He dug his cell phone out of a pocket and called Paul Trout.
“Have you heard from Gamay?” he asked.
“I’ve been trying to reach her but my calls won’t go through,” Trout said.
“Keep trying,” Austin said. “I’m at Zavala’s place. I may have been too casual when I asked you to poke around Kane’s lab. Gamay should be alerted to possible danger from the people who wanted to take down Kane.”
Trout said, “Don’t worry, Kurt, Gamay can take care of herself.”
“I know she can,” Austin said. “Just tell her to be careful and not take any chances.”
HAVING DONE ALL HE could to warn the Trouts, Austin put in a call to NUMA and asked for a dossier on the Pyramid Trading Company. The agency’s computer center, under the supervision of cybergenius Hiram Yeager, was one of the greatest repositories of specialized information in the world. The powerful computers at NUMA were linked with databases around the world and in an instant could churn out reams of information on any subject having to do with the world’s oceans.
Austin said he would talk to Zavala after he’d studied the results of the computer search. He got back in his Jeep and drove to the thirty-story green-glass tower, overlooking the Potomac, that housed NUMA’s headquarters. He parked in the underground garage and took the elevator up to his Spartanly furnished office.
A thick file was sitting on his desk with a note from Yeager telling him to “Enjoy!”
He opened the file, but had only made it past the first page when his telephone buzzed. Caller ID couldn’t identify the number.
He realized why after he picked up the receiver and heard the crisp voice of James Sandecker, the founder and longtime director of NUMA before being appointed Vice President of the United States when the elected second-in-command died. As was his usual style, Sandecker got right to the point.
“Pitt forwarded your report on the B3 incident to me. What in blazes is going on, Kurt?”
Austin could imagine Sandecker’s crackling blue eyes and flaming red Vandyke beard, fixtures around NUMA for years.
“I wish I knew, Admiral,” Austin said, using Sandecker’s hard-earned Navy title over his more recent political one.
“How is Zavala faring after his ordeal?”
“Joe’s fine, Admiral.”
“That’s fortunate. If Zavala had bought the farm, half the female population of Washington would go into mourning and we’d have to shut down the whole damned town . . . Then this attack on the Beebe . . . Shocking. It was a miracle no one was hurt. Are you making any progress?”
“We think there’s a Chinese connection,” Austin said. “The AUV that went after me and the B3 is the same model used by a Chinese fishing company that’s part of a multinational called Pyramid Trading. The men who attacked the ship carried Chinese weapons and were Asian. Joe will chase down any possible criminal connection. I’ll check with the Bermuda police to see if their forensics turned up anything we can use. We think Doc Kane’s research may hold the key to everything. Gamay is on Bonefish Key checking out the lab.”
Sandecker chuckled.
“I don’t know how Gamay wangled her way in, but she’s not likely to learn a thing. The work they’re doing is highly classified.”
“Sounds like you know what the lab is up to.”
“More than I’d like. This is part of something very big, Kurt, and we’ll have to move quickly. The situation is reaching critical mass. I’m setting up a meeting that will explain things. I’ll call you in about an hour, so stand by. In the meantime, pack your bags for a trip.”
“I still haven’t unpacked from my last assignment.”
“That’s good. You and Joe will have to move out on short notice. I’m still working out the details, don’t have time to get into it now. Don’t ever let anyone tell you the job of Veep is as worthless as a bucket of warm spit.”
Sandecker hung up without another word. Austin stared at the phone in his hand.
He pushed speculative thoughts aside and soon was engrossed in the file on his desk. It didn’t take him very long to learn that Pyramid was no ordinary corporation.
CHAPTER 20
GAMAY HAD BEEN AWAKENED EARLIER THAT DAY BY THE thin shafts of sunlight filtering through the louvered windows. She slipped out of bed and pulled on her running shorts, sport top, and shoes. Quietly exiting through the screened-in porch, she did a series of warm-up exercises, walked around the back of the lodge to the start of a trail, and began a slow jog that gradually accelerated into a steady rhythm.
Feet crunching on the shell pathway, Gamay ran with an athletic grace, using a loose-boned economy of motion that assured that, if she were ever reincarnated, she’d come back as a cheetah. She ran every morning, a habit that went back to her tomboy days, hanging out on the streets of Racine with a gang of boys.
Gamay heard footfalls and turned to see Dr. Mayhew coming up from behind.