Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“Dynamic Underwater Monitoring Band,” Hiram said. “We added the O for fun. It’s a series of highly sensitive subsurface listening posts NUMA has set up throughout the Pacific. There are several hundred major stations and five thousand tethered buoys. They listen for seismic activity.”

“P-waves and S-waves,” Priya said.

Hiram nodded. “With DUMBO, we can detect a large earthquake and pinpoint its location far earlier than the existing tsunami monitoring network, but we’re also able to monitor the smallest tectonic movements. Deep earthquakes that wouldn’t wake a light sleeper if he was dozing next to the china cabinet. We learn a lot more about deep-earth geology that way. We can even predict when a big one is coming by the prevalence or absence of tiny tremors.”

Priya nodded, but she still looked confused. “What does that have to do with his mission and why does he want DUMBO to fly?”

“The flying part is just Kurt being Kurt,” Hiram explained. “He thinks he’s funny. I warn you: Do not laugh at his jokes. It’ll only encourage him and you’ll never hear the end of them. But the idea is top-notch as usual.”

From there, Hiram went on to explain about the missing Nighthawk and the rapid naval buildup to search for it. He tied the DUMBO project in as he finished. “Kurt wants us to listen to the tapes in case the seismic sensors picked up any sign of the crash. If they did, we can triangulate a location and save everyone a lot of time searching the South Pacific.”

Priya’s eyes seemed to catch the light as she smiled. “That’s brilliant,” she said. “If it works. Can seismic detectors really be that sensitive?”

Hiram hedged. “The network is far more sensitive than we thought it would be. We learned shortly after setting it up that other sounds from the ocean were being recorded. Subsurface mining off Taiwan, torpedo and artillery explosions at military test sites around the Pacific and even the last desperate groans of sinking ships. As those go down, they tend to break up, often accompanied by subtle explosions as the hull ruptures and tr

apped air is released. We were able to pinpoint the exact location of nine missing ships in the first six months of operations. But the Nighthawk is much smaller than your average seagoing vessel.”

“Better than nothing,” Priya said, grinning.

“Exactly,” he said. “It’s just unlikely to be easy, especially given this time frame.”

She eased her chair forward. “How can I help?”

“The first thing we have to do is download all the recorded data,” Hiram said. “Then we have to cross-reference it and begin the slow, painful process of weeding out the background noise, the magma and seismic activity that the sensors are designed to pick up and anything that doesn’t emanate from the search area. After that, we have to identify and remove shipping static, biological sources of interference like whale songs and schools of tuna, and at least a hundred other extraneous forms of underwater vibration.”

The lights in the office brightened and the coffeepot in the corner switched on automatically and started brewing.

“More precisely, he means I have to do all that,” Max announced over a speaker. “Looks like we’re all working through the night together.”

Priya laughed. “I swear, sometimes she misses you,” she said.

Hiram noticed a sense of glee in the computer voice that he’d have sworn he never programmed into it. “Eavesdropping again, Max. That’s another bad habit.”

“All in the name of efficiency,” Max replied. “Seismic data accessed, commencing download. Also, please advise Kurt that machine-rolled cigars are every bit the equal of—if not superior to—human, hand-rolled products.”

Priya laughed. “Have you been smoking again, Max? You know that’s a bad habit.”

“No,” Max said. “Just stating a verifiable factual principle.”

Hiram chuckled. “You’re an expert at most things, Max, but I’m going to leave cigars and liquor to Kurt.”

“Very well,” Max said. “Beginning audio analysis.”

Hiram walked over to the coffeepot and poured two cups. When Max finished the grunt work, he and Priya would have to make the final choices regarding what frequencies would be allowed to remain in the recording. Not much to do until then.

“Cream and sugar?” he said to Priya.

“Two cubes, please. And, thank you.”

Hiram dropped a sugar cube into the dark liquid. It made a tiny splash and almost no sound at all. The way he reckoned it, the Nighthawk parachuting into the ocean would do something similar, although it would be the equivalent of tossing a sugar cube into an Olympic swimming pool. He put their chances of hearing it, even with the network of sensors, at ten-to-one.

He dropped the second cube in, stirred the coffee and watched the small block of sugar dissolve and disappear. At least the Nighthawk couldn’t do that.

6

Guayaquil, Ecuador

After touching down in Ecuador, Kurt checked into the hotel and allowed himself a quick shower and a change of clothes. Refreshed, he caught a cab to a dockside warehouse on the outskirts of Guayaquil’s bustling port.