Clive Cussler - Serpent

Interesting. But how pertinent? Yaeger tugged at his scraggly beard while Max described other groups of assassins such as the thugs of India and the Japanese ninja. These groups didn't quite fit the profile of the Moroccan killers, but, more important, they had been out of business for centuries. He didn't dismiss them out of hand. If he were forming an assassin squad he'd look toward the past to see how others had operated.

Dr. Kirov said the killers destroyed a stone carving that could be evidence of pre-Columbian contact between the Old and the New World. If he called up everything on pre-Columbian culture, even with Max's speed, it would take ten years to sort things out. Instead, Yaeger had established what he called a "parallel paradigm," basically a set of questions that asked the computer in different ways who would be upset by revelations that Columbus had not been the first Old World representative to set foot in the New World. And vice versa.

A few days ago he started the computers working on the problem but had been too busy until now to call up the findings.

With the machines working on the. main question posed by Sandecker, he had some time to review the results.

He said, "Call up `ParPar,' " the code name he had given the unpronounceable Parallel Paradigm.

"ParPar is ready, Hiram."

Thanks, Max. Who would be upset at revelations Columbus did not discover America?"

"Some scholars, historians, and writers. Certain ethnic groups. Would you like specifics?"

"Not now. Would this belief be dangerous?"

"No. Would you like me to pursue a link to the past?"

Yaeger had programmed his computers to give short answers so they wouldn't go off on interminable tangents without exact instruction.

"Go ahead," Yaeger said.

"The Spanish Inquisition had made belief in pre-Columbian contact a heresy punishable by burning. The Inquisitors said Columbus was divinely inspired to bring Spanish civilization to the New World. Link to Vespucci?"

"Go ahead."

"When Amerigo Vespucci proved scientifically that Columbus had not reached India but had discovered a new continent, he was threatened with heresy, too."

"Why was this so important?"

Admitting someone else had discovered the New World would invalidate claims to its riches and weaken power of the Spanish state."

Yaeger pondered the reply. Spain was no longer a world power, and its former lands in the Americas were all independent countries. There was something there he couldn't see. He felt like a child who knows there's a monster lurking in the shadows of his closet, can hear its heavy breathing and see the green eyes, only to have it disappear when he turns the lights on.

The computer softly dinged the Big Ben chimes, and a hologram caricature of himself smiling appeared.

"Processing and printing are complete," his animated doppelganger said. "Whew! I'm going out for a beer."

Yaeger spent so much time with this computer it was inevitable that he would program in a few personality traits.

"Thanks, Max, I'm buying," he said.

Wondering what he would do if Max ever took him up on his offer, Yaeger went into an adjoining room and retrieved the lengthy printout he'd requested. As he studied the ParPar report on archaeological expeditions his eyes grew wider, and he began to repeat the word "incredible" under his breath. He was only partially through the report when he picked up the phone and punched out a number. A crisp voice answered.

"If you've got a minute, Admiral," Yaeger said, "I've got something I think you'd like to see."

15 AT EIGHT FORTYFIVE A.M., AUSTIN slotted his standardissue agency turquoise Jeep Cherokee into the reserved space in the underground parking garage at NUMA headquarters, the imposing solar glass building in Arlington, Virginia, that housed two thousand NUMA scientists and engineers and coordinated another three thousand scattered around the globe. Joe Zavala called Austin's name as he crossed the atrium lobby with its waterfalls and aquariums and huge globe at the center of the seagreen marble floor. Austin was glad to see that Zavala walked with only a slight limp.

The elevator rocketed to the top floor where Admiral Sandecker had his suite of offices. As they exited the elevator a pair of men stood waiting to enter. One was a tall, hardbodied man standing six-foot-three with an oak-tanned, craggy face. He had deep opaline green eyes and wavy ebony hair with a touch of gray at the temples. Not quite as broad-shouldered as Austin, his body was lean and wiry.

The other man was a contrast. He was only five-feet-four but built with the massive chest of a bulldog; his arms and legs were well muscled. His hair was black and curly. The swarthy face anti walnut eyes betrayed his Italian ancestry.

The tall man stuck out his hand. "Kurt, it must have been three months since we've seen each other."

Dirk Pitt, NUMAs special projects director, and his able assistant, Al Giordino, were legends within the agency. Their exploits in the many years since NUMA was launched by Admiral Sandecker were the stuff of which adventure novels were written. Though Pitt's and Austin's tracks seldom crossed, they had become good friends and had often gone sport diving together.

Austin matched the firm grip. "When will you two be free for lunch so we can catch up on your latest escapades?"

"Not for a couple of weeks, I'm afraid. We're taking off in an hour from Andrews Air Force Base."

"Where are you headed?" asked Zavala.

A project the admiral has laid on us in the Antarctic," Giordino answered.

"Did you remember to pack your testicle sock?" Zavala said with a glint in his eyes.

Giordino grinned. "I never leave home without it."

"How about you and Joe?" asked Pitt.

"We're meeting with the admiral to find out what he has in mind for us."

"I hope you're going into tropical waters."

Austin laughed. "So do I"

"Call me when you get back," said Pitt. "We'll all have dinner at my place."

"I'll do that," said Austin. "It's always a pleasure to view your car collection."

The next elevator arrived, and the doors opened. Pitt and Giordino stepped in and turned around. "So long, guys," Giordino said. `Best of luck on wherever you're going." Then the doors closed and they were gone.

"This has to be the first time I haven't seen Dirk and Al limping, bleeding, or covered with bandages," said Austin.

Zavala rolled his eyes. "Thank you for unnecessarily reminding me that working for NUMA can be hazardous."

"Why do you think NUMA has such generous healthcare benefits?" Austin said as they entered a large waiting room whose walls were covered by photos of the admiral hobnobbing with presidents and other luminaries from the worlds of politics, science, and the arts. The receptionist told them to go right in.

Sandecker lounged behind the immense desk made from the refinished hatch cover salvaged from a sunken confederate blockade runner. Dressed in razor-creased charcoal-gray slacks and an expensive navy blue blazer with an embroidered gold anchor on the breast pocket, Sandecker would have needed only the addition of a white cap to complete his sporty image. But Sandecker was no yacht club commander. He radiated a force field of natural authority forged by thirty highly decorated years in the navy and tempered in the sometimes bruising job as head of a maritime government empire he had built from scratch. Washington old-timers said Sandecker's commanding presence reminded them of George C. Marshall, general and secretary of state, who could walk into a room and without saying a word make it known that he was in charge. Compared to the burly general, Sandecker was short and slight of build from his daily five-mile jogs and strict exercise regimen.

He leaped up as if he had steel springs for legs and came around to greet the two men.