The Mediterranean Caper (Dirk Pitt 2)

“Everything went fine for the first couple of weeks, but as soon as we found a promising location to investigate, things turned sour and we’ve had nothing but rotten luck since.”

“For instance?”

“Mostly equipment failure; broken cables, missing and damaged parts, generator break-downs, you know, things like that.”

They were nearing the First Attempt now and the Young crewman turned back to the helm and maneuvered the small boat along side of the boarding ladder.

Pitt stood and looked up at the larger vessel, surveying its outward appearance. By maritime standards she was a small ship; eight hundred twenty tons, one hundred fifty-two feet in length overall. Her keel was originally laid on an ocean-going tug in the Dutch shipyards of Rotterdam before World War II. Immediately after the Germans invaded the lowlands, her crew Slipped her away to England where she performed outstanding and meritorious service throughout the war, towing torpedoed and crippled ships into the British port of Liverpool under the noses of Nazi U-boats. After the end of European hostilities, her tired and battered hull was traded by the Dutch Government to the U.S. Navy, who promptly enlisted her in the mothball fleet at Olympia, Washington. There she sat for twenty-five long years, sleeping under a gray plastic cocoon. Then the newly formed National Underwater Marine Agency purchased her remains from the Navy and converted her to a modern oceanographic vessel, rechristening her the First Attempt.

Pitt squinted from the bright glare of the white paint, coating the ship from stem to stern staff. He climbed the boarding ladder and was greeted on the deck by an old friend, Commander Rudi Gunn, the skipper and project director of the ship.

“You look healthy,” said Gunn unsmilingly, “except for your blood-shot eyes.” He reached for a cigarette. Before he lit it, he offered one to Pitt, who shook his head and held up one in his hand.

“I hear you’ve got problems,” said Pitt.

Gunn’s face turned grim. “You’re damn right I do,” he snapped. “I didn’t ask Admiral Sandecker to send you all the way from Washington just for fun and games.”

Pitt’s eyebrows went up in surprise. This sudden harshness did not fit Gunn. Under normal circumstances the little commander was a warm and humorous person. “Take it easy, Rudi,” said Pitt

softly. “Let’s get out of the sun, and you can brief me on what this mess is all about”

Gunn removed his horned rimmed glasses and rubbed a wrinkled handkerchief across his forehead.

“I'm sorry, Dirk, it’s just that I’ve never seen so many things go wrong at one time. It’s highly frustrating after all the planning that went into this project. I guess it’s beginning to make me irritable as hell. Even the crew has noticeably avoided me the last three days.”

Pitt placed an arm on the shorter man’s shoulders and grinned. “I promise not to avoid you even if you are a nasty little bastard.”

Gunn looked blank for a moment, and then a sense of relief seemed to flood his eyes, and he flung back his head and laughed. “Thank God you’re here,” be gripped Pitt’s arm tightly. “You may not solve any mysteries, but at least I'll feel a hell of a lot better just having you around.” He turned and pointed toward the bow. “Come along, my cabin is up forward.”

Pitt followed Gunn up a steep ladder to the next deck and into a small cabin that must have been designed by a closet-maker. The only comfort, and it was a large one, was a cool blast of air that emitted from an overhead ventilator. He stood in front of the opening for a moment and soaked in the cool breeze. Then he straddled a chair and leaned his arms across the top of the backrest, waiting for Gunn to give the briefing.

Gunn closed the porthole and remained standing. “Before I begin, let me ask you what you know about our Aegean expedition?”

“I only heard that the First Attempt was researching the Mediterranean for zoological purposes.”

Gunn stared at him, shocked. “Didn’t the admiral supply you with any detailed data concerning this project before you left Washington?”

Pitt lit another cigarette. “What makes you think that I came straight from the Capital?”

“I don’t know,” Gunn said hesitantly. “I only assumed that you . . .“

Pitt stopped him with a grin. “I haven’t been anywhere near the States in over four months.” He exhaled a puff of smoke toward the ventilator and watched the blue haze swirl into nothingness. “Sandecker’s message to you simply stated that he was sending me directly to Thasos. He obviously neglected to mention where I was coming from and when I would arrive. Therefore, you expected me to come soaring out of the blue sky four days ago.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” Gunn said shrugging. “You’re right, of course. I figured two days at the most for that old tin duck of yours to fly from the Capital. When you finally flew into that fiasco at Brady Field yesterday you were already four days late by my schedule.”

“It couldn’t be helped. Giordino and I were ordered to airlift supplies into an ice probe station, camped on an ice floe north of Spitzbergen. Right after we landed, a blizzard hit and grounded us for over seventy-two hours.”

Gunn laughed. “You certainly flew from one extreme in temperature to another.” Pitt didn’t answer, but merely smiled.

Gunn pulled open the top drawer of a small compact desk and handed Pitt a large manila envelope that contained several drawings of a strange looking fish. “You ever see anything like this before?”

Pitt looked down at the drawings. Most of them were different artist’s conceptions of the same fish, and yet each varied in details. The first was an ancient Greek illustration on the side of a vase. Another had obviously been part of a Roman fresco. He noted that two of them were more modern. stylized drawings, depicting the fish in a series of movements. The last was a photograph of a fossil imbedded in sandstone. Pitt looked up at Gunn questioningly.

Gunn handed him a magnifying glass. “Here, take a closer look through this.” Pitt adjusted the height of the thick glass and scrutinized each picture. At first glance the fish looked similar in size and shape to the Bluefin Tuna, but on closer inspection, the bottom pelvic fins took on the appearance of small jointed webbed feet. There were two more identical limbs located just in front of the dorsal fin.

He whistled softly. “This is a weird specimen, Rudi. What do you call it?” “I can’t pronounce the Latin name, but the scientists aboard the First Attempt have affectionately nicknamed it the Teaser.”

“Why is that?”