Clive Cussler - White Death

Austin pictured himself gnawing on a drumstick from one of the stubby little birds with the parrot beak and passed on the puffin. After hearing the bloody way in which pilot whales met their demise in the Faroes, he decided he would rather eat shark snout, but he set- tled for thes/yrpily'ot, well-aged mutton. After one bite, he wished he had gone for the puffin.

"How's your mutton?" Jorgensen said.

"Not quite as tough as shoe leather," Austin replied, working his jaw.

"Oh my, I should have advised you to get the boiled mutton, as I did. They dry slerpifyot in the wind. It's usually prepared at Christ- mas and served the rest of the year. It's a bit over the hill, as they say." He brightened at a new thought. "The life expectancy in the Faroes is quite high, so it must be good for you."

Austin sawed off a small bite and managed to swallow it. Then he put his knife and fork down while he gave his jaw muscles a rest. "What brings you to the Faroes, Dr. Jorgensen? It can't be the food."

The professor's eyes danced with amusement. "I've been looking into reports of diminishing fish stocks in the islands. It's a real mys- tery!

"In what way?"

"I thought at first that the cause of the vanishing fish might be pol- lution, but the waters are amazingly pure around the Faroes. I can only do so much testing on-site, so I'm heading back to Copenhagen tomorrow to run some water samples through the computer. There may be small traces of chemicals that might have a bearing on the problem."

"Any theories as to the source of the chemicals?" "It's strange," he said, tugging at one of his tufts of hair. "I'm sure

the problem has something to do with a nearby fish farm, but so far there is no discernible link between the two."

Austin had been eyeing the mutton, wondering where he could get a burger, but his ears perked up at the professor's words. "Did you say you were testing the water near a fish farm?"

"Yes. There are several aquaculture facilities in the islands that produce trout, salmon and the like. I collected samples from the wa- ters around a farming operation in Skaalshavn, a few hours' drive up the coast from Torshavn on Sundini, the long sound that separates Streymoy from the island ofEysturoy. Used to be a whaling station there in the old days. The farm is owned by a big fisheries conglom- erate."

Austin took a long shot. "Oceanus?"

"Yes, you've heard of it?" "Only recently. As I understand what you're saying, Professor, the fish levels near this farm are lower than they should be."

"That's right," Jorgensen replied with furrowed brow. "A real puzzle."

"I've heard fish farms can be harmful to the environment," Austin said, recalling his conversation with Therri Weld.

"True. The waste products from a fish farm can be toxic. They feed the fish a special chemical diet so they'll grow faster, but Oceanus claims it has a state-of-the-art water purification system. So far I haven't found any evidence to dispute that claim."

"Have you visited this fish farm?"

Jorgensen bared his big teeth in a grin. "No visitors allowed. They've got the placed locked up tighter than the crown jewels. I managed to speak off-premises with someone from the law firm that represents the company in Denmark. He assured me that no chem- icals were used at the farm and that it has the finest in water-cleaning facilities. Always the skeptical scientist, I rented a little house not far from the Oceanus operation and went as close as I could by boat to take the water samples. As I said, I'm leaving for Copenhagen to- morrow, but you and your young lady friend are welcome to go up to the cottage. It's a pretty ride."

"Thanks, Professor. Unfortunately, Ms. Weld will be busy the next few days."

"That is unfortunate." Austin nodded absentmindedly. He was intrigued by Jorgensen's mention of the tight security at Oceanus. Where some might see this as an obstacle, Austin saw an invitation to probe the connection be- tween Oceanus and the disastrous collision of the SOS ship and the cruiser. "I might take you up on your cottage offer. I'd like to see a little more of the Faroes before I leave."

"Wonderful! Stay as long as you want. The islands are spectacu- lar. I'll call the landlord to say you'll be coming. His name is Gunnar Jepsen, and he lives in a house behind the cottage. You can use my rental car. There's a small boat that goes along with the cottage and plenty to keep you busy. Incredible birding on the cliffs, the hiking is superb, and there are some fascinating archeological ruins nearby." Austin smiled and said, "I'm sure I'll find something to do."

After dinner, they had a nightcap in the hotel bar, then bid each other good-bye with a promise to hook up in Copenhagen. The pro- fessor was staying with a friend that night and would leave the is- lands in the morning. Austin went up to his hotel room. He wanted to get an early start the next day. He went over to the window and stood awhile in thought as he looked out over the quaint town and harbor, then he snatched up his cell phone and punched out a familiar number.

Gamay Morgan-Trout was in her office at NUMA headquarters in Washington, D.C., staring intently at the computer monitor, when the telephone rang. Without moving her eyes from the screen, she picked up the telephone and mumbled an absentminded hello. At the sound of Austin's voice, she broke into a dazzling smile that was made distinctive by the slight space between her front teeth.

"Kurt!" she said with obvious delight. "It's wonderful to hear from you."

"Same here. How are things back at NUMA?"

Still smiling, Gamay brushed a strand of long, dark-red hair away from her forehead and said, "We've been treading water here since you and Joe left. I'm reading a new abstract on toadfish nerve re- search that could help cure balance problems in humans. Paul's at his computer working on a model of the Java Trench. I don't know when I've had so much excitement. I feel sorry for you and Joe. That daring rescue must have bored you to tears."

Paul Trout's computer was back-to-back with his wife's. Trout was staring at the screen in typical pose, with head dipped low, par- tially in thought, but also to accommodate his six-foot-eight height. He had light-brown hair parted down the middle in Jazz Age style and combed back at the temples. As always, he was dressed impec- cably, wearing a lightweight olive tan suit from Italy, and one of the colorful matching bow ties that were his addiction. He peered up- ward with hazel eyes, as if over glasses, although he wore contacts.

"Please ask our fearless leader when he's coming home," Paul said. "NUMA headquarters has been as quiet as a tomb while he and Joe have been making headlines."

Austin overheard Trout's question. "Tell Paul I'll be back at my desk in a few days. Joe's due later in the week, after he wraps up tests on his latest toy. I wanted to let you know where I'd be. I'm driving up the Faroe coast tomorrow to a little village called Skaalshavn."

"What's going on?" Gamay said.

"I want to look into a fish-farm operation run by a company called Oceanus. There may be a connection between Oceanus and the sink- ing of those two ships here in the Faroes. While I'm poking around, could you see what you can learn about this outfit? I don't have much to go on. Maybe Hiram can help out." Hiram Yeager was the com- puter whiz who rode herd on NUMA's vast database.

They chatted a few more minutes, with Austin filling Gamay in on the rescue of the Danish sailors, then hung up, with Gamay prom- ising to get right on the Oceanus request. She related the gist of her conversation with Austin.

"Kurt can whistle up a wind better than anyone I know," Paul said with a chuckle, alluding to the ancient belief that whistling on a ship can attract a storm. "What did he want to know about fish-farming, how to run your tractor underwater?"