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  what caught the public's imagination. But one of Sandecker's greatest contributions was NUMAs unseen jewel in the crown, the massive high-speed computer network Yaeger had designed with a free hand and unlimited funding thanks to the admiral.

  Sandecker had lured Yaeger to NUMA in a raid on a Silicon Valley computer corporation and assigned him to build what would undeniably be the finest and largest archive of ocean sciences in the world. The vast data library was Yaeger's joy and his passion. It had taken years to put together centuries of human knowledge gleaned from books, articles, and scientific and historical theses. Everything known to have been written about the sea was available not only to NUMA but to ocean science students, professional oceanographers, marine engineers, and underwater archaeologists worldwide.

  Yaeger was the only person in NUMA who ignored Sandecker's dress code and got away with it, which spoke eloquently of his talents. With his Levi's jacket and jeans, his long blondish-gray hair tied in a ponytail, and the untamed whiskers that hid the boyish eagerness of his face, the scruffy Yaeger could have come off a sixties hippy commune. In fact; Yaeger did not live in a yurt, but drove to and from a fashionable Maryland suburb in a fully equipped BMW His attractive wife was an artist, his two teenage daughters were students at a private school, and their main complaint was that Yaeger spent more time with his electronic family than his flesh-and-blood one.

  Yaeger was still in awe of the tremendous power at his command. He had given up the keyboard and monitor for spoken commands and the holographic display. His foray into the more revealing aspect of the Geographic articles was an excuse to take a break from the demanding assignment he'd been working on at Sandecker's request. On the surface Sandecker's directive had been uncomplicated. Find out if there were any attacks on archaeological expeditions similar to what happened in Morocco. It turned out to be a monumental task. He'd neglected his understanding wife and children even more than usual in his passion to solve the puzzle.

  Although the NUMA system was geared to the oceans, Max routinely hacked into other systems, without authorization, to gather information and transfer data among libraries, newspaper morgues, research libraries, universities, and historic archives anywhere on the globe. Yaeger began by compiling a master list of expeditions, divided chronologically by decades and going back fifty years. There were hundreds of names and dates on the list. Then he prepared a computer model based on the facts that were known about the Moroccan incident. He asked Max to compare the model to each expedition, drawing on various sources such as published academic papers, scientific journals, and news reports, cross-checking the accounts to determine if any of these expeditions had come to a similar unscheduled end, always searching for patterns.

  The sources were often fragmentary and sometimes dubious. Like a sculptor trying to find a figure in a piece of marble, he chipped the master list down in size. It was still long and complicated enough to daunt the most experienced researcher, but the challenge only whetted his appetite. After several days he had brought together an enormous amount of information. Now he would instruct the computers to sift through the data and refine the results into a palatable serving.

  "Max, please print out your findings when you've exhausted your networks;" he instructed the computer.

  "I will get back to you shortly. Sorry for the delay" the soft monotone voice responded. "Why don't you pour yourself another cup of coffee while you wait?"

  Time was irrelevant to a computer, Yaeger reflected as he followed Max's suggestion. It did what it did at unimaginable speeds, but no matter how fast and smart Max was, it had no concept of what it was like to have Sandecker breathing down its circuits. Yaeger had promised Sandecker the results by the following morning. While Max labored, Yaeger could have taken a break, walked to the NUMA cafeteria, or simply left his sanctum sanctorum for a brisk walk. He hated to leave his electronic babies and instead used the time to explore other options.

  He stared up at the ceiling and remembered that Nina Kirov had said the killers came in the night, massacred the party then disposed of the bodies.

  "Max, let's take a look at 'assassins.'"

  Max was actually a number of computers that, like the human brain, could work on several complicated tasks at the same time.

  "That should be no problem." A second later the computer voice said: Assassins. An English analog of the Arabic hashshashin, meaning one who is addicted to hashish. A secret eleventh-century politicoreligious Islamic order presided over by an absolute ruler and deputy masters. Unquestioning obedience was demanded of sect members known as 'the devoted ones,' the actual hit men who murdered political leaders and put their skills out for hire. The killers were given hashish and a heavy dose of sensual pleasures and told this was a taste of the paradise that awaited them if they did their job. The sect spread terror for more than two hundred years."

  Interesting. But how pertinent? Yaeger tugged at his scraggly beard while Max described other groups of assassins such as the thugs of India and the Japanese ninja. These groups didn't quite fit the profile of the Moroccan killers, but, more important, they had been out of business for centuries. He didn't dismiss them out of hand. If he were forming an assassin squad he'd look toward the past to see how others had operated.

  Dr. Kirov said the killers destroyed a stone carving that could be evidence of pre-Columbian contact between the Old and the New World. If he called up everything on pre-Columbian culture, even with Max's speed, it would take ten years to sort things out. Instead, Yaeger had established what he called a "parallel paradigm," basically a set of questions that asked the computer in different ways who would be upset by revelations that Columbus had not been the first Old World representative to set foot in the New World. And vice versa.

  A few days ago he started the computers working on the problem but had been too busy until now to call up the findings.

  With the machines working on the. main question posed by Sandecker, he had some time to review the results.

  He said, "Call up `ParPar,' " the code name he had given the unpronounceable Parallel Paradigm.

  "ParPar is ready, Hiram."

  Thanks, Max. Who would be upset at revelations Columbus did not discover America?"

  "Some scholars, historians, and writers. Certain ethnic groups. Would you like specifics?"

  "Not now. Would this belief be dangerous?"

  "No. Would you like me to pursue a link to the past?"

  Yaeger had programmed his computers to give short answers so they wouldn't go off on interminable tangents without exact instruction.

  "Go ahead," Yaeger said.

  "The Spanish Inquisition had made belief in pre-Columbian contact a heresy punishable by burning. The Inquisitors said Columbus was divinely inspired to bring Spanish civilization to the New World. Link to Vespucci?"

  "Go ahead."

  "When Amerigo Vespucci proved scientifically that Columbus had not reached India but had discovered a new continent, he was threatened with heresy, too."

  "Why was this so important?"

  Admitting someone else had discovered the New World would invalidate claims to its riches and weaken power of the Spanish state."

  Yaeger pondered the reply. Spain was no longer a world power, and its former lands in the Americas were all independent countries. There was something there he couldn't see. He felt like a child who knows there's a monster lurking in the shadows of his closet, can hear its heavy breathing and see the green eyes, only to have it disappear when he turns the lights on.

  The computer softly dinged the Big Ben chimes, and a hologram caricature of himself smiling appeared.

  "Processing and printing are complete," his animated doppelganger said. "Whew! I'm going out for a beer."

  Yaeger spent so much time with this computer it was inevitable that he would program in a few personality traits.

  "Thanks, Max, I'm buying," he said.

  Wondering what he would do if Max ever took him up on his offer, Ya
eger went into an adjoining room and retrieved the lengthy printout he'd requested. As he studied the ParPar report on archaeological expeditions his eyes grew wider, and he began to repeat the word "incredible" under his breath. He was only partially through the report when he picked up the phone and punched out a number. A crisp voice answered.

  "If you've got a minute, Admiral," Yaeger said, "I've got something I think you'd like to see."

  15 AT EIGHT FORTYFIVE A.M., AUSTIN slotted his standardissue agency turquoise Jeep Cherokee into the reserved space in the underground parking garage at NUMA headquarters, the imposing solar glass building in Arlington, Virginia, that housed two thousand NUMA scientists and engineers and coordinated another three thousand scattered around the globe. Joe Zavala called Austin's name as he crossed the atrium lobby with its waterfalls and aquariums and huge globe at the center of the seagreen marble floor. Austin was glad to see that Zavala walked with only a slight limp.

  The elevator rocketed to the top floor where Admiral Sandecker had his suite of offices. As they exited the elevator a pair of men stood waiting to enter. One was a tall, hardbodied man standing six-foot-three with an oak-tanned, craggy face. He had deep opaline green eyes and wavy ebony hair with a touch of gray at the temples. Not quite as broad-shouldered as Austin, his body was lean and wiry.

  The other man was a contrast. He was only five-feet-four but built with the massive chest of a bulldog; his arms and legs were well muscled. His hair was black and curly. The swarthy face anti walnut eyes betrayed his Italian ancestry.

  The tall man stuck out his hand. "Kurt, it must have been three months since we've seen each other."

  Dirk Pitt, NUMAs special projects director, and his able assistant, Al Giordino, were legends within the agency. Their exploits in the many years since NUMA was launched by Admiral Sandecker were the stuff of which adventure novels were written. Though Pitt's and Austin's tracks seldom crossed, they had become good friends and had often gone sport diving together.

  Austin matched the firm grip. "When will you two be free for lunch so we can catch up on your latest escapades?"

  "Not for a couple of weeks, I'm afraid. We're taking off in an hour from Andrews Air Force Base."

  "Where are you headed?" asked Zavala.

  A project the admiral has laid on us in the Antarctic," Giordino answered.

  "Did you remember to pack your testicle sock?" Zavala said with a glint in his eyes.

  Giordino grinned. "I never leave home without it."

  "How about you and Joe?" asked Pitt.

  "We're meeting with the admiral to find out what he has in mind for us."

  "I hope you're going into tropical waters."

  Austin laughed. "So do I"

  "Call me when you get back," said Pitt. "We'll all have dinner at my place."

  "I'll do that," said Austin. "It's always a pleasure to view your car collection."

  The next elevator arrived, and the doors opened. Pitt and Giordino stepped in and turned around. "So long, guys," Giordino said. `Best of luck on wherever you're going." Then the doors closed and they were gone.

  "This has to be the first time I haven't seen Dirk and Al limping, bleeding, or covered with bandages," said Austin.

  Zavala rolled his eyes. "Thank you for unnecessarily reminding me that working for NUMA can be hazardous."

  "Why do you think NUMA has such generous healthcare benefits?" Austin said as they entered a large waiting room whose walls were covered by photos of the admiral hobnobbing with presidents and other luminaries from the worlds of politics, science, and the arts. The receptionist told them to go right in.

  Sandecker lounged behind the immense desk made from the refinished hatch cover salvaged from a sunken confederate blockade runner. Dressed in razor-creased charcoal-gray slacks and an expensive navy blue blazer with an embroidered gold anchor on the breast pocket, Sandecker would have needed only the addition of a white cap to complete his sporty image. But Sandecker was no yacht club commander. He radiated a force field of natural authority forged by thirty highly decorated years in the navy and tempered in the sometimes bruising job as head of a maritime government empire he had built from scratch. Washington old-timers said Sandecker's commanding presence reminded them of George C. Marshall, general and secretary of state, who could walk into a room and without saying a word make it known that he was in charge. Compared to the burly general, Sandecker was short and slight of build from his daily five-mile jogs and strict exercise regimen.

  He leaped up as if he had steel springs for legs and came around to greet the two men.

  "Kurt! Joel How good to see you," lie said effusively, grasping their hands in a knuckle-crushing grip. "You're looking well. Glad you both could make the meeting."

  Sandecker appeared trim and fit as usual, looking far younger than his mid-sixties. The sharp edges of a Van Dyke beard whose fiery red color matched his hair, and sometimes his' temperament, could have been trimmed with a laser.

  Austin raised an eyebrow There was simply never any doubt that he and Joe would show up. The feisty founder and director of NUMA wasn't known to take no for an answer.

  Mustering a grim smile, Austin said, "Thanks, Admiral. Joe and I are fast healers."

  "Of course you are," Sandecker replied. "Swift recovery is a prerequisite of employment with NUMA. Ask Pitt and Giordino if you don't believe me."

  The scary thing, Austin knew, was that Sandecker was only half joking. Even more frightening was the fact that Austin and Zavala were eager to take on a new assignment.

  "I will be sure to compare contusions with Dirk over tequila on the rocks with lime the next time I see him, sir."

  Zavala couldn't resist the opportunity to have a little fun. Keeping a straight face, he said, A couple of invalids like us can't be of much use to NUMA."

  Sandecker chuckled and gave Zavala a hearty slap on the back. "I've always admired your sense of humor, Joe. You could do well as a comic on the nightclub circuit, where, I understand, you've been spending your evenings in the company of young women. I imagine they've been assisting in your recovery?"

  "Private duty nurses?" Zavala answered with an angelic expression that didn't quite cut it.

  As I said, Joe, you missed your calling. Bantering aside, how is the, er, backside?"

  "I'm not quite ready to run a marathon, but I threw my cane away days ago, sir."

  "Glad to hear that. Before we join the others I wanted to congratulate you both on the Nereus affair. I read the reports. Job well done.

  "Thanks," Austin said. "Captain Phelan deserves a lot of the credit. He was born too late. He would have looked quite at home with a cutlass in his hand, taming the Barbary pirates. I'm afraid we left his ship in a mess."

  Sandecker affixed Austin with his cold blue eyes. "Some things have to be done, Kurt. I spoke to the captain yesterday. The vessel is winding up its work in the Yucatan. He feels fine and tells me the Nereus is shipshape and Bristol fashion once again." Sandecker used the old term to describe a tight ship. "He asked me to thank you again for saving his vessel. So, are you both ready to get back to work?"

  Zavala swung his hand up in a grand salute worthy of a Gilbert and Sullivan character. "Shipshape and Bristol fashion," he echoed with a grin.

  There was a soft knock, and a side door in the dark-paneled wall opened. A giant of a figure stepped in, ducking his head to clear the door jamb. At six-foot-eight Paul Trout looked as if he'd be more at home on an NBA basketball court than as deep ocean geologist on NUMAs Special Assignments Team. In fact Trout had been offered scholarships at several universities more interested in his height than his brilliant mind.

  As befitted his New England heritage Trout was a man of few words, but his Yankee reserve couldn't hide the pleasure in his voice. "Hi, guys. Glad to see you back We've missed you around here." Turning to Sandecker, he said, "We're ready Admiral."

  "Splendid. I won't waste time with explanations now, gentlemen. The reasons for this meeting will so
on be made abundantly dear." Sandecker led the way into a spacious and comfortably appointed conference room adjoining his office.

  Austin knew right away something big was in the air. The wiry, narrow-shouldered man seated at the far end of the long mahogany table was Commander Rudi Gunn, deputy director of NUMA and a master of logistics. Next to him was the 1960s throwback and computer whiz Hiram Yaeger. Across the table from the NUMA staffers was a distinguished-looking older man whose craggy profile and bristling white mustache reminded Austin of C. Aubrey Smith, the old movie actor who often played blustering British army officers. The younger man sitting beside him was balding and thickset and had a pugnacious jut of his jaw.

  Austin acknowledged Gunn and Yaeger with a nod of his head. His gaze bounced off the other men like a stone skipped on water and settled on the woman seated at the far end of the table. Her blond hair was braided dose to her scalp, an arrangement that emphasized her smoky gray eyes and high cheekbones. Austin went over and extended his hand.

  "Dr. Kirov, what a nice surprise," he said with genuine pleasure. "It's good to see you."

  Nina was wearing a jacket and matching skirt whose soft periwinkle tones set off her honeyed skin. In the back of his mind Austin was thinking what idiots men are. When he first met Nina she had been beautiful as a lightly clad mermaid. Now, fully clothed, with her hidden curves and contours emphasized under snug-fitting silk, she was absolutely stunning.

  Her mouth widened in a bewitching smile. "It's good to see you, too, Mr. Austin. How are you feeling?"

  "Wonderful, now," he replied. The formality of the polite exchange couldn't mask its quiet intensity. They held each other's hands seconds longer than they should have, until Sandecker broke the spell with an exaggerated clearing of his throat. Austin turned to see the bemused expressions of his NUMA colleagues, and his face flushed. He realized he was reacting like a dewy-eyed schoolboy caught by his girl-loathing pals.