The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

Xhou shook his head. “The Americans you speak of come from an organization known as NUMA. The National Underwater and Marine Agency.”

A murmur went through the group, and Jinn sensed he had to control the situation quickly. He needed the next installment of funds or the whole operation would collapse.

“It could not be helped,” he said. “We had no reason to suspect a sailboat with a crew of three. They filed no permits, made no announcements. By the time we realized what they were up to, they were on the verge of discovering the horde. They had already sent data on the temperature gradient back to their headquarters.”

“What happened?” the Sheik asked.

“The horde consumed them.”

“Consumed them?”

Jinn nodded. “In a foraging mode, the horde can devour anything in its path. It’s a part of their program, required for reproduction and self-protection. In this case, it was activated from here.”

Xhou seemed to grow even angrier at hearing this. “You are a fool, Jinn. For each action taken, there is reaction. In this case, NUMA will investigate. They will be angered by the loss of their crew and highly motivated to discover what happened. They have a reputation for being tenacious. I fear you may have succeeded only in waking the dogs.”

Jinn fumed; he despised being questioned in this manner. “We had little choice. Now that the horde is concentrated, it is in a more vulnerable state. If the Americans found it, it’s possible—however unlikely—that action could have been taken before we initiate the final part of our plan, here and now, in this crucial growing season. If that had been allowed to happen, all our efforts would have been for nothing.”

“What’s to stop that in the future?”

Jinn puffed out his chest. “Once the weather pattern has been diverted, the horde can be dispersed again. Through its natural reproduction process it will grow large enough and spread far enough that even a concerted effort by all the world’s nations will be insufficient to destroy it.”

“Where will it go?” Mustafa asked.

“Everywhere,” Jinn said. “Eventually it will spread to all the oceans of the world. We will be able to affect not only the weather over our continents but across every landmass in the world. The rich countries of the world will pay us tribute to provide what they once received for free.”

“And if they attack the horde?” Xhou asked.

“They would have to burn the entire surface of the ocean just to damage it in any significant way. And even if they did, the survivors would reproduce and the horde would come back to life like the forest after a fire.”

The members of the consortium looked around and nodded to one another. They seemed to truly understand the power of the weapon Jinn was wielding. A weapon they had a hand in.

“Jinn has done correctly,” the Sheik said, supporting his Arab brother.

“Agreed,” Mustafa said.

Xhou remained less than satisfied. “We shall see,” he said. “It is my understanding that specialists from NUMA are on their way to Malé to begin investigating. If the horde is still vulnerable because of this concentration, I suggest we disperse it.”

“Now is not the time for that,” Jinn said. “But don’t worry, we know who was on the catamaran and we know who they’re sending to investigate. I have a plan in place to deal with them.”

CHAPTER 5

THE ISLAND OF MALÉ IS THE MOST POPULATED OF THE twenty-six atolls known as the Maldives. In centuries past Malé had been the king’s private island, the citizens living on the other islands spread out across two hundred miles of ocean. Now Malé was the nation’s capital. A hundred thousand people lived on it, packed into less than three square miles.

In contrast to volcanic islands like Hawaii or Tahiti, the Maldives have no peaks or rocky outcroppings. In fact, the highest natural point on Malé is only seven feet above sea level, though multistory condos and other buildings sprout in every section of ground right up to the water’s edge.

Flying there from Washington, D.C., was a daylong trip. Fourteen hours to Doha, Qatar, a three-hour layover, which seemed short by comparison, and then another five-hour flight that took great willpower even to board after so much time in the air already. Finally, after all that, travelers touched down at their destination. Sort of.

Malé itself was so small and so built up that no room for an airport remained on the circular-shaped island. To reach it meant landing on the neighboring island of Hulhulé, which was shaped something like an aircraft carrier and pretty much covered entirely by the airport’s main runway.

Aboard a four-engine A380, Kurt watched other passengers grip the armrests with white knuckles as the plane dropped closer and closer to the water. Just as it seemed like the landing gear would clip the waves, solid ground appeared and the big Airbus planted itself on the concrete runway.

“Whoa,” a voice said from beside him.

Kurt looked over. Joe Zavala had been jolted awake by the landing. His short black hair was a little disheveled and his dark brown eyes wide open as if he’d been zapped with a cattle prod. He’d been sound asleep until the wheels hit the ground.

“How about a little warning next time?”

Kurt smiled. “And ruin the surprise? A little adrenaline spike like that will get the day started right.”