The Storm nf-10 Page 11

  “Our intelligence agencies have tracked some of Jinn’s activities to this area of the desert.”

  “It doesn’t look like much,” Paul noted.

  “It’s not supposed to,” Dirk replied. “See all that darker sand and soil? It’s spread out over a hundred acres.”

  “It looks like it’s been washed down from somewhere,” Gamay said. “Erosion or flash flooding.”

  “Except it’s in the driest part of the desert,” Dirk said, “and the grade runs off kilter to the pattern we see.”

  “So it’s camouflage,” Kurt said. “What are they hiding?”

  “Our experts think they’ve moved a lot of earth,” Pitt said, “suggesting an underground compound of massive proportions. Infrared scans have detected an inordinate amount of heat coming from vents in the sand. All of which suggests manufacturing, though until now no one could guess what they were up to.”

  “Stealing my design,” Marchetti said, “and going into production.”

  Pitt nodded. “So it would seem. The question is, why?”

  Marchetti considered this for a second. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I intended them to eat garbage, but from what we saw the design has been modified. Obviously that would imply a different purpose. At this point all we know for sure is that they attacked your catamaran, but unless I’ve missed something no other vessels have been attacked or gone missing. That would suggest it’s not their main purpose.”

  “Then why use them for it?” Kurt asked.

  Marchetti glanced at Leilani for a second and then spoke. “Under normal circumstances the boat would have been picked clean. Not a speck of organic matter would have remained. And the bots would have disappeared back into the sea.”

  Kurt understood. “No evidence. No witnesses. The boat would have been found in perfect working order like the Mary Celeste. Only they didn’t count on the crew setting a fire to fight them off.”

  “Exactly,” Marchetti said. “Without the residue you found, there would have been nothing to tell us what had happened. Even if another vessel had been watching from a distance, they would have seen nothing.”

  Pitt returned the conversation to the original track. “So they can be a danger to shipping,” he noted, “but if that’s not their main function, what is? Could they be causing the temperature anomalies our team discovered?”

  “Possibly,” Marchetti said. “I’m not sure how, but to some extent what they’re capable of depends on how many of them are out there.”

  “Can you explain that?” Pitt asked.

  “Think of them as insects. One isn’t a big problem—one wasp, one ant, one termite—not much of a threat. But if you get enough of them in the same place, they can cause all kinds of trouble. My design was capable of reproducing autonomously and spreading ad infinitum. That was the only way to make them effective. No reason to think these aren’t doing the same thing. Millions of them can cause problems for a small vessel, billions could pose a threat to a large vessel or oil platform or even something the size of Aqua-Terra, but trillions of them—or trillions of trillions—that could threaten the entire sea.”

  “The entire sea?” Joe asked.

  Marchetti nodded. “In a way, the microbots are a pollutant in their own right. Almost like a toxin. But because they’re active in feeding, reproducing and protecting themselves, it’s better to think of them as a nonnative species invading a new habitat. They all tend to follow the same trajectory. Without natural enemies, they start off as a curiosity, quickly become a nuisance and shortly thereafter become an ecosystem-threatening epidemic. Unchecked, the microbots could do the same thing.”

  “I remember when the gypsy moths came to New England,” Paul said. “Nonnative. Arrived from China with no natural enemies. One year there were a few furry caterpillars. The next year they were abundant, and by the third year they were absolutely everywhere, by the billions, covering every tree, stripping every leaf and practically decimating the forests. Is that the kind of effect you’re talking about?”

  Marchetti nodded glumly.

  Quiet followed as the group pondered what Marchetti had said. Kurt imagined the microbots spreading through the Indian Ocean and around the world. He wondered if the thought was rational or paranoid and why someone would want that to occur or how they could profit from it.

  “Whatever they’re doing, I think we can assume it’s not a good thing,” Pitt said. “Therefore we need to find out what it is and get on top of it. Any suggestions how we can do that?”

  All eyes focused on Marchetti again.

  “Two ways,” he said. “Either catch the microbots in the act, for which I offer my services and the island, or go to the source and see what their orders are.”

  “Go to Yemen,” Pitt clarified.

  Marchetti nodded. “I hate to say it, and I certainly wouldn’t want to ride along, but if these things are being manufactured in this underground compound in Yemen, your best chance of discovering what they’re being created for is to go to the factory and check out the specs.”

  Pitt nodded thoughtfully but said nothing for the moment. He looked over the assembled team one by one.

  “All right,” he said finally. “Our original goal was to find out what happened to the crew, but I think we can all agree that we’ve discovered a greater threat here. One they were probably killed for. We need to follow this up from both angles. Paul and Gamay will take advantage of Mr. Marchetti’s hospitality and head up the waterborne search, using Aqua-Terra as home base. Kurt, you and Joe get ready. Unless you have any objections, I’m going find a way to sneak you into Yemen.”

  Kurt looked at Joe, who nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

  Pitt signed off. The meeting adjourned, and everyone began to file out.

  Leilani came up to Kurt. “I want to go with you,” she said.

  Kurt continued gathering up his things. “Not a chance.”

  “Why?” she asked. “If this Jinn is the guy that caused all this, I want to be there when you get him.”

  Kurt cut his eyes at her. “You jeopardized us once, I’m not going to let you do that again. Nor am I going to take you into danger. Nor are we going to get this guy. Unlike you, we’re not some kind of hit squad. We want to find out what he’s up to and why, that’s it. The best thing you could do is go home to Hawaii.”

  “I don’t have anyone to go home to,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Kurt said, “but that isn’t going to work on me this time.”

  Gamay came over to intercede. “We could use a marine biologist if we’re going to analyze what’s going on with the food chain. Why don’t you stay here with us?”

  Leilani didn’t seem to like that idea, but it was clear she had no other option. Finally she nodded.

  Kurt stepped out through the door without another word. He felt badly for her, but he had a job to do.

  CHAPTER 16

  GULF OF ADEN, OFF THE COAST OF YEMEN

  THIRTY-SEVEN HOURS AFTER THE MEETING IN MARCHETTI’S conference room, Kurt and Joe found themselves sitting in a wooden fishing boat in the dark of night a mile or so off the coast of Aden.

  Clad in black wet suits, with fins, and small oxygen tanks on their backs, they waited patiently for a signal.

  Kurt rubbed a light coat of baby shampoo on the inside glass of his mask before rinsing it to keep it from fogging up. Joe checked his air one last time and secured a diving knife in a sheath on his leg.

  “You ready?” Kurt asked.

  “As ready as I’m going to be,” Joe said. “You see anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What if this guy got held up?”

  “He’ll make it,” Kurt said. “Dirk swears this guy has helped him out a few times before.”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  Kurt shook his head and smiled. “He said we wouldn’t need it.”

  Joe chuckled. “Dirk has his secrets, that’s for sure.”

  It was a moonless night w
ith a light wind from the northwest. Kurt could smell the desert on that breeze, but he could see nothing. They were anchored off a desolate stretch of the coast, bobbing up and down on the swells and waiting to hit the water. But they couldn’t go until they were sure someone had arrived to pick them up.

  Finally a pair of lights flashed in their direction. On-off. On-off. And then back on again for a few seconds before going permanently dark.

  “That’s our man,” Kurt said, pulling his mask into place.

  Joe did the same, pausing for a second. “One question,” he said. “What if those bots are in the water here, waiting to chow down on us?”

  Kurt hadn’t thought about that and, quite frankly, wished Joe hadn’t either. “Then you better hope they’re not hungry,” he said.

  With that, he pushed back over the side and dropped into the inky black water.

  A few seconds later Joe hit the water behind him, the muted sound of his plunge reverberating through the dark.

  Without delay, Kurt got his bearings and began to kick with smooth, powerful strokes, the thrust from his fins moving him swiftly through the water. It was a quiet, slow-motion approach to the beach.

  As he closed in on the shore, he could hear the sound of the waves pounding, he could feel the pull of the ebb tide trying to drag him to the east. He angled slightly into it, but rather than wear himself out fighting it, he mostly rode with it.

  Closer in, he focused on the swells, trying to get a rough sense of timing for the set of waves. One big swell pushed him upward, threatening to dump him face-first, but it passed, broke and sent white foam racing up onto the sand fifteen yards in front of him.

  The undertow caught him as the water flowed back, but Kurt powered through it, caught the next wave and bodysurfed right up onto the beach.

  Thirty feet ahead boulders offered shelter. He pulled off his fins and dashed forward, taking shelter between them. Once he was there, he pulled his mask off, unzipped the wet suit a few inches and drew out a small night vision scope. He scanned the beach and the road above it. He saw no movement, no sign of anything living.

  Seventy yards to the west, an old VW bus sat parked on the road. That was their transportation.

  He turned his head in time to see Joe coming up onto the beach. After a short delay, Joe sprinted to the rocks.

  Kurt pointed to the van. “Not bad,” he said. “We only missed it by a football field.”

  “Easier to walk that distance than to swim head-on into the current,” Joe replied.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Kurt said. “Besides, on the off chance our friend has been watched or tailed, probably best not to come out of the water right in front of the getaway vehicle.”

  The two men stripped out of their diving gear to reveal plain clothes. Watching for trouble, they moved down the beach in spurts until they reached the VW.

  The thirty-year-old vehicle was a tawny brown color, pitted and scratched from years of flying sand. Its tires looked bald, and the VW emblem on the front was broken, missing half of the W.

  “Maybe it’s a knockoff,” Kurt said.

  “Yeah,” Joe replied, “a Volks Vagon.”

  “Not much style to it,” Kurt said, and then, thinking of the Vespa, he added, “but at least it has four wheels.”

  “You must be moving up in the world,” Joe said.

  Kurt chuckled as he slid the door open. Whatever it lost on style points, the van had other attributes, including ample room for supplies, an air-cooled engine that would be more reliable crossing the desert than a water-cooled power plant, and authentic Yemen plates that Kurt hoped were current.

  It was also unoccupied. Whoever Dirk Pitt had found to drop the van off had vanished. A second set of tire tracks on the soft shoulder by the road suggested the driver had been ferried off in another vehicle.

  They piled into the van. Kurt made his way to the driver’s seat as Joe checked the supplies in the back.

  “We’ve got boots and caftans back here,” Joe said. “Food, water and some equipment. The guy set us up well.”

  Kurt looked for the key. He flipped the visor down and it dropped into his hand, along with a note.

  He stuck the key in the ignition and unfolded the note as Joe made his way up front and took the passenger seat.

  “It says take the coast road northeast for seven miles. Turn northwest on the paved road that marks the Eastern Highway. It will be paved for thirty miles and then become a dirt track. Continue on for exactly forty-five miles. Hide the van and hike northwest on a course of 290 for 5.2 miles. You’ll cut the corner and come upon the compound you seek. Good luck.”

  “Any signature?”

  “Anonymous,” Kurt said. He folded the note and tucked it away. “Whoever he is, let’s not disappoint him.”

  After a quick look around, Kurt turned the key, and the engine came to life with that sound that only old VWs ever seemed to make. The gears made a grinding noise as Kurt put the van in first and released the clutch, but at least they were off and running.

  He hoped to make the compound before daybreak. They had four hours.

  CHAPTER 17

  GAMAY TROUT WAS FILLED WITH GLEE AS SHE RODE ALONG at twenty knots, a mere thirty feet above the waves, in a small airship of Elwood Marchetti’s design.

  To call it a blimp would have been a disservice to the sleek craft. The crew compartment sat between and slightly below what Marchetti called air pods. Filled with helium, the pods resembled pontoons, although much larger and longer. They were flat on the bottom and curved on the top to provide lift as the craft moved forward. They were attached to the passenger compartment by a series of struts that ran up and out at a forty-five-degree angle. A second raft of struts ran between them, bracing them and keeping them apart. The design allowed a view upward to the sky, something no other airship had.

  The passenger compartment was shaped like that of an upscale cabin cruiser, raked backward as it dropped away from the inflated sections. A platform to the rear allowed open-air cruising, sunbathing and a way to enter and exit the airship. Twin ducted fans, placed well forward of the cabin, pulled the craft along like a pair of sled dogs. A stubby set of wings acted as a canard while a pair of vertical tails, one on each pod, acted as the airship’s rudders.

  “This is amazing,” Gamay said, leaning over the side and staring at a trio of dolphins they’d found and begun following.

  With Marchetti at the controls, Paul, Gamay and Leilani were free to enjoy the moment. They soaked it in, feeling the breeze, gazing at the dolphins flying through the clear waters below.

  The bottle-nosed mammals easily kept pace with the airship, accelerating with powerful strokes of their flat tails. Occasionally, one would break the surface and propel itself through the air, leaping toward them and then arcing back down to the water.

  “It’s like they’re trying to reach us,” Leilani said.

  “Maybe they think we’re the mother ship,” Paul replied.

  Gamay laughed. She could only imagine what the dolphins would think of such a vessel. Clearly they weren’t afraid of it, though. “Marchetti, I think this will work.”

  Leilani nodded, seeming to be in better spirits. Paul smiled.

  “You look like the cat who ate the canary,” Gamay said.

  “I was just thinking how lucky I am to be up here with two beautiful women,” Paul said, grinning, “instead of hiking through the desert with Kurt and Joe.”

  Gamay laughed.

  “And it’s not just the company,” he added. “For once we’ve got the multimillion-dollar toys to work with. Kurt and Joe are probably wrestling with a few smelly camels right about now.”

  “Have to agree,” Gamay said, then turned to Marchetti. “How much farther can we go?”

  “We can stay aloft for days if we need to,” he said. “But my suggestion is to put another hour on this leg and then head home to the island. My crew will have the other two airships put together and ready for action tomorrow,
and we can take all three up and cover more ground—er, water.”

  “Do you have pilots?” Paul asked.

  “Pilots?” Marchetti replied. “We don’t need no stinking pilots.”

  “Who’s going to fly them?”

  “Any of you can,” Marchetti said. “You drive this thing like you drive a car or boat.”

  Gamay found Marchetti a welcome addition to the team. Certainly he’d been true to his word so far, putting his full backing behind the expedition. He’d already turned the floating island of Aqua-Terra toward the northwest and brought it up to the blazing speed of four and a half knots and turned over all specs of the microbots to NUMA. He’d even brought back another dozen members of his crew to keep the island running sans robots.

  “Give us a few lessons before you send us out,” Paul asked.

  “Sounds fair.”

  Gamay turned her attention back to the sea. The dolphins continued to race along with them, staying just ahead of the airship’s floating shadow. Another one looked as if it were about to jump, when suddenly they scattered, darting in opposite directions and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

  “You see that?” she asked.

  “They’re quick,” Paul said.

  “Must have gotten tired of us,” Leilani said.

  Still gazing at the water, Gamay sensed something different. The sea was growing darker. A murky gray hue had begun to replace the clear deep blue they’d seen only moments before.

  She guessed the dolphins had sensed the change, processed it as danger and fled in the other direction.

  The happiness left her. “Slow us down,” she said to Marchetti. “I think we’ve found them.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “RIDING IN THIS THING MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I’M HEADED to Woodstock in the desert,” Joe said, talking over the VW’s engine noise and peering into the dark.

  “Let’s hope it’s not quite as crowded,” Kurt replied.

  He and Joe drove through the night. When they reached the waypoint, they pulled off the desert track and parked the VW behind the curved slope of a sand dune.