Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

Passing through a security checkpoint, he entered the cavernous building and quickly found his way to the section NUMA had taken over. There, hidden among towers of stacked shipping containers, he found a rack of hard-shelled diving suits, stacks of torpedo-shaped sonar emitters, a pair of small ROVs and several sleds with cameras and lights on them.

Perched in the center of this collection, like a mad scientist amid his creations, was Joe Zavala.

A few inches shorter than Kurt, Joe had dark, close-cropped hair, high cheekbones and deep, brown eyes that seemed soft and contemplative at times, fierce at others. As Joe moved among the crowded stacks of equipment with a checklist in his hand, he displayed the qualities of a cat. Never once looking up from the clipboard and yet never putting a foot wrong or hitting his head on the overhanging arms, jutting fins or brass propellers that surrounded him.

Joe had been Kurt’s closest friend at NUMA for years. He was an amateur boxer, the most gregarious member of the Special Projects team and an avowed bachelor. He was also a mechanical genius and had built many of NUMA’s more advanced submersibles.

“You look like the proverbial kid in the toy store,” Kurt said, alerting Joe to his presence.

“It’s a candy store in that proverb, amigo.”

“So I did a little rewrite,” Kurt said. “Looks like Rudi really came through. Where’d he get all this stuff? Aside from the hard suits, I don’t recognize any of this equipment.”

“You shouldn’t,” Joe said. “Those submersibles came from an oil exploration firm. These sonar buoys are cast-offs from the Ecuadorian Navy—I have no idea if they even work yet—and those camera sleds came from the movie company that produced Megalodon Versus the Giant Squid.”

“A classic, if ever there was one,” Kurt said.

“So I’ve heard,” Joe replied.

Kurt turned serious once more. “Rudi told me he’d chartered a group of fishing boats to supplement the fleet. I assume this equipment is for them?”

Joe nodded. “And I have twelve hours to get it all ready and send them out. At least we’ve got our own people flying in to run the systems once they’re on board; otherwise, I’d have to teach everyone, too.”

“The more ships we have in the water, the faster we’ll cover the search area,” Kurt said. “But we’re going to need more than a fishing fleet to make this work.”

Joe checked one more thing off of his list and put the clipboard down. “What do you have in mind?”

“How much do you know about the DUMBO project?”

“Big ears in the sea,” Joe replied. “You think you’re going to hear the Nighthawk going down?”

“I was told those sensors could hear a pin drop,” Kurt said. “In this case, a fifty-billion-dollar pin that fell from outer space.”

“That sounds like another bad movie,” Joe said.

Kurt laughed. “The way I see it, if the Nighthawk hit the water hard enough, we might hear it. Even if it parachuted down and then sank, there are compartments that would implode from the pressure. The central core covering the cargo bay, fuel cells and control unit have been built to withstand a thousand atmospheres. Something about sending it to Venus one day. But there are other cavities that might rupture. Hollow spaces in the wings and tail. The wheel wells around the landing gear.”

“Good point,” Joe said. “On top of that, parts of the heat shield would have been hitting a thousand degrees or more shortly prior to touch down. There might be an identifiable hissing and cavitation as that surface came into contact with the water.”

“Never thought of that,” Kurt said. “This is why you’re in charge of building and repairing things.”

“So who’s listening to the tapes?”

“Hiram and Max. I told him to contact you if he needs any more information.”

“Contact me?” Joe said. “Why? What are you going to be doing?”

“I have to go meet a specialist from the NSA who’ll be riding shotgun with us.”

“Are we really getting a chaperone?” Joe asked.

“Looks that way.”

Joe picked the clipboard up once again. “Well, that ought to slow our progress by at least fifty percent. What the guy’s name?”

“Emily Townsend,” Kurt said.

Joe’s eyebrows went up. “Strange name for a guy. Bet he got teased a lot growing up.”