Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

Kamphausen’s demeanor changed instantly. “Let me get this straight,” he said gruffly. “You land on my ship in the middle of the night, bringing god-knows-what on board; you ask me to change course, fake a mechanical problem and possibly miss my delivery schedule—but you won’t tell me what you’re attempting to do or explain what I’m getting involved in?”

“I know it sounds odd,” Kurt began.

“More like, downright lunacy.”

“The thing is,” Kurt said, trying to keep the meeting on track, “we—and by we, I mean the United States government—can make it worth your while.”

“Not worth my while to get fired or busted down to seaman first class,” the captain said.

“I don’t know about that,” Kurt said. “Depends on how much we recover.”

Interest sparked up in the captain’s eyes. “Recover?”

Kurt nodded.

Kamphausen’s gaze narrowed. He adjusted his glasses once more and focused on Kurt. “Go on.”

“You’re familiar with NUMA,” Kurt said. “You know what we do. We find things on the bottom of the ocean. At the risk of saying too much, that contraption we’ve got tucked up under our helicopter is a specially designed submersible, built to search for something that is extremely valuable.”

He was stretching it a bit here, but he needed to sound confident.

“Something the United States government wants to find very badly,” Emma added.

Kurt cleared his throat to get the captain’s mind and eyes focused back in his direction. “It’s been my experience that the monetary rewards of helping the government can be quite substantial—”

“If I recall correctly,” Joe busted in, “everyone who helped us find that lost U-boat received a percentage of the diamonds we recovered or the equivalent value in cash, if they preferred.”

“Diamonds?” Kamphausen said.

“On that mission,” Kurt cautioned.

“Percentage?” the First Officer asked eagerly. “What kind of percentage?”

“Like in the old pirate days,” Joe said. “One share for each crewman, two shares for the NCOs, three shares for commissioned officers and four for the captain.”

Kurt nodded in support of Joe’s ad-lib as if it were standard practice. Captain Kamphausen and the First Officer exchanged a knowing look.

Emma chimed in to help the process. “As the saying in government goes, a billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking real money. You don’t need a large cut of that to buy a summer home in Tahiti.”

“But you can’t tell us what you’re looking for,” the captain repeated.

Kurt shook his head. “I can’t. But think about this: Would we be here, in the dark of night, asking for your help, if it wasn’t something extremely important?”

Knowing the plan would work best if the crew convinced themselves, Kurt let them run with their fantasy, until a voice of reason interrupted.

“Hold on a second,” a new arrival said. “I’m supercargo on this run. I’m responsible for the entire shipment. We’re carrying fresh fruit. Limes, apples, oranges and kiwis. If we’re more than four days late, the shipment will be rejected. My company will be out several million dollars and I’ll be out of a job.”

Kurt looked at Joe. “What do you think?”

“I believe we can swing it,” Joe said.

Kurt nodded. “We only need a couple of days,” he said, turning to the fruit company’s rep. “But if we are delayed more than forty-eight hours, the United States government will buy the cargo. Lock, stock and barrel.”

“Or in this case, limes, apples and oranges,” Joe added.

“Don’t forget the kiwis,” the representative said.

“How could I?”