“A warning to stay the hell out of that particular area of the sea,” Pitt answered.
I’ve got to admit,” Boland said slowly, “that since the Lillie Marlene affair, maritime ships have avoided the Vortex section like the plague.”
“You’ve got one problem,” Hunter’s tone was strangely soft. “The only on-scene witnesses, the boarding crew, were blown up along with the ship.”
Pitt grinned knowingly. “Simple. The idea was for the boarders to return to the San Gabriel and report to the captain. Our mastermind didn’t figure on greed rearing its ugly head. The boarders, as you recall, elected to stay on the ship and requested a tow rope, probably already spending the salvage money in their minds. They had to be stopped right where the ship sat. If the Lillie Marlene had reached port, scientific investigation might have uncovered some damaging evidence. So one good bang and Verhusson’s yacht went to the deep six.”
“You make a good case,” Hunter sighed. “But even if your fertile imagination has stumbled on the truth, we’re still left with our primary job, finding the Starbuck.”
“I was coming to that,” Pitt said. “The message from the yacht’s radio operator and the one from Commander Dupree, they have the same broken sentences, the same pleading tone in their words. The radio operator said ‘Don’t blame the captain, he could not have known.’ And in the latter part of Commander Dupree’s message, he said ‘If I had but known.’ A similarity between two men under stress? I don’t think so.” Pitt paused to let it sink in. “All of which leads to a likely conclusion: Commander Dupree’s final message is phony.”
“We considered that,” Hunter said, “Dupree’s message was flown to Washington last night. The Naval Intelligence Forgery Office verified an hour ago the authenticity of Dupree’s handwriting.”
“Of course,” Pitt said matter-of-factiy. “Nobody would be stupid enough to forge several paragraphs of script. I suggest you have your experts check for indentations in the paper. Chances are, the words were printed and then indented just enough to match the marking of a ball-point pen.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” said Boland. “Someone would have to have extra copies of Dupree’s writing in order to duplicate it.”
“They had the logbook, his correspondence, and maybe a diary. Perhaps that’s why some of the pages were missing from the message capsule. Certain key words and letters were cut out and pasted together into readable sentences. Then it was photoengraved and printed.”
Hunter’s expression was thoughtful, his tone neutral. “That would explain the strange wording and the rambling text of Dupree’s message. But it doesn’t tell us where Dupree and his crew lie.”
Pitt raised from his chair and walked over to the wall map. “Did the Starbuck send its messages to Pearl Harbor in code?” he asked.
“The code machine hadn’t been installed yet,” Hunter replied. “And since the sub was operating more or less in our own waters on a test cruise, the Navy saw no great urgency for top secret transmissions.”
“Sounds risky,” Pitt said, “for one of our nuclear subs to be on the air.”
“Strict silence is only maintained when a sub is on patrol or on station. Because the Starbuck was a new and untested ship, Dupree was ordered to report his position every two hours only as a precautionary measure in case of a mechanical malfunction. The initial shakedown was scheduled for only five days. By the time the Russians could track the calls and put a ship loaded with electronic spy gear on-the-scene, the Starbuck would have been long gone on a return course to Pearl Harbor.”
Pitt continued to stare at the map. “These red marks, Admiral. What does it indicate?”
“That’s Dupree’s position, according to his message.”
“And these periodic black symbols, I take it, are the Starbuck’s last position reports?”
“Correct.”
Pitt continued, his words economical. “The top mark then is the final bonafide message from Dupree.”
Hunter simply nodded.
Pitt leaned against Hunter’s desk and stared silently at the map for several moments. Finally he straightened and rapped on
the area marked as the Starbuck’s last position report. “Your search area spreads from this point to where?”
“It extends in a fan-shaped sector three hundred miles northeast,” Boland answered, his eyes clouded with puzzlement at Pitt’s cross-examination. “If you’d be so good as to tell us what you’re after.”
“Please bear with me,” Pitt said. “Your search operations were massive, over twenty ships and three hundred aircraft. But you found nothing, not even an oil slick. Every scientific detection device was undoubtedly used-magnetometers, sensitive Fathometers, underwater television cameras, the works. Yet your efforts came up dry. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
Hunter’s expression registered uncomprehension. “Why should it? The Starbuck could have gone down in an undersea canyon...”
“Or she might have buried her hull in soft sediment,” Denver added. “Finding one little ship in an area that large is as tough as finding a penny in the Salton Sea.”
“My friend,” Pitt said smiling, “you just spoke the magic words.”
Denver looked at Pitt blankly.
“One little ship,” Pitt repeated. “In all your searching, you couldn’t find one little ship.”