Austin gazed across the table at Karla, studying the creamy, unblemished skin and perfect mouth, thinking how unfair it was for a simple threat to the world to intrude on the potential for romance. Karla noticed that she was the object of Austin's coral blue eyes. She raised a finely arched eyebrow. "Yes, Kurt?"
Caught in the act, Austin cleared his throat. "I was wondering how your uncle is doing?"
"Technically, he's my god-grandfather, but he's doing well. Simply exhausted and worn out. The hospital wants to keep him for a few days. He's got to stay off his ankle. But he'll probably escape as soon as he gets some rest."
"I'm glad to hear he's doing well. I can drop you off at the hospital after our meeting. When we're through here, I'm driving down to an event near Manassas National Battlefield to brief Dirk Pitt, NUMA's director."
"Is Pitt refighting the Civil War?" Zavala said.
"He's satisfied with the outcome, as far as I know, but he got roped into a charity deal near Bull Run. He'd like to get filled in before the White House session. What have you got, Joe?"
"Good news. I asked Yeager to scour the records of shipbuilders. I thought if we could figure out where the transmitter ships were built we might be able to track them down. But even Max drew a blank. Next I went after the dynamos. I thought they might be commercially made."
"The generators we saw aren't the kind of thing you'd pick up at your neighborhood electrical supply house."
"Only a few companies manufacture equipment that size," Zavala said. "I followed up on every one, checking their sales for the past three years. They all went to power companies except one order supposedly shipped to a factory in South America, which is owned by Gant's foundation. The same multinational company that owns the factory has a shipyard in Mississippi. Seemed a funny combination of property for anyone to own, especially a nonprofit lobbying group."
"You're sure the foundation owns them?"
"Positive. I checked through the foundation's filings as a nonprofit. They own the shipyard through a straw company set up in Delaware. I had someone from NUMA follow up with a bogus story about retrofitting a big research vessel for us. The company itself is apparently legit. The management said they had just wrapped up a major retrofit job-they wouldn't go into details-and would be interested in making a bid."
"So the ships are still there?"
"They left several days ago. I accessed the NUMA satellite archives. Four ships left the boatyard last week."
"Four?"
"Three transmitter ships and what looks like a passenger liner. They seem to be headed toward South America."
Barrett had been silent since watching the computer simulation. "Thanks for your hard work, Joe. I'm feeling guilty as hell about all this. I can't stop thinking that this tragedy is my fault."
"Not at all," Karla said. "You could never know that your work would be used in a destructive way. It's no different than my grandfather. He was simply interested in pure science." Karla was shaking her head when a smile appeared on her face. "Topsy-Turvy," she said.
She laughed at the bewildered expressions around the table.
"It's the title of a bedtime poem my grandfather used to tell me. Not very good poetry, as I recall, but he said it was something that I would always have if I needed it." She scrunched her brow as she tried to remember the words.
Topsy-turvy,
Turvy-topsy,
The world stands on its head.
The sky's on fire,
The earth's afraid,
The ocean leaves its bed.
Her recitation was greeted by a deep silence, which Karla broke on her own.
"Dear God," she said. "I've just described auroras, earthquakes and tsunamis."
"A polar shift, in other words," Austin said. "Tell us more."
"I'll try. It's been a long time." She stared at the ceiling. "Each rhyme starts with the same topsy-turvy couplet, and then the verse itself changes. The next one goes, 'The key is in the door,/We'll turn the knob and hitch the latch,/To still the ocean's roar.' It goes on for several verses, then ends with my favorite one: 'Say good-bye to night. /All's well once more, /As Karla dreams,/For all the world is right.' "
Barrett whipped a ballpoint pen and notebook out of his pocket and slid them across to Karla. "Could you write down every verse?"