
Vandalia
smashed onto the reef.”

“I surveyed her remains,” said Summer, looking at her brother expectantly.

Dirk nodded at her and grinned. “The amphor was not all we found.”

“What Dirk is hinting is that we also discovered a labyrinth of caverns or rooms carved from rock that is now covered with the coral.” She reached into her purse and retrieved the digital camera. “We took pictures of the architecture and a large cauldron sculpted with images of ancient warriors. It was filled with small, everyday artifacts.”

Sandecker looked at her in disbelief. “A city beneath the sea in the Western Hemisphere predating the Olmecs, Mayans and Incas? It doesn't seem possible.”

“We won't have answers until a thorough exploration is conducted.” Summer held the camera as if it was a piece of expensive jewelry. “The structure we observed looked like some sort of temple.”

Sandecker turned to Gunn. “Rudi?”

Gunn nodded in understanding, took the camera from Summer's hand and pushed a switch on the wall that raised a panel, revealing a large digital television. He then connected the cable into the TV, picked up the remote and began running through the images recorded by Dirk and Summer of the sunken temple.

There were more than thirty images, beginning with the entry arch and the steps leading to the interior with what looked like a large stone bed. The cauldron and its contents were in another chamber.

Dirk and Summer narrated as Gunn moved from one picture to the next. When the last image flashed on the monitor, they all sat silently for a few moments.

Finally, Pitt spoke first. “I think we should get St. Julien Perlmutter in on this.”

Gunn looked skeptical. “St. Julien isn't an archaeologist.”

“True, but if anyone has theories on early seafarers and navigators sailing to this side of the ocean three thousand years ago, he would.”

“Worth a shot,” Sandecker agreed. He looked at Dirk and Summer. “Your research project for the next two weeks. Find answers. Consider it a working vacation.” He swung in his big leather executive's chair until he faced Pitt and Giordino. “And now to the matter of the brown crud. All we know at this moment is that it is not associated with a diatom or a form of algae. Nor is it a biotoxin linked to the red tide phenomenon. What we
do
know is that it leaves a swath of devastation as it is carried out into the open Atlantic and swept north by the southern equatorial current toward the Gulf and Florida. Ocean scientists believe the crud has already reached American waters. Reports coming in from Key West say sponge beds are suffering from an unknown source of devastation.”

“I'm sorry the glass jars containing my water samples and dead sea life specimens were destroyed when the waves tumbled
Pisces
into the crevasse,” said Summer.

“Don't concern yourself. We have samples and specimens coming in daily from fifty different locations throughout the Caribbean.”

“Any indications where the crud might originate?” asked Pitt.

Gunn pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a small cloth. “Not really. Our scientists have sorted through water samples, wind and current data, satellite images and ship sightings. Their best guess at the moment is that the crud is spawned somewhere off the coast of Nicaragua. But that's all it is, a guess.”

“Could it be some kind of chemical flushed from a river?” inquired Dirk.

Sandecker rolled one of his immense cigars in his fingers without lighting it. “Possible, but we have yet to discover a trail to its source.”

“Something nasty is going on,” said Gunn. “This stuff is deadly to most sea life and the coral. We've got to find a solution soon before it spreads out of control throughout the entire Caribbean and creates a sea of sludge and a dead zone for all water life.”

Pitt stared at Gunn. “You don't paint a very pretty picture.”

“The source must be found and a counteraction developed,” added Sandecker. “That's where you and Al come in. Your mission is to investigate the waters off the west coast of Nicaragua. I've lined up one of NUMA's Neptune-class research vessels. I don't have to tell you that she's small, requiring no more than a five-man crew. She carries the latest state-of-the-art research equipment and instrumentation for specialized projects such as this one. Unlike our other ocean research and survey ships, she's as fast as anything in the oceans, with speed to spare.”

“Like the
Calliope
we were forced to destroy several years ago on the Niger River?” said Pitt without looking up as he took notes on a yellow pad.

“I should have taken the cost of losing her out of your paychecks.”

“If it's all the same to you, Admiral, Al and I would rather not be quite so conspicuous this time.”

“You won't be,” Sandecker said, ignoring the nonsmokers and finally lighting his cigar. “The
Poco Bonito
is my pride and joy. She's seventy-five feet in length and her appearance is misleading. No one will find her conspicuous, because her hull, deck and wheelhouse was based on a Buckie, Scotland–built fishing trawler.”

Pitt was continually taken in by Sandecker's fascination with odd and creative vessels. “An oceanographic research vessel disguised like a fishing boat. That has to be a new first.”

“A Scots-built fishing trawler will stand out in the Caribbean like a street derelict at a debutante ball,” said Giordino dubiously.

“Not to worry,” replied Sandecker. “The superstructure of
Poco Bonito
is electronically designed to automatically alter her appearance to fit in with any fishing fleet in the world.”

Pitt stared at the carpet, trying to visualize such a vessel. “If my high school Spanish serves me correctly,
Poco Bonita
means ‘little tuna.'”

Sandecker nodded. “I thought it appropriate.”

“Why all the subterfuge?” asked Pitt. “We're not entering a war zone.”

Sandecker gave him a cagey look that Pitt knew too well. “You never know when you might cross paths with a ghost ship full of phantom pirates.”

Pitt and Giordino both gazed at the admiral as if he'd just claimed to have flown to Mars and back. “A ghost ship,” Pitt repeated sardonically.

“You've never heard of the legend of the Wandering Buccaneer?”

“Not lately.”

“Leigh Hunt was an unscrupulous freebooter and pirate who ravaged the West Indies in the late seventeenth century, preying on every ship he came upon, be it Spanish, English or French. A giant of a man, he made Blackbeard look like a sissy. Tales of his brutality were legend throughout the Spanish Main. Crews of merchant ships he captured were known to have killed themselves before surrendering to Hunt. His favorite pastime was dragging unfortunate captives behind his ship until the ropes were pulled in empty after the sharks took them.”

“He sounds like an old salt I know,” muttered Giordino testily.

Sandecker continued as if he hadn't heard the gibe. “Hunt's reign of terror lasted fifteen years until he attempted to capture a British warship disguised to look like a helpless merchantman. Taken in, Hunt raised his Jolly Roger flag with a black background and skull with blood streaming from the eyes and teeth and sent a shot across the Britishers' bow. Then, just as he pulled alongside, the British raised their gun-ports and poured a series of murderous broadsides into Hunt's ship, which was named the
Scourge.
After a furious battle the pirates were decimated. A company of British marines then swarmed aboard the pirate vessel and made short work of its crew.”

“Was Hunt still alive after the battle?” asked Summer.

“Unfortunately for him, yes.”

Dirk ran his fingers over Sandecker's old worn desk. “Did the British treat him in kind and drag him behind their ship?” asked Dirk.

“No,” replied Sandecker. “The captain had lost a brother to Hunt two years before, so he was set on revenge. He ordered Hunt's feet cut off. Then he was strung up by a rope and lowered over the side until his bloody stumps were only a foot from the water. It was only a matter of time before the sharks got the scent of blood and leaped out of the water, jaws snapping until only Hunt's hands and arms were left hanging by the rope.”

Summer's pretty face altered to an expression of repulsion. “That's disgusting.”

Dirk disagreed. “Sounds to me like he got what he deserved.”

“Enlighten me, Admiral,” said Giordino, fighting to keep awake. “What has this pirate got to do with anything?”

Sandecker smiled crookedly. “Like the
Flying Dutchman,
Leigh Hunt and his crew of bloodthirsty pirates still roam the waters you'll be working.”

“Sez who?”

“Over the past three years there has been any number of sightings by ships, pleasure craft and fishing boats. Some radioed that they were being attacked by a haunted sailing ship with a ghostly crew before they disappeared with all hands.”

Pitt looked at Sandecker. “You've got to be joking.”

“I'm not.” The admiral was decisive. “Since you have a doubting mind, I'll send you the reports.”

“Make a note,” Giordino said acidly, “to stock up on wooden stakes and silver bullets.”

“A phantom ship with a skeletal crew sailing through a sea of brown crud.” Pitt gazed pensively out the window at the Potomac River below. Then he shrugged resignedly. “Now there's a sight to take to the grave.”

P
ITT DECIDED TO
drive everyone to the restaurant in the elegant old Marmon. It was a warm evening, so the three men sat together in the open front seat while the women sat in the back to keep their hair from getting windblown. The men wore light sport coats over slacks. The women dressed in a variety of light summery dresses.

Giordino brought his current lady friend, Micky Levy, who worked for a Washington-based mining company. She had soft facial features with dark skin and wide brown eyes. Her long black hair was done in curled strands wound into a crown. She wore a small hibiscus blossom behind her left ear. She spoke in a soft voice that had a slight trace of an Israeli accent.

“What a marvelous car,” she said after Giordino made the introductions. She entered through the rear door held open by Giordino and sat next to Summer.

“You'll have to bear with my friend,” said Giordino dryly. “He can't go anywhere without pomp and circumstance.”

“Sorry, no trumpets or drumroll,” Pitt retorted. “My band has the night off.”

With the divider window between the seats rolled up to shield the breeze, the women chatted on the way to the restaurant. Loren and Summer learned that Micky was born and raised in Jerusalem and that she had obtained her master's degree at the Colorado School of Mines.

“So you're a geologist,” said Summer.

“A structural geologist,” replied Micky. “I specialize in conducting analysis for engineers who have plans for an excavation project. I investigate water seepage and underground channels into deeper zones and aquifers, so they can be aware of possible flooding while boring their tunnels.”

“Sounds positively dull,” said Loren in a nice way. “I took a geology course in college to satisfy the scientific requirements for a degree in social economics. I thought it would be interesting. Was I ever wrong. Geology is about as fascinating as bookkeeping.”

Micky laughed. “Fortunately, working in the field is not quite as banal.”

“Did Dad say where he's taking us to dinner?” Summer asked.

Loren shook her head. “He didn't say anything to me.”

 

T
WENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER,
Pitt turned into the driveway of L'Auberge Chez François restaurant in Great Falls, Virginia. The Alsatian architecture and interior decor exuded a warm, comfortable atmosphere. He parked the car and they walked through the front door, where one of the family who owned the restaurant checked Pitt's name off on the reservation sheet and escorted them to a table for six in a small alcove.

Pitt spotted some old friends—Clyde Smith and his lovely wife, Paula—and conversed briefly. Smith had been with NUMA almost as long as Pitt, but in the financial section of the agency. After everyone was seated, the waiter arrived and announced the evening's specials. Skipping cocktails, Pitt went right to the wine, ordering a hearty Sparr Pinot Noir. He then ordered a game platter for the table as an appetizer consisting of deer, antelope, breast of pheasant, rabbit and quail with wild mushrooms and chestnuts.

While they savored the wine and enjoyed the huge game appetizer, Loren reported on the latest buzz in Washington politics. They all listened in rapt attention at hearing the inside gossip from a member of Congress. She was followed by Dirk and Summer, who told of their discovery of the ancient temple and artifacts, ending with their near-death experience on Navidad Bank during the hurricane. Pitt interrupted to notify them that he had called St. Julien Perlmutter and let him know that his son and daughter would be stopping by to tap his vast knowledge of ships and the sea.

Any lover of French cooking would heartily approve of the entrees that came. Pitt ordered the kidneys and mushrooms in a sauce of sherry and mustard. Calves' brain and exotic veal tongue were also on the menu, but the women weren't up to it. Giordino and Micky shared the rack of lamb while Dirk and Summer tried the
choucroute garni,
a large platter of sauerkraut with sausages, pheasant, duck confit, squab and foie gras, which was a specialty of the house. Loren settled for the
petite choucroute
with the sauerkraut, smoked trout, salmon, monkfish and shrimp.

Most of the couples shared a rich dessert followed by a glass of fine port. Afterward, they voted unanimously that everyone would begin dieting the next day. While relaxing after the sumptuous meal, Summer asked Micky what part of the world her geological expeditions had taken her to. She described immense caverns in Brazil and Mexico, and the often difficult penetration into their deepest reaches.

“Ever find any gold?” asked Summer jokingly.

“Only once. I discovered faint trace elements in an underground river that runs beneath the lower California desert into the Gulf of California.” As soon as she spoke of the river, Pitt, Giordino and Loren began laughing. Micky was quite surprised to learn how Pitt and Giordino had discovered the river and saved Loren from a gang of artifact thieves during the Inca Gold project.

“Rio Pitt,” said Micky, impressed. “I should have made the connection.” She continued describing her travels around the world. “One of my most fascinating projects was to investigate water levels in the limestone caverns in Nicaragua.”

“I knew Nicaragua had bat caves,” said Summer, “but not limestone caverns.” “They were discovered ten years ago and are quite extensive. Some run for miles. The development corporation that hired me for the study has plans for building a dry canal between the oceans.”

“A dry canal across Nicaragua?” questioned Loren. “That's a new one.”

“Actually, the engineers called it an ‘underground bridge.'”

“A canal that runs underground?” Loren said skeptically. “I'm still trying to figure it out.”

“Deepwater container ports and free-trade zones on the Caribbean and Pacific, yet to be constructed, would be linked by a high-speed, magnetic levitation railroad running through huge bores beneath the mountains and Lake Nicaragua, with trains capable of speeds up to three hundred and fifty miles an hour.”

“The idea is sound,” Pitt admitted. “If practical, it could conceivably cut shipping costs by a wide margin.”

“You're talking heavy bucks,” said Giordino.

Micky nodded in agreement. “The estimated budget was seven billion dollars.”

Loren still looked doubtful. “I find it strange that no reports of such a vast undertaking have been circulated by the Department of Transportation.”

“Or mentioned in the news media,” Dirk added.

“That's because it never got off the ground,” said Micky. “I was told the development company behind the project decided to pull out. Why, I never found out. I signed a confidential agreement never to mention my work or reveal any information on the project, but that was four years ago. And since it has apparently died, I don't mind ignoring the agreement and telling my friends the story over a lovely dinner.”

“A fascinating tale,” Loren acknowledged. “I wonder who was going to put up the financial backing?”

Micky took a sip of her port. “My understanding was that part of the funding was to come from the Republic of China. They've heavily invested in Central America. If the underground transportation system had been completed, it would have given them great economic power throughout North and South America.”

Pitt and Loren looked at each other, a growing understanding in their eyes. Then Loren asked Micky, “Who was the construction firm that hired you?”

“A huge international development outfit called Odyssey.”

“Yes,” Pitt said softly, squeezing Loren's knee under the table. “Yes, it seems to me I've heard of it.”

“There's coincidence for you,” said Loren. “Dirk and I were discussing Odyssey not more than a few hours ago.”

“An odd name for a construction company,” said Summer.

Loren smiled faintly and paraphrased Winston Churchill. “A puzzle wrapped in a maze of secret business dealings inside an enigma. The founder and chairman, who calls himself Specter, is as far out as the formula for time travel.”

Dirk looked thoughtful. “Why do you think he broke off the project? Lack of money?”

“Certainly not the money,” Loren answered. “British economic journalists estimate his personal assets upward of fifty billion dollars.”

“Makes you wonder,” Pitt murmured, “why he didn't complete the tunnels, with so much at stake.”

Loren hesitated; not so Giordino. “How do you know he threw in the towel? How do you know he isn't secretly digging away under Nicaragua while we enjoy our port?”

“Not possible.” Loren was blunt. “Satellite photos would show construction activity. There's no way he could hide an excavation of such immense magnitude.”

Giordino studied his empty glass. “A neat trick if he could hide millions of tons of excavated rock and muck.”

Pitt looked across the table at Micky. “Could you supply me with a map of the area where the tunnel was supposed to begin and end?”

Micky was only too happy to oblige. “You've piqued my curiosity. Let me have your fax number and I'll send you the site plans.”

“What's on your mind, Dad?” asked Dirk.

“Al and I will be cruising down Nicaragua way in a few days,” Pitt said with a crafty grin. “We just might drop in and browse the neighborhood.”