Clive Cussler - White Death

Nighthawk sucked in his breath. "That's my lake, and my vil- lage."

"I used the coordinates Mr. Austin gave me and fed them into a commercial satellite," Aguirrez said. "I'm puzzled, however. As you can see, there is no sign of this airship building that you mentioned."

"We had the same problem with the satellite photos we looked at," Austin said. "But our computer model indicates that this is the place."

Nighthawk rose and walked over to the screen. He pointed to a section of forest bordering the lake. "It's here, I fnow it is. Look, you can see where the woods have been cleared, and there's the pier." His confusion was evident. "But there's nothing but trees here where the blimp hangar should be."

"Tell us again what you saw that night," Austin said.

"The dome was huge, but we didn't see it until the airship ap- peared. The surface was covered with panels."

"Panels?" Zavala said.

"Yes, what you see on a geodesic dome, like the one they built for the Olympics in Montreal. Hundreds of sections."

Zavala nodded. "I didn't think that adaptive camouflage technol- ogy was that far advanced."

"Sounds more like invisibility we're talking about," Austin said, gesturing toward the screen.

"Not a bad guess. Adaptive camouflage is a new technique. The surface that you want to hide is blanketed with flat panels, which sense the scenery and changing light. Then what the sensors see is dis- played on the panels. If you were standing at ground level looking at this thing, all you would see is trees, so the dome would blend into the local forest. Someone obviously took satellite imaging into account. It would be a simple matter to project treetops on the roof panels."

Austin shook his head. "Joe, you never cease to amaze me with your supply of arcane knowledge."

"I think I read about it in Popular Mechanics"

"Nonetheless, you may have solved the mystery," Aguirrez said. "At night, the panels Mr. Zavala talked about could be programmed for the ambient darkness. Mr. Nighthawk saw more than was in- tended when the dome opened for the zeppelin. There's something else that might interest you. I saved photos taken earlier." Aguirrez went back through the memory bank, and projected another aerial photo. "This picture was taken of the area yesterday. There in the corner, you see the outline of a small plane. I'll zoom in on that sec- tion."

The picture of a floatplane filled the entire screen. Four figures could be seen standing on the shore of the lake. "The plane disap- peared a short time after the photo was taken, but look here." An- other image appeared, showing a small boat with three people in it. One of them, a woman, was looking skyward as if she knew they were under surveillance from space.

The Basque's sharp ears picked up the sound of Austin swearing under his breath. Aguirrez raised his bushy eyebrows.

"I think I know who those people are," Austin said by way of ex- planation. "And if I'm right, it could complicate things. How soon can we jump off?"

"We're heading up the coast to a point that will enable you to go the shortest straight-line distance. Two hours maybe. In the mean- time, I can show you what I have to offer."

With his sons taking up the rear, Aguirrez escorted the others down a companionway to a large, brightly lit below-decks helicop- ter hangar. "We have two helicopters," he said. "The civilian one on the stern we use for getting about. This SeaCobra is held in reserve should the occasion arise. The Spanish Navy ordered a number of these aircraft. Through my connections, I was able to sidetrack one of them. It carries the standard armament." Aguirrez sounded like a car salesman touting the extras for a Buick.

Austin swept his eyes over the naval version of the army Huey, the rocket and Minigun pods slung under the stubby wings. "The stan- dard armament will do just fine."

"Very good," Aguirrez said. "My sons will accompany you and your friend in the Eurocopter, and the SeaCobra will go along with you in case you need backup." He furrowed his brow. "I'm concerned that someone smart enough to use such clever camouflage would have the best detection technology. You could be greeted by a wel- coming party, and even a heavily armed helicopter would be vul- nerable."

"I agree," Austin said. "That's why we're going in by land. We'll put down at an abandoned logging camp, and Ben will guide us through the forest to our target. We think they will expect any in- trusion to come across the lake, as Ben did before, so we'll come in from behind. We'll escape the same way-hopefully, with Ben's fam- ily and friends."

"I like it. Simple in planning and execution. What do you do when you get to your target?" Aguirrez asked.

"That's the hard part," Austin replied. "We don't have much other than Ben's account and the aerial photos. We'll have to improvise, but it wouldn't be the first time."

Aguirrez didn't seem worried.

"Well, then, I suggest we get started." He signaled Diego, who went over to a phone next to a battery of switches. He spoke a few words, then began to punch buttons. There was the hum of motors an alarm horn sounded, and doors in the ceiling slid slowly apart. Next, the floor started to move upward, and moments later, they and the helicopter were lifted up to the deck, where crewmen, alerted by the call, hurried in to prepare the SeaCobra for action.

THE VESSEL THAT Dr. Throckmorton had commandeered for his survey was a stubby converted stern-trawler used by the Canadian Fisheries Service. The one-hundred-foot-long Cormorant was docked near where Mike Neal's boat had been tied up on the Trouts' first visit to the harbor.

"To quote the great Yogi Berra, This is like deja vu, all over again,' " Trout said, as he and Gamay walked up the gangplank onto the deck of the survey vessel.

She gazed out at the sleepy harbor. "Strange being back here. This place is so peaceful."

"So is a graveyard," Paul said.

Throckmorton bustled over and greeted them with his usual ef- fusiveness. "The Doctors Trout! What a pleasure it is to have you aboard. I'm so glad you called. I had no idea after our discussion in Montreal that we'd be seeing each other so soon."

"Neither did we," Gamay said. "Your findings created quite a stir with the people at NUMA. Thanks for having us aboard on such short notice."

"Not at all, not at all." He lowered his voice. "I recruited a couple of my students to help out. A young man and woman. Brilliant kids. But I'm pleased to have adult scientific colleagues aboard, if you

know what I mean. I see you're still wearing your cast. How's the arm.

"It's fine," Paul said. He glanced around. "I don't see Dr. Barker on board."

"He couldn't make it," Throckmorton said. "Personal commit- ment of some sort. He may try to join us later. I hope he shows up. I could use his genetic expertise."

"Then the research hasn't been going well?" Gamay said.

"On the contrary, it's been going fine, but I'm more of a mechanic in this field, if I may use an analogy. I can bolt the frame and chassis together, but it's Frederick who designs the sports car."

"Even the most expensive sports car wouldn't run forever without the mechanic to make the engine go," Gamay said with a smile.

"You're very kind. But this is a complex matter, and I've run into a few aspects that have me puzzled." He frowned. "I've always found fishermen to be superb observers of what's going on at sea. The local fishing fleet has moved on to more productive grounds, as you know. But I talked to a few old-timers, shore captains who watched the fish stocks vanish and be replaced by these so-called devilfish. Now the devilfish have dribbled down to nothing. They're dying, and I don't know why."

"Too bad you haven't been able to catch any."