Valhalla Rising (37 page)

“Boat,” Lasch interrupted, grinning. “Submarines are called boats.”

“Isn’t it a luxury liner?” asked Kelly.

“When sailing on the surface, but this vessel is built to cruise underwater.”

“Will you agree to extra security and an inspection team?” persisted Gunn.

“Yes, most certainly,” Lasch said affably.

Pitt was not finished with his requests. “I would also like to have a dive team inspect the hull below the waterline.”

Lasch nodded curtly. “I can arrange for divers. We have them on staff for underwater repair and maintenance to both ships and building.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” said Gunn.

“Though I believe the precautions are unnecessary, I don’t want a repeat of the
Emerald Dolphin
tragedy. If not for Lloyds of London, Blue Seas would have surely filed for bankruptcy.”

“Giordino and I would like to go along, if you have no objection,” said Pitt.

“Include me,” Kelly insisted. “I have a vested interest in my father’s work.”

Lasch rose from his chair. “I see no problem. Despite our differences of opinion, I’ll be happy to arrange for staterooms. All the passenger accommodations are booked, but there may be a few no-shows. If not, I’m sure we can arrange something in the crew’s quarters. The boat will arrive at the dock front of the hotel tomorrow morning at seven o’clock. You may board then.”

Gunn shook Lasch’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Lasch. I hope we haven’t unduly alarmed you, but Admiral Sandecker felt you should be aware of any potential danger.”

“I quite agree. Please tell the admiral I’m grateful for his concern, but I foresee no serious problems. The
Golden Marlin
has undergone extensive sea trials, and Dr. Egan’s engines
and
all the boat’s emergency systems performed beautifully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lasch,” said Pitt. “We’ll keep you informed of any new developments.”

As they left Lasch’s office and were riding down in the elevator, Giordino sighed. “Well, we tried.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Gunn. “The
Emerald Dolphin
disaster has left the company hanging on the ropes. Postponing the sailing of the
Golden Marlin
would have closed the cruise line for certain. Lasch and his directors have no choice but to send the ship on her maiden voyage and hope for an uneventful cruise.”

A
fter Gunn returned to the airport for the flight back to Washington, Pitt, Giordino and Kelly arranged through Warren Lasch’s private secretary to book rooms at the hotel for the night. As soon as he was settled in, Pitt called Sandecker.

“We failed to talk Lasch into postponing the sailing,” Pitt explained.

“I thought you would.” Sandecker sighed.

“Al and I, along with Kelly, are sailing on the boat.”

“You cleared this with Lasch?”

“He agreed without argument.”

Pitt could hear the admiral shuffling papers on his desk over the phone. Then Sandecker said, “I have a bit of news for you. The FBI think they have identified the man behind the fire on the
Emerald Dolphin
from descriptions given by the surviving passengers.”

“Who is he?”

“A real sour apple, this one. His real name is Omo Kanai. Born in Los Angeles. He built a five-page rap sheet by the time he was eighteen and enlisted in the Army to escape an assault charge. Worked himself up through the ranks before becoming an officer and transferring into a highly secret military organization called CEASE.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Considering their function, very few in government have,” said Sandecker. “CEASE stands for Covert Elite Action for Select Elimination.”

“I’ve still never heard of it,” said Pitt.

“It was originally formed to combat terrorism by assassinating terrorist leaders before their actions could threaten American citizens. But a decade ago, the president curtailed their projects and ordered them disbanded, which was not a good idea as it turns out. Highly trained in political and covert murder, Omo Kanai, now a captain, resigned along with twelve of his men and formed a commercial assassination company.”

“A Murder Incorporated.”

“Along the same lines. They hire out for killings. There is a whole list of unsolved deaths over the past two years, from politicians to corporate directors to certain celebrities. They’ve even hit Mafia leaders.”

“Aren’t they under investigation?” asked Pitt.

“The FBI has files, but these guys are good. They leave behind no evidence of their involvement. Investigative agents are frustrated because they have yet to lay a finger on Kanai and his murdering gang. There is growing fear that future economic wars will lead to death squads.”

“Murder and mayhem are hardly what economic forecasters have in mind.”

“Repulsive as it may sound,” Sandecker said conversationally, “there are a few corporate CEOs here and there who will stop at nothing to achieve power and monopoly.”

“Which brings us to Cerberus.”

“Correct,” Sandecker answered succinctly. “And it’s becoming more evident that not only was Kanai behind the fire on board the
Emerald Dolphin
and the explosions that blew out the hull of the liner while under tow, but it was he, impersonating a ship’s officer, who sabotaged the fire-control systems.”

“One man could not have done all that alone,” Pitt said dubiously.

“Kanai doesn’t always work alone. That’s why I’m warning you and Al to be alert every second you’re on the
Golden Marlin.
”

“We’ll keep a sharp eye out for any suspicious behavior by the crew.”

“Better you keep an eye out for Omo Kanai.”

“You lost me,” Pitt said, puzzled.

“His ego is too great. He won’t leave a job like this to his subordinates. You can bet he’ll run the show himself.”

“Any idea what he looks like?”

“You should know. You met him.”

“I met him? Where?”

“I’ve just received word from New York police investigators. Omo Kanai was the pilot of the old plane that tried to shoot you down.”

T
he
Golden Marlin
looked like no other cruise liner ever built. There were no promenade decks, no stateroom balconies, no smoke or exhaust funnels. Her rounded superstructure was covered with rows of large, circular viewing ports. The only prominent features were a round, domelike structure above her bow that housed the bridge and control room, while on the stern a high fin enclosed an opulent lounge and casino that revolved around stationary viewing ports.

At 400 feet in length and 40 feet wide, she was in the same class as most of the smaller luxury cruise liners that sailed the seas. Until now, undersea tourist excursions were undertaken in small submarines that were limited in depth and distance. The
Golden Marlin
was about to change the history of cruising. With her self-sustaining engines designed by Dr. Egan, she could travel throughout the Caribbean Sea, in depths up to 1,000 feet for two weeks, before coming into port for food and supplies.

Given the public’s insatiable lust for leisure-time activity and with an economy that put increased amounts of spendable income in their pockets, ocean cruising had become a mushrooming segment of the three-trillion-dollar international travel and tourism market. Now, with a submarine cruise liner, the horizon for undersea travel was about to spread immeasurably.

“She’s beautiful,” exclaimed Kelly, as she stood on the dock in the early morning, staring up at the unique vessel.

“The gold is a bit much,” muttered Giordino, adjusting his sunglasses from the glare that glinted off the superstructure from the rising sun.

Pitt was silent as he studied the seamless shape of the titanium hull. Unlike on older ships, no plates or rivets were visible. The big tourist submarine was a marvel of marine technology. He was admiring the workmanship when a ship’s officer approached from the foot of the gangway.

“I beg your pardon, but are you the people from NUMA?”

“We are,” answered Giordino.

“I’m Paul Conrad, the boat’s first officer. Mr. Lasch advised Captain Baldwin of your joining us for the maiden voyage. Do you have any luggage?”

“Only what we carry,” said Kelly, looking forward to seeing the interior of the boat.

“You’ll have a stateroom, Miss Egan,” said Conrad politely. “Mr. Pitt and Mr. Giordino will have to share a cabin in the crew’s quarters.”

“Next to the showgirls who perform in the theater?” asked Giordino with a straight face.

“No such luck,” Conrad laughed. “Please follow me.”

“I’ll be with you in one moment,” said Pitt. He turned and walked along the dock to a ladder leading to the water. A man and a woman wearing wet suits were checking their dive gear before stepping down the ladder and entering the water. “Are you the team who is going to inspect the bottom of the hull?”

A slim, handsome man looked at him and smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

“My name is Dirk Pitt. I was the one who requested your services.”

“Frank Martin.”

“And the lady?”

“My wife, Caroline. Honey, this is Dirk Pitt from NUMA. We can thank him for the job.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said a lovely blonde who nicely filled out her wet suit.

Pitt shook her hand, surprised at the strong grip. “I’ll bet you’re an expert diver.”

“Been doing it for fifteen years.”

“She can dive as well as any man,” Martin said proudly.

“Can you tell us exactly what it is we’re looking for?” asked Caroline.

“No sense in dodging the issue,” replied Pitt. “You’ll be looking for any sort of object that’s attached to the hull, specifically an explosive device.”

Martin looked unfazed. “And if we find one?”

“If you find one, you’ll find others. Don’t touch them. We’ll arrange for an underwater demolition team to remove them.”

“Who do we notify?”

“The captain of the ship. It’s his responsibility at that point.”

“A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Pitt,” said Martin.

“Likewise,” Caroline said, with a charming smile.

“Good luck,” Pitt said warmly. “You’ll make my day if you don’t find anything.”

By the time he reached the gangway, the Martins were in the water and diving under the
Golden Marlin’s
hull.

The boat’s first officer led Kelly through a luxurious solarium and up a glass elevator etched with tropical fish to a comfortable stateroom on the Manta Deck. Then he showed Pitt and Giordino to a small cabin below the passenger decks in the crew’s quarters.

“I would like to meet with Captain Baldwin as soon as it’s convenient,” said Pitt.

“The captain is expecting you for breakfast in the officers’ dining room in half an hour. The boat’s officers and an inspection team from the boatbuilder that came aboard late last night will also be present.”

“I’d like Miss Egan to attend,” said Pitt in an official tone.

Conrad looked uneasy but quickly recovered. “I’ll ask Captain Baldwin if he’ll permit the lady to sit in on the meeting.”

“Since this boat wouldn’t exist if it hadn’t been for the genius of her father,” said Giordino curtly, “I think it only proper that she be present.”

“I’m sure he’ll agree,” Conrad said hastily, as he exited the cabin and closed the door.

Looking around the sparse and closetlike cabin, Giordino said, “I get the impression we’re not welcome here.”

“Welcome or not,” said Pitt, “we’ve got to ensure the safety of the boat and its passengers.” He reached into his duffel bag and handed Giordino a portable radio. “You contact me if you find anything. I’ll do likewise.”

“Where do we start?”

“If you wanted to send this vessel to the bottom and everyone with it, how would you go about it?”

Giordino looked thoughtful for a few moments. “If I got away with a fire on the
Emerald Dolphin,
I might try the same game again. But if I wanted to send her to the bottom with no fuss or muss, I’d blow out either the hull or the ballast tanks.”

“My thoughts exactly. You start with that scenario and search the ship for explosives.”

“What are you going to look for?”

Pitt smiled, but there was no humor behind it. “I’m going to look for the man who will light the fuse.”

I
f Pitt had hoped the captain of the
Golden Marlin
was going to be a model of harmonious cooperation, he was wrong. Captain Morris Baldwin was a man who walked a straight line and never deviated. He ran a tight ship and did not intend to have outsiders come on board and disrupt his set routine. His only home was the ship he served. If he had a wife, which he did not, or a home, which he found a waste of time, he would have been an oyster without a shell.

His face was a stern mask, red, ruddy and never cheerful. He gazed through beady dark walnut eyes under heavy lids that were set and grim. Only the magnificent silver mane gave him an air of sophisticated authority. His shoulders were as broad as Giordino’s, but he was a good ten inches heavier in the waist. He drummed his fingers on the table in the officers’ dining room and stared steadily at Pitt, who stared back without so much as a blink.