Clive Cussler - White Death

Gunn was holding. "Didn't know you liked Nietzsche."

"I found it on the coffee table. Pretty heavy stuff."

"It might be heavier than you think," Austin said, going over to the bar to mix himself a Dark and Stormy.

Gunn put the book aside and picked up a bound folder from a side table. "Thanks for getting your report to me. I found it far more in- teresting than Mr. Nietzsche's writings."

"Thought you might," Austin said, settling into a sofa with his drink.

Gunn pushed his thick horn-rimmed glasses up onto his thinning hair and leafed through the folder. "At times like this, I realize what a boring life I lead," he said. "You've really missed your calling. You should be writing scripts for video games."

Austin took a big gulp of his drink, savoring the deep flavor of the dark rum and the tingle of the Jamaican ginger beer. "Naw. This stuff is too far-fetched."

"I beg to differ, old pal. What's far-fetched about a mysterious cor- poration that sinks ships by remote control? A long-lost cave with fantastic wall art in the Faroe Islands. A creature out of Jaws that knocks you on your ass." He started to chuckle uncontrollably. "Now that's something I would have liked to witness."

"There's no such thing as respect anymore," Austin lamented. Gunn got his composure back, and he turned a few more pages. "The list goes on and on. Murderous Eskimo thugs who hunt hu- mans instead of seals. Oh yes, a female attorney with a radical envi- ronmental group." He looked up from his reading. "She has long slim legs, I suppose."

Austin thought about Them's figure. "About average in length, I'd say, but quite shapely."

"Can't have everything, I suppose." Gunn put the folder on his lap and gave Austin the once-over, taking in his scuffed shoes, crooked bow tie and the hole in the knee of the tuxedo. "Did the bouncer

throw you out of the museum reception? You look a little, ah, rum- pled."

"The reception was fine. But I learned that Washington is going to the dogs."

'Nothing new there. Hope that tux wasn't rented," Gunn said. "Worse," Austin replied. "I own it. Maybe NUMA will buy me a new one.

"I'll take it up with Admiral Sandecker," Gunn said. Austin refreshed their drinks, then laid out the story of the meet- ing with Marcus Ryan and the evening's events.

After absorbing the account without comment, Gunn tapped the report on his lap. "Any thoughts on how your dogsled adventure fits in with this wild tale?"

"Lots of thoughts, but nothing coherent. I'll sum up what I know in a single sentence. The people who run Oceanus deal ruthlessly with anyone who gets in their way."

"That would be my conclusion, too, based on what you've said.' Gunn paused for a moment, brow furrowed. He had the capacity to think as coldly and clearly as a computer. He processed the moun- tain of information, separating the wheat from the chaff. After a few moments, he said, "What about this Basque character, Aguirrez?"

"Interesting fellow. He's the wild card in this poker game. I talked to a friend at the CIA. Aguirrez may or may not be allied with Basque separatists. Perlmutter is looking into the family background for me. All I know for now is that he's either a Basque terrorist or an amateur archaeologist. Take your pick."

"Maybe he could bird-dog this thing for us. Too bad you can't get in touch with him."

Austin set his drink down, pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted the card Aguirrez had given him as he was leaving the Basque's yacht. He handed the card to Gunn, who noted the phone number on the back. "Why not?" he said, and handed the card back.

Austin picked up a phone and punched out the number. He was tired from the night's exertions, and his expectations were low. So he was startled when he heard the familiar basso voice on the line.

"What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Austin. I had the feeling we'd be talking again."

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"Not at all."

"Are you still in the Faroes?"

"I am in Washington on business."

"Washington?" "Yes, the fishing in the Faroes didn't live up to its reputation. What can I do for you, Mr. Austin?"

"I called to thank you for pulling me out of some difficulties in

Copenhagen."

Aguirrez made no attempt to deny that his men had chased away the club-yielding thugs who'd attacked Austin and Them Weld. He simply laughed and said, "You have a way of getting yourself in dif- ficult situations, my friend."

"Most of my troubles have to do with a company called Oceanus.

I was hoping we might chat about that subject again. Maybe you could bring me up to date on your archaeological investigation as well."

"I'd like that very much," Aguirrez said. "I have meetings in the morning, but tomorrow afternoon would be convenient."

They agreed on a time, and Austin jotted down the directions Aguirrez gave him for an address in Washington. He hung up and started to fill Gunn in on the short conversation, when the phone rang. It was Zavala, who had returned from Europe. Joe had fixed the problems with the Sea Lamprey, then had jumped ship when the Beebe had been invited by the Danish vessel Thor to join in a Faroe Islands research project.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm home. I've hugged my Corvette and I'm about to head out for a nightcap with a beautiful young lady," Zavala said. "Anything new since I last saw you?"

"The usual stuff. Tonight, a crazy Eskimo on a dogsled chased me through the Mall with murder in his heart. Other than that, things are quiet."

There was silence at the other end of the line. Then Zavala said, "You're not kidding, are you?"

"Nope. Rudi's here. Drop by my place and you'll get the whole sor- did story."

Zavala lived in a small building in Arlington, Virginia that had once housed a district library. "Guess I'm cancelling that date. Be by in a few minutes," he said.

"One more thing. Still got that bottle of tequila we were going to break into back in the Faroes?" "Sure, it's in my duffel bag." "I think you better bring it with you."

THE NEXT MORNING, Austin stopped at the Museum of Natural History on the way to NUMA headquarters. Gleason was in the exhibition hall when Austin arrived, and he didn't look happy. The guests, music and food of the reception had disappeared, but that wasn't the main cause of his concern. The display cases were empty. Not even a placard remained.

Gleason was beside himself. "This is terrible, absolutely terrible," he was saying.

"Looks like you had a fire sale," Austin said.

"Worse. This is a total disaster. The sponsors have pulled the ex- hibition."

"Can they do that?" Austin realized it was a dumb question, even as the words left his mouth.

Gleason waved his arms. "Yes, according to the small print in the contract they insisted we sign. They are allowed to break up the ex- hibition any time they want to and give us a small monetary com- pensation instead."

"Why did they close the show?"

"Damned if I know. The PR firm that set the whole thing up said they're just following orders."

"What about Dr. Barker?"

"I tried to get in touch with him, but he's vanished into thin air."

"You've been closer to Oceanus than most people," Austin said getting to his real reason for stopping by the museum. "What do you know about Dr. Barker?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I know more about his ancestor."

"The whaling captain he mentioned?"

"Yes, Frederick Barker, Sr. One of the Kiolya knives you saw on display originally belonged to him. It was more than a hundred years old. Dreadful thing, and razor-sharp. Gave me a stomachache just looking at it."

"Where would I look for information on Captain Barker?"

"You can start in my office." Gleason cast a woeful glance at the empty display cases. "C'mon. Not much for me to do here."