The Navigator (NUMA Files 7)

Austin’s cell phone jingled.

“Looks like you snagged yourself a real prize,” said Jennifer, the NUMA researcher. “You’ve got an authentic twelve-bolt, four-light navy MK diving helmet. Morse was a Boston brassware company that started fiddling around with helmet designs during the Civil War.”

“This looks much newer,” Austin said.

“It is. Your helmet was made in 1944. The MK design has been around since the turn of the century. They improved it through the years. It was a real workhorse for the navy, used for all submarine recovery work during World War Two.”

“Does that mean it was last used during the war?”

“Not necessarily. Someone could have found it at a surplus warehouse or store. If it’s in good shape, it could bring serious money on the collectors’ market.”

“Too bad we don’t know who the owner is,” Austin said.

“I can’t tell you who the diver is, but I tapped into naval records and found out who used it during the war. Navy diver named Chester Hutchins. Navy records say he bought the helmet as surplus after the war. Hometown listed as Havre de Grace, Maryland.”

Austin was familiar with the waterfront town near the mouth of the Susquehanna River. “I know the place. Thanks. Maybe his relatives still live there.”

“At least one does. A Mrs. Chester Hutchins. Got a pen handy?”

Austin found a ballpoint in a box of spare parts and jotted the number down on the margin of the chart. He thanked Jennifer and relayed the information to Zavala.

“Sounds like a solid lead,” he said.

“About as solid as they get,” Austin said. He dialed the number. A woman answered the phone. Austin hesitated. He didn’t want to give anyone a heart attack. But there was no gentle way to break the news.

He asked if she were related to Chester Hutchins.

“I am. I mean, I was. He’s been dead for many years. Who is this, please?”

“My name is Kurt Austin, with the National Underwater and Marine Agency. A friend and I were diving on a wreck in the Chesapeake today and we found a diving helmet. We traced it to your husband.”

“Dear God,” she said. “After all this time.”

“Would you like us to bring you the helmet, Mrs. Hutchins?”

“Please, yes. I’ll give you my address.”

They spoke a few more minutes before Austin hung up.

Zavala had been listening to the conversation. “Well?” he said.

Austin crooked his forefinger and thumb.

“Bingo,” he said with a grin.

Chapter 37

CARINA FELT AS IF she were walking on clouds.

The lunch with two exhibition organizers in the Metropolitan Museum of Art garden café had gone far better than she had expected. Things were going her way. Finally.

The organizers had enthusiastically embraced her suggestion that the well-publicized theft of the Navigator would bring people into the museum. They could barely contain their excitement as she traced her long search for the statue, described the attempted theft and the successful one.

The organizers had tossed ideas back and forth like table tennis players and jotted notes down in their electronic organizers.

The Navigator would have its own room. It would be an exhibition within an exhibition, filled with giant National Geographic photographs of the statue being excavated in Syria. Photos of the Iraqi museum. The Egyptian Pyramids. The containership. The Smithsonian. All pieces of the puzzle. The centerpiece would be an empty stage, reserved for the statue, adding an air of mystery.

The exhibition’s theme was a natural: Missing.