Clive Cussler - Devil's Gate

“Only, YBCO isn’t mined,” Pitt said. “Beyond that, the leader of this group insisted that the YBCO absolutely had to be stored separately from the other ores in a specific temperature-controlled hold. A request that seemed odd enough to the loadmaster to risk an argument with these military men. An argument he lost.”

“Why would they do that?” Joe asked. “Does temperature affect it?”

“No,” Pitt said. “But the Kinjara Maru has only one small temperature-controlled hold.”

“Making the material easy to find and off-load,” Kurt said.

“That’s what it sounds like,” Pitt said.

“So the seller is also the pirate,” Captain Haynes summarized.

“And the pirate has the energy weapon,” Kurt added. “Which means the people who sold this YBCO — the same people who boarded the ship — are also the ones building the weapon out of it. So they must be the ones cornering the market.”

“Makes you wonder what they’re up to,” the captain said.

“Exactly,” Pitt said. “Whoever these people are, they need so much material for whatever they’re doing that they’re willing to anger the Chinese and risk exposure to get their hands on every ounce they can. Including some they’ve already sold.”

“Maybe that explains why they’re here on Santa Maria,” Kurt said. “I’ve tangled with one of them already, same guy we argued with as the KM went down. Now, I don’t know who took the core sample and murdered the French team, but one will get you ten it’s all linked together.”

“But we saw their boat explode,” Captain Haynes said. “We even found a few bodies.”

“A few sacrificial pawns,” Kurt said. “The others probably went over the side before the explosion. Left the suckers behind.”

“But we never spotted any other vessels in range to pick them up, or even a helicopter,” the captain said. “And they certainly didn’t swim to Africa.”

“No,” Kurt said. “But Paul and Gamay were attacked underneath the water. That means these people undoubtedly have a submarine of some kind.”

“So there was a mother ship,” the captain said. “Terrorists with a submarine. What’s the world coming to?”

“Much like space,” Pitt said, “the depths below are no longer just the domain of the world’s nations. We know of half a dozen Chinese subs that were supposed to go to the scrapyard and vanished instead. There are also other models out there for sale, and private builds as well.”

“Not to mention the Russian Typhoon-class subs that were turned into cargo haulers,” Kurt said. “We dealt with one of them last year.”

“And at least one of those is still unaccounted for,” Pitt added.

“Wonderful,” the captain said facetiously.

“So these thugs have a submarine,” Kurt noted. “Maybe a Typhoon-class boat converted into a cargo carrier. They have some type of lethal electromagnetic weapon that fries you before you even know something’s happening and they’re willing to risk exposure and the wrath of the Chinese to get more material. And right now the tower of rock we believe to be a naturally occurring superconductor is sitting out there, unattended and all by its lonesome.”

“The table is set,” Pitt said. “You think they’re going to show up for dinner?”

“Like St. Julien Perlmutter at an all-you-can-eat buffet,” Kurt said.

Haynes nodded. “Makes sense. They’ve effectively chased us from the scene by showing their ability to attack.”

“And they know that,” Kurt said, guessing they’d seen the Argo come into port just as he had.

“A Portuguese frigate with ASW capabilities will be on scene tomorrow afternoon,” Pitt said.

“I’m guessing they know or expect that too,” Kurt said. “That gives them twelve hours to act.”

Silence descended on them as everyone considered the implications.

“Those Typhoons were converted to cargo carriers,” Dirk noted. “Able to haul fifteen thousand tons where their missile bays used to be.”

“And if thirty tons of YBCO is worth sinking a ship over,” Kurt said, “how likely is it that an outfit interested in ‘more’ is going to pass up a free haul like this?”

The silence returned. Even over the speaker all that could be heard was a quiet background of white noise.

“ If they have a Typhoon,” Pitt said, “all they would have to do is carve sections out of the wall and drop them in the missile bay like it’s the back of a dump truck. But let’s be clear. We don’t know that they have one.”

Kurt nodded, accepting that, and Joe glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Even if we did know what they had,” Joe said, “what exactly are we going to do about it?”

Kurt considered Joe’s words. A Typhoon armed with torpedoes and crewed by mercenaries was far beyond the Argo ’s capability to deal with.

“Joe’s right,” the captain said. “We can’t risk the ship. Until the naval forces come into range, we have no choice but to give these people wide berth, whatever they’re up to.”

Kurt knew they were right, but it felt like giving up to him, like quitting. There had to be a way to stop them. He glanced through the window in the conference room’s door, focusing on Katarina. She sat quietly on the bridge, a NUMA windbreaker over her shoulders, sipping a cup of coffee and talking to a crewman as she waited. A thought came to him.

“What if we don’t try to stop them?” he said. “What if we get out there, hide in among the wrecks, and lie in wait for them. Then if they do show up, we find a good moment and attach a transmitter to their hull. That way, we can track them to wherever their base is and let the big boys deal with the rest.”

The captain and Joe seemed to like the plan. Pitt remained silent.

“Director?” the captain said.

“Sounds like a huge risk,” Dirk said. “Easier to get some ASW patrols from shore-based aircraft.”

“All that’ll do is scare them off,” Kurt said. “This way, we find out who they are and where they’re from.”

“And how do you plan on getting out there without tipping your hand?” Pitt asked. “They’ll expect something the moment you leave port.”

Kurt smiled and glanced at Joe. “We’ll take the Barracuda ,” he said.

Santa Maria Island, Vila do Porto, June 24

AFTER CONCLUDING THEIR PLANNING SESSION in the conference room, Kurt, Joe, and the captain broke away to handle different tasks. Joe went to the Argo ’s machine shop to get working on a transmitter that would be powerful enough to hang onto the back of a submarine making 25 knots and also small enough to go unnoticed. He promised a miracle within the hour.

The captain ordered the Argo darkened to a normal state and then made contact with the Vila do Porto police. He requested two cars be sent out and parked at the dockside with their lights flashing. He assumed that would help keep any trouble away and also distract anyone who was watching while the Barracuda was quietly slipped into the water.

Meanwhile, Kurt walked Katarina to the end of the dock, waiting for a car to arrive.

“Your chaperone,” he said, avoiding the word handler .

“I’m not a spy,” she insisted, “but it seems all my life I’ve had someone watching me.” “How do you deal with it?” Kurt asked.

“I’m used to it,” she said. “But you can’t imagine how hard it was to go on a date in Torino.” He had to laugh. “And this guy?”

“Sergei,” she said. “Major Sergei Komarov.” Sounded like a good strong KGB/FSB enforcer. For the first time in his life Kurt felt glad about that.