Clive Cussler - Fire Ice

"Someone in particular you'd like to see?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure who it might be." Jenkins offered a weak grin. "Sorry to be so vague."

The receptionist was familiar with the symptoms. "You're not the first person who's been vague. This place can be a bit overwhelming. Let's see what we can work out. Could you tell me your name?"

"Sure, it's Roy Jenkins. Dr: Leroy Jenkins, I mean. I taught oceanography at the University of Maine before I retired a few years ago."

"That narrows it down. Would you like to speak to someone in the oceanography division, Dr. Jenkins?"

Hearing the title before his name gave him courage. He said, "I'm not sure. I've some questions of a specialized nature."

"Why don't we start in oceanography and go from there?"

The young woman picked up the phone, pressed a button and spoke a few words. "Go right up, Dr. Jenkins. The receptionist on the ninth floor is expecting you." She flashed her fabulous smile again and directed her eyes to the next person in line.

Jenkins made his way toward the ranks of elevators off to one side of the lobby. Still wondering if he had come all this way to make a fool of himself in front of some young Ph.D. with a pocket protector and a condescending attitude, he stepped into an elevator and pushed a button. Too late now, he thought as the elevator whisked him skyward.

ON THE TENTH floor of the NUMA building, Hiram Yaeger sat in front of a horseshoe-shaped console and stared at an immense computer monitor that looked as if it were suspended in space. Displayed on the screen was the image of a narrow-faced man with beetling brows bent over a chessboard. Yaeger watched the man move the white rook two spaces. He studied the board a moment and said, "Bishop to queen five. Check and checkmate."

The man on the screen nodded and tipped his king over with a forefinger. In a thick accent, he said, "Thank you for the game, Hiram. We must play again." The screen went blank except for a pale green afterglow.

The middle-aged man sitting next to Yaeger said, "Very impressive. Victor Karpov isn't exactly a slouch."

"I cheated, Hank. When I programmed all of Karpov's games into Max's data banks, I set up an array of responses based on Bobby Fischer's strategy. Fischer simply overrode any dumb move I made."

"It all sounds like magic to me," Hank Reed replied. "Speaking of vanishing acts, I wonder where our pastrami sandwiches are." He licked his lips. "I think I'd work for NUMA even if they didn't pay me, just so I could use the cafeteria."

Yaeger nodded in agreement. "Let's get back to work. If the delivery guy doesn't arrive in five minutes, I'll call again."

"Sounds good," Hank said. "Did Austin ever say why he wanted this stuff?"

Yaeger chuckled knowingly. "Kurt's the ultimate poker player. He never shows his cards until he lays down his hand."

Austin had called Yaeger earlier in the day with a cheery "Good morning." Getting right to the point, he'd said, "I need some help from Max. Is she in a good mood?"

"Max is always in a good mood, Kurt. As long as I ply her with electronic cocktails, she'll do anything I ask." In a stage whisper, he said, "She thinks I want her for her mind and not her body."

"I didn't know Max had a body."

"She has her pick of bodies. Mae West. Betty Grable. Marilyn Monroe. Jennifer Lopez. Whatever I program in."

"Please soften her up with a few drinks and ask her to dig up what she can on the subject of methane hydrates."

Austin had been thinking about methane hydrates since the Trouts had told him Ataman Industries was attempting to mine them from the ocean floor.

"I'll have a package for you later today, if that's okay."

"Fine. I'll be pretty much tied up with Admiral Sandecker this morning."

Yaeger made no attempt to ask when Austin wanted the information. If Austin wanted it, it was important. And if it was important, he wanted it immediately.

People who met Yaeger for the first time sometimes found it difficult to reconcile the scruffy-Levis-and-T-shirt look with his reputation as a computer whiz. It only took a few minutes of watching him at work to see why Admiral Sandecker had made him the head of NUMA's oceans data center. From his console, he had access to vast resources of data on ocean technology and history and every related bit of information on and under the seas.

Finding his way through the massive amount of data at his command required a deft hand. Yaeger knew that if Max searched out every mention of methane hydrates recorded, he would drown in the digital deluge. He needed someone to point the way. Hank Reed immediately came to mind.

Reed was in his lab when Yaeger called. "Hi, Hank. I could use your geochemical expertise. Any chance you could break away from your Bunsen burners for a few minutes?”

"Don't tell me NUMA's resident computer whiz needs the help of a mere human being. What's wrong, did your know-it-all machine blow a fuse?"

"Nope. Max truly does know it all, which is why I need someone on the slow side to bird-dog the data. Tell you what, I'll buy lunch."

"Flattery and food. An irresistible combination. I'll be right up."

Reed walked into the data center wearing a warm smile. Despite their playful insults, they were the best of friends, bound by their eccentricities. With his graying ponytail and wire-rimmed granny glasses, Yaeger looked like he belonged in the cast of Hair: Dr. Henry Reed had a round cherub's face and a high thatch of wheat-colored hair that added a few inches to his five-foot height and looked like it could have been combed with a pitchfork. The thick round glasses perched on his small nose gave him the expression of a benign owl. He took the chair Yaeger offered and rubbed his pudgy hands together.

"Plunk your magic twanger, Froggy."

Yaeger looked over the tops of his granny glasses. "Huh?"

"It's from an old program, I can't remember which it was. Froggy was a – Never mind. You probably never even heard of radio."

Yaeger grinned. "Sure I have. My grandmother told me about it. Television without pictures." He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and said, "Max, say hello to my pal, Dr. Reed."

A feminine voice purred through the speakers placed strategically around the room.

"Hello, Dr. Reed. How nice to see you again…"

AS THE DOORS hissed shut behind him, Roy Jenkins thought it strange that he was the only one getting off the elevator. He looked at the numerals on the wall and swore to himself. He'd become the absentminded professor he had always scorned. The receptionist had said the ninth floor. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he had pushed the button for the tenth.

Instead of the standard office architecture of hallways, cubicles and offices, a vast glass-enclosed area took up the entire floor. Jenkins should have turned back to the elevator, but scientific curiosity got the best of him. He walked past banks of blinking computers, glancing from left to right, listening to the electronic whisperings. He could have landed on an alien planet peopled only by machines. With some relief he came upon the two men behind the large glowing console at the center of the computer complex. They were looking at a large screen that seemed to hang by invisible wires, and was dominated by the image of a woman in vivid color. She had topaz brown eyes, auburn hair and the bottom of the monitor barely hid her ample cleavage.

The woman was talking, but even more odd, one of the men, who wore his long hair in a ponytail, was talking back to her. Thinking he had stumbled into a showing of a very private nature, Jenkins was about to back out, but the other man, who sported a hairdo like a wheat plant gone to seed, saw him and grinned.

"At last, our pastrami sandwiches," he said.

"Pardon me?"