Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14) - Page 9

The aircraft was buttoned up as soon as Kurt and Rudi took their seats. Moments later, they were screaming down the runway. After a long takeoff roll, the Gulfstream clawed its way skyward and turned east.

As they climbed, Kurt stared out the window. Off in the distance he saw the dark clouds of the tropical depression that had sent the swells barreling to the shore. After a tip of the imaginary hat to the storm, he turned his attention back to Rudi.

Of all the men at NUMA, Rudi was the closest thing to an enigma. Now in his late forties, he had lost none of the intensity and precision that were his trademark. Fiery but close-lipped, Rudi could be jocular and fun but never quite let down his guard. His mind was always active. Even now, as he sat in silence contemplating whatever it was they would soon talk about, Kurt could sense that Rudi was planning, coordinating and rearranging things. He was a logistical genius with a knack for getting things set up in the most efficient order.

Kurt let him be. Twenty minutes went by before either of them spoke. “Are we going to see a flight attendant sometime soon? I could use a drink.”

“You know alcohol is not allowed on NUMA aircraft anymore,” Rudi said.

Kurt chuckled. By the book, as always. “I was thinking a bottle of water or a nice, cold Coke.”

“Oh,” Rudi said. “Sorry. Help yourself.” He pointed to a fridge.

Kurt unbuckled his seat belt and went to the mini-fridge. He opened it and plucked two bottles of Coke from the back, where they’d be coolest. Glass, not plastic, and he noticed the fine print on the label. It was written in Spanish, suggesting the plane had been restocked somewhere south of the border. Turning the bottle in his hand, Kurt found the bottler’s address, nodded to himself and closed the fridge.

He returned to his seat, opened both bottles and slid one toward Rudi. “Time to talk,” he said. “Judging by the long takeoff roll and the slow climb, I can tell we’re carrying a lot of fuel. By our course, I can safely assume we’re not going to Oahu or Los Angeles; and by the wrinkles in your shirt, I’m assuming you’ve been on this plane a long time. Just came to get me and to bring me back, I’d suspect. So where are we headed? Somewhere in South America?”

Rudi was in the process of pouring the Coke into a glass as Kurt spoke. “South America?” he said. “Is that your guess?”

“It is.”

“A rather large place,” Rudi replied with a grin. “Maybe you’d care to be more specific.”

Kurt hemmed and hawed for a second as though thinking deeply on the subject, though he already knew exactly what he was going to say. “Ecuador.”

Gunn’s eyebrows went up.

“Guayaquil,” Kurt added, “to be precise.”

Gunn looked truly shocked. “With all due respect to the great Johnny Carson, Carnac has nothing on you.”

?

??Not really,” Kurt said, grinning and pointing to the Coke bottle. “These were filled in Quito. But that’s a landlocked city. The largest port in Ecuador is in Guayaquil. And we tend to work on the sea.”

“Hmm,” Gunn said. “Not sure whether to be more impressed or less.”

A red phone buzzed beside Gunn’s chair. He picked up the receiver and listened for a moment. “We’re ready,” he said. “Put them through.”

“If you’re not giving the briefing, who is?”

“A colleague in the National Security Agency.”

“Am I working for the NSA now?” Kurt asked. He’d been loaned out before.

“Not just you,” Gunn replied. “Every NUMA ship and team member within five thousand miles.”

Now Kurt’s eyebrows went up. There could be only one reason for that. “They’ve lost something.”

Gunn didn’t confirm or deny. “I’ll let them explain.”

A flat-screen monitor on the bulkhead wall came to life. It displayed the confines of a briefing room with two men at a desk. The first was an Air Force officer with multiple ribbons on his blue jacket. The second wore a shirt and tie.

The man in the tie spoke first. “Good afternoon,” he said. “My name is Steve Gowdy. I’m the director of ExAt projects for the National Security Agency.”

“ExAt?” Kurt asked.

“Extra-atmospheric,” Gowdy replied. “Basically, anything that takes place above the stratosphere. Including our satellite and maneuvering vehicle projects.”

Tags: Clive Cussler NUMA Files Thriller
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