Deep Six (Dirk Pitt 7)

He nodded in approval. Only three hours after he'd briefed Pitt, the search for the Eagle was on. He jumped on deck and greeted the two engineers connecting the sonar sensor to the recorder cable, then entered the wheelhouse. He found Pitt scrutinizing a large satellite photograph through a magnifying glass.

Is that the best you can do?" Sandecker asked.

Pitt looked up and grinned humorously. "You mean the boat?"

"I do."

"Not up to your spit and polish naval standards, but she'll serve nicely."

"None of our research vessels were available?"

"They were, but I chose this old tub for two reasons. One, she's a damn good little workboat; and two, if somebody really snatched a government boat with a party of VIPs on board and deep-sixed her, they'll expect a major underwater search effort and will be watching for it. This way, we'll be in and out before they're wise."

Sandecker had told him only that a boat belonging to the naval yard had been stolen from the pier at Mount Vernon and presumed sunk.

Little else. "Who said anything about VIPs being onboard?"

"Army and Navy helicopters are as thick as locusts overhead, and you can walk across the river on the Coast Guard ships crowding the water. There's more to this search project than you've let on, Admiral. A hell of a lot more."

Sandecker didn't reply. He could only admit to himself that Pitt was thinking four jumps ahead. His silence, he knew, only heightened Pitts suspicions. sidestepping the issue, he asked, "You see something that caused you to begin looking this far below Mount Vernon?"

"Enough to save us four days and twenty-five miles," Pitt answered. "I figured the boat would be spotted by one of our space cameras, but which one? Military spy satellites don't orbit over Washington, and space weather pictures won't enhance to pinpoint small detail."

"Where did you get that one?" Sandecker asked, motioning toward the photograph.

"From a friend at the Department of Interior. One of their geological survey satellites flew 590 miles overhead and shot an infrared portrait of Chesapeake Bay and the adjoining rivers. Time: four-forty the morning of the boat's disappearance. If you look through the glass at the blowup of this section of the Potomac, the only boat that can be seen down river from Mount Vernon is cruising a mile below this dock."

Sandecker peered at the tiny white dot on the photograph. The enhancement was incredibly sharp. He could detect every piece of gear on the decks and the figures of two people. He stared into Pitts eyes.

"No way of proving that's the boat we're after," he said flatly.

"I didn't fall off a pumpkin truck, Admiral. That's the presidential yacht Eagle."

"I won't run you around the horn," Sandecker spoke quietly, "but I can't tell you any more than I already have."

Pitt gave a noncommittal shrug and said nothing.

"so where do you think it is?"

Pitts green eyes deepened. He gave Sandecker a sly stare and picked up a pair of diviners. "I looked up the Eagle's specifications.

Her top speed was fourteen knots. Now, the space photo was taken at four-forty. Daylight was an hour and a half away. The crew who pirated the yacht couldn't risk being seen, so they put her on the bottom under cover of darkness. Taking all that into con

sideration, she could have traveled only twenty-one miles before sun up."

"That still takes in a lot of water."

"I think we can slice it some."

"By staying in the channel?"

"Yes, sir, deep water. If I was running the show, I'd sink her deep to prevent accinental discovery."

"What's the average depth of your search grid?"

"Thirty to forty feet."

"Not enough."