Clive Cussler - Fire Ice

He punched out a number on his Globalstar phone. It was still early back in the States, but he knew from his days of working with the CIA that Sam Leahy would be in his office.

"How's the weather at Langley?" Austin said, when Leahy's brass-lunged voice came on the phone.

There was a pause. "You've got the wrong number, pal. If you're looking for a goddamn weather report, call the National Underwater and Marine Agency. Hell, I hear the smart alecks at NUMA know everything there is to know."

"Almost everything, Sam. That's why I'm calling for your help."

"I knew you'd come crawling back to the Company. Great hearing from you. How have you been, you old sea dog?"

"I'm fine. They still have you tied to a desk?"

"Not for long. Retirement is in six months. Then it's running fishing charters on the Chesapeake. I could use a first mate if you ever get tired of the Washington rat race."

"Sounds tempting. Put me down for a charter at the very least. Right now I could use some information. What do you know about Soviet sub bases?"

"Broad subject. Anything in particular you'd like to know?"

"Yes. How were they physically constructed?"

"To begin with, they were big. They had to be large enough to accommodate the babies like the Typhoon, with a length of five hundred fifty-seven feet. The beam alone was seventy-five feet. Those monsters were armed with twenty nukes a piece. The Soviets wanted them protected from a nuclear attack, so they built the pens deep. They learned from the German U-boat pen construction that held up pretty well under Allied bombing. Basically, they'd blast a tunnel out of a hillside and line it with several yards of reinforced granite."

"Do you have any data on the where and how of these bases?"

"I can get it." Austin heard an unspoken conditional in the answer. "It would really be a help if you could dig out what you can."

"No problem. Lots of that stuff has been declassified anyhow. But I'll hold you to that promise to do a charter."

Austin was relieved. He'd expected Leahy to say he would have to run the request through his higher-ups. "You provide the bait and I'll bring the beer."

Austin gave Leahy his e-mail address, thanked him again and hung up. He worked out some logistical problems on his computer, then he went out to check on the preparations for his trip with Captain Kemal. The equipment he'd asked for was stacked in boxes on the deck and ready to go. A truck was on its way to run the equipment to the Turgut. Austin had done all he could until he heard from the Special Assignments Team. He didn't have to wait long. As he was taking an equipment inventory, his phone buzzed. It was Joe Zavala calling.

"We're at the airport," Zavala said.

"What took you so long?"

Zavala sighed loudly. "That's gratitude for you. You yanked me out of the arms of the most beautiful woman on the planet."

"Every woman you've ever been involved with was the most beautiful woman on the planet."

"What can I say? I am a fortunate man."

"One day you'll thank me for rescuing you from the bonds of matrimony."

"Matrimony! A sobering thought. Don't even joke about it."

"We can talk about your love life later. How soon will you be at the Argo?"

"Gamay is nailing down a cab and Paul is humping the luggage out to the curb. We'll be there sooner than you can spell Constantinople."

Within the hour, Zavala and the Trouts arrived at the hotel. After a brief reunion, Zavala said, "Not that it matters, but we were wondering if you could give us a hint why we raced halfway across the world at warp speed."

"I missed your smiling faces?"

"Right," Zavala said. "That's why you asked me to bring along your shooting iron and my own metal delivery system."

"I'll admit I had an ulterior motive, but I'm not lying when I say it's good to see you."

Austin glanced around at the other members of the Special Assignments Team and grinned with pleasure at their eager expressions. Then he began to outline his plan.

ROCKY POINT, MAINE

THE IMAGE ON the oversized computer monitor looked like the profile of a very tall tortoise. Leroy Jenkins clicked the computer mouse until the shell flattened as if it had been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Jenkins made some computations from the numbers on the screen, then exploded with the blue-lightning curses he usually reserved for a tangled lobster pot line. He turned away from the computer and swiveled his chair so he was facing a big picture window. From its position high on the hill, the tall white clapboard house offered an unequaled view of the harbor and the sea beyond.

The harbor swarmed with activity. Front-end loaders scooped scattered debris into a waiting line of dump trucks. Forklifts normally used to hoist boats onto multistory racks for winter storage were plucking battered wrecks from the parking lot and lining them up where their owners could claim them. Cranes had been brought in to pick remnants of the motel off the breakwaters.

Jenkins's boat was tied up at the town pier with the others lucky enough to have been out of the way when the big wave struck. Jenkins rubbed his eyes and turned back to the computer to enter some new numbers. After a few minutes, he shook his head in frustration. He had gone through the modeling process dozens of times, feeding in different combinations of data, and his findings still didn't make sense. Jenkins was grateful when the doorbell rang. He went out into the hallway and yelled down the stairs, "Come in."

The door opened and Charlie Howes stepped inside. "Not bothering you, am I?" the police chief said.

"Hell no, Charlie. Come on up. I was just fiddling around on the computer."

The chief climbed to the second-floor office. "You've done a nice job with the house," he said, glancing around at the well-ordered space with its neatly arranged filing cabinets and bookcases.

"Thanks, Charlie. Wish I could claim credit." He picked up a framed photograph of a handsome middle-aged woman who was smiling directly at the camera from a sailboat cockpit. "Mary knew that I'd need more than lobstering to keep my brain from fossilizing. Setting up my office in the attic space was her idea. You know how she was. She could make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

"She didn't do a bad job of filing down some of your rough edges."

Jenkins laughed. "I consider that a miracle, given the material she had to work with." He glanced out the window again. "Looks like they're making progress down there."

"Getting the harbor cleared out real fast. There was some worry about oil spills from the fuel tanks, but the environmental people from the state got it under control. I needed a break from the press people. Started getting in the way anyhow, with all the insurance guys showing up." He jerked his head toward the computer. "See you've been workin'. Got things figured out yet?"

"Been trying. Pull up a seat and take a look. I could use your detective's intuition."

Despite the chief's folksy language and country ways, he was no bumpkin. Howes had a master's degree in criminal science from the state university. He replied with a skeptical snort, dragged a stool next to Jenkins's chair and squinted into the computer monitor.

"What's that thing that looks like a pregnant snake?" Jenkins raised an eyebrow. "Rorschach would have a field day with you. What do you know about tsunamis?"

"I know I never want to see one again !"

"That's a good start. Let me don my professor's hat, and I'll give you a crash course." He wrote out the words tsu and nami on a pad of paper. "These words represent the Japanese characters for 'harbor' and 'wave.' An international conference adopted the term in 1963 to avoid confusion."

"I always heard them called tidal waves."