Poseidon's Arrow (Dirk Pitt 22)

“Ann Bennett, this is Albert Giordino, NUMA’s Director of Technology—and occasional leering deckhand. Miss Bennett is with the NCIS and is joining us on the search.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Giordino.”

“Please, call me Al.” He rattled the tanks. “We can shake hands later.”

“I don’t think we’ll need those on this hunt,” Pitt said. “The water will likely be too deep.”

“Rudi only said that we had an underwater recovery job. He didn’t say what it was.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know. Is he aboard?”

“Yes. We all just returned from the funeral this morning.”

“Buddy Martin?”

Giordino nodded. Martin, the Drake’s captain, had died unexpectedly from a sudden illness.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it in time,” Pitt said. “Buddy was a man of true loyalty and a dear pal. He’ll be sorely missed.”

“He bled turquoise,” Giordino said, referring to the color all NUMA craft were painted. “But now Rudi has taken temporary command of the ship. A regular Captain Bligh, if you ask me.”

Pitt turned to Ann. “I usually try to keep Rudi as close to Washington as possible, in order to safeguard the NUMA budget.”

“You’ll find him in the lab,” Al said, “tending to his flock of deepwater fish.”

Pitt and Ann found a pair of empty cabins and tossed their travel gear in them, then went hunting for Rudi Gunn. The search didn’t take long for the Drake was compact, both the newest and smallest in the NUMA fleet. Barely over a hundred feet, the research ship was designed for inshore survey work but was also more than capable in blue water. Her cramped deck carried a three-man submersible and an autonomous underwater vehicle. Any enclosed space not devoted to her small crew was configured as research labs.

They entered one of the labs and found it nearly pitch-black. With the lights off and the windows sealed, the only illumination was cast by a few tiny blue bulbs overhead. Pitt figured the lab’s air-conditioning unit must have been working nonstop as the temperature felt like the low fifties.

“Keep the door closed, please.”

As their eyes adjusted, they spotted the voice’s owner, a thin man in a jacket hunched over a large tank that almost filled the room. He wore a set of night vision goggles and was staring intently into the tank.

“Spying on the mating habits of the grunion again, Rudi?” Pitt asked.

Recognizing the voice, the man bolted upright and spun to greet the intruders.

“Dirk, I didn’t know it was you.” Gunn tore off the goggles and replaced them with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. A brainy ex–Navy commander, Gunn served as NUMA’s Deputy Director. Like his boss, he escaped the confines of the Washington headquarters at every opportunity.

Pitt introduced Gunn to Ann.

“Why the cold, dark room?” she asked.

“Come take a look.” Gunn handed her the night vision goggles.

He guided her to the edge of the tank, where she slipped on the goggles and peered inside. A half dozen small fish swam in a lazy circle, glowing blue under the augmented light. But they were unlike any fish Ann had ever seen—flat translucent bodies, giant protruding eyes, and multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth jutting from their open mouths. She took a quick step back from the tank.

“What are those things? They’re hideous.”

“Rudi’s pet creatures of the deep,” Pitt said.

“Evermannella normalops is their scientific name,” Gunn said, “but we call them sabertooths. They’re an unusual species found only in very deep water. We discovered a large school of them thriving around a deepwater thermal vent near Monterey and decided to try and capture a few to study. Took quite a few dives with the submersible, but we brought up twenty of them. These are the last few we haven’t moved to shore yet.”

“They look like they’d eat you out of house and home.”

“Despite their appearance, we believe they are non-predatory. They’re actually quite docile. They don’t seem interested in eating other fish, so we think they may be scavengers.”

She shook her head. “I’m still not going to stick my hand in the tank.”