The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

“No idea on that either,” she repeated.

“Well, if they’re machines, someone had to make them.”

“Exactly our thinking,” Gamay said. “And we believe we know who that might be.”

Kurt’s phone pinged again, and another photo came up. This time it was a page from a magazine article. A photo in the corner showed a businessman stepping out of a gaudy orange Rolls-Royce. His mahogany hair was pulled back into a long ponytail, and bushy beard covered most of his face. His suit looked like a navy blue Armani or some other double-breasted Italian cut.

“Who is he?” Kurt asked.

“Elwood Marchetti,” Gamay said. “Billionaire, electronics genius. Years ago he designed a process for printing circuits onto microchips that everyone uses today. He’s also a huge proponent of nanotechnology. He once claimed nanobots will do everything in the future, from cleaning cholesterol out of our arteries to mining gold from seawater.”

“And these things are nanobots?” Kurt asked.

“Actually they’re larger,” she said. “If you think of a nanobot as a Tonka truck, these things are earthmovers. A similar concept, still microscopic, but about a thousand times bigger.”

Leilani was studying the photo. “So this guy Marchetti is the problem,” she said firmly.

Kurt reserved judgment. “How do we connect these microbots to him?”

This time Paul answered. “According to an international patent on file, this is very close to one of his designs.”

Kurt’s own sense of righteous anger was building, he noticed Leilani wringing her hands.

“Is he using them for something?” Kurt asked. “Experimenting?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Then how’d they end up in the sea?” he asked. “And more important, how’d they end up on the catamaran?”

Paul’s guess came through. “Either they escaped from the lab like the killer bees forty years ago or Marchetti is using them for something without letting the rest of the world know.”

Kurt clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. “We need to pay this guy a visit.”

“I’m afraid he lives on a private island,” Paul replied.

“That’s not going to stop me from knocking on his door. Where do I find it?”

“That’s a rather good question,” Gamay said.

There was an odd tone in Gamay’s voice, and Kurt wasn’t sure he followed. “Are you saying no one knows what island he lives on?”

“No,” she told him. “Just that no one knows exactly where it is right now.”

Kurt felt as if he and the Trouts were having two different conversations. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Marchetti is building an artificial island,” Paul explained. “He calls it Aqua-Terra. He launched the core last year and has been outfitting it ever since. But because it’s mobile, and because he chooses to stay in international waters, no one’s quite sure where he is at any given time.”

Suddenly, Kurt remembered hearing about it. “I thought that was just a publicity stunt.”

Leilani spoke up. “No,” she said, “it’s real. I read something about it. Six months ago it was anchored off Malé. Kimo said he wanted to see it if he got the chance.”

“Okay,” Kurt said. “You guys find out whatever you can about these microbots. I’m putting a call in to Dirk. As soon as we track down Marchetti, I’m going to pay him a visit. I’m sure a floating island isn’t too hard to find.”

CHAPTER 10

JINN AL-KHALIF WALKED ACROSS THE DESERT UNDER A moonlit sky with Sabah close beside him. The sands he’d known since childhood shimmered like silver beneath his feet. They reminded him of the night his family had been attacked in the oasis more than forty years ago. A night when predators disguised as friends had slinked out of the desert and murdered his brothers and mother. It was a lesson in deception he had never forgotten. And one that seemed to be repeating itself.

“No word from Aziz?” he asked, speaking of the Egyptian general who had promised support for his plan.