Deep Six (Dirk Pitt 7)

A look of concern crossed Blackowl's face. "Could someone be jamming you?"

"I don't think so. It looks like cross traffic. The signal comes and goes as if messages are being transmitted. I suspect that some neighborhood radio freak has plugged onto our frequency by accident."

"Do you’ read any contacts?"

"Boat traffic this time of night is nil," answered the commander.

"The only blip we've seen on the oscilloscope in the last two hours was from a city sanitation tug pushing trash barges out to sea."

"What time did it go by?"

"Didn’t. The blip merged with the riverbank a few hundred yards upstream. The tug's skipper probably tied up to wait out the fog."

"Okay, River Watch, keep me assessed of your radar problem."

"Will do, Control. River Watch out."

Blackowl sat back and mentally calculated the potential hazards.

With river traffic at a standstill, there was little danger of another ship colliding with the Eagle. The Coast Guard cutter's radar, though operating intermittently, was operating. And any assault from the river side was ruled out because the absence of visibility made it next to impossible to home in on the yacht. The fog, it seemed, was a blessing in disguise.

Blackowl glanced up at the clock. It read one minute before the post change. He quickly reread the security plan that listed the names of the agents, the areas they were scheduled to patrol and the times.

He noted that agent Lyle Brock was due to stand post number seven, the yacht itself, while agent Karl Polaski was slated for post number six, which was the pier.

He pressed the transmit button and spoke into the tiny microphone attached to his headset. "Attention all stations. Time zero two hundred hours. Move to your next post. Repeat, move to the next Post on your schedule." Then he changed frequencies and uttered the code name of the shift leader. "Cutty Sark, this is Control."

A veteran of fifteen years in the service, agent Ed McGrath answered almost immediately. "Cutty Sark here."

"Tell posts numbers six and seven to keep a sharp watch on the river."

"They won't see much in this slop."

"How bad is it around the dock area?"

"Let's just say you should have issued us white canes with red tips."

/> "Do the best you can," Blackowl said.

A light blinked and Blackowl cut transmission to McGrath and answered the incoming call.

"Control."

"This is River Watch ' Control. Whoever is screwing up our radar signals seems to be transmitting continuously now."

"You read nothing?" Asked Blackowl.

"The geographic display on the oscilloscope is forty percent blanked out. Instead of blips we receive a large wedge shape."

"Okay, River Watch, let me pass the word to the special agent in charge. Maybe he can track the interference and stop any further transmission."

Before he apprised Oscar Lucas at the White House of the radar problem, Blackowl turned and gazed curiously at the television monitors. They reflected no discernible image, only vague shadows wavering in wraithlike undulation.

Agent Karl Polaski reaffixed the molded earplug of his Motorola HT-220 radio receiver and wiped the dampness from his Bismarck mustache. Forty minutes into his watch on the pier, he felt damp and downright miserable. He wiped the moisture from his face and thought it odd that it felt oily.

His eyes wandered to the overhead floodlights. They gave out a dim yellowish halo, but the edges had a prismatic effect and displayed the colors of the rainbow. From where he stood, about midpoint on the thirty-foot dock, the Eagle was completely hidden by the oppressive mist. Not even her deck or mast lights were visible.

Polaski walked over the weatherworn boards, occasionally stopping and listening. But all he heard was the gentle lapping of the water around the pilings and the soft hum of the yacht's generators. He was only a few steps from the end of the pier when the Eagle finally materialized from the gray tentacles of the fog.