"I don't know if study is the right word. I like to say I've read a few books on the subject." He paused in thought, then said, " 'One cannot conceive anything so strange and so implausible that it has not already been said by one philosopher or another.' Rene Descartes."

"Which means?"

"I see a lot of strange things and people in my business. It gives me comfort to know that as far as philosophy is concemed, there is nothing new under the sun. Greed, avarice, evil. And conversely, goodness, generosity, love… Plato once said…" Austin became conscious of Kaela's stare. "Sorry. I sound like a professor."

"I've never met a professor who swoops down out of the sky to do single-handed battle with a bunch of cutthroats." She regarded him with leveled eyes. "Tell me, what exactly is your Special Assignments Team? Somebody mentioned it to me before I came out here."

"There's no 'exactly' about it. There are four of us, each with an area of expertise. Joe Zavala is a marine engineer who designs many of our vehicles. The ultralight I flew in on was his creation. He can pilot anything under or above the sea. Paul Trout is a deep-ocean geologist with credentials from Woods Hole Oceanographic and Scripps Institute.

His wife, Gamay, is a diver and marine biologist with a background in nautical archaeology."

"Impressive. You still haven't told me what your team does."

"Depends. In general, we handle undersea assignments that tend to be other than routine." Austin failed to mention that those assignments often took place secretly, outside the realm of government oversight.

She snapped her fingers. "Of course. Now I remember. The Christopher Columbus tomb in the Yucatan. You were involved in its discovery."

"Somewhat. It was a NUMA project."

"Fascinating," Kaela said. "I'd like to do a story on your team."

"The NUMA Public Affairs Department would love it. Favorable publicity comes in handy when we go before Congress with our budget. Give them a jingle when you get back. I'll be glad to help."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that very much."

"Now let me ask you a question. What do you intend to do with the footage your crew filmed back in Russia?"

"I'm not sure," she said, with a furrowed brow. "We don't have much except the dead body of a guy dressed up like a doorman at a Russian nightclub." She broke out in laughter. "Not that the lack of facts ever discouraged Unbelievable Mysteries from cooking up a story."

"Maybe he's one of those UFO aliens you're always finding," Austin offered.

"Not with that sword." Kaela shuddered at the memory. "Seriously, Kurt, what's your take on this whole thing? Who were those guys and why were they so touchy about an abandoned sub base left over from the Cold War?"

Austin shook his head. "I can't answer those questions."

"You must have given it some thought."

"Of course. I don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to conclude that there's something there that someone didn't want us to see. I just don't know what it could be."

"There's one way to find out," Kaela said. "Go back for a look."

"I don't think that would be wise." Austin ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "We can sit here and laugh at a bunch of guys who look as if they came out of a production of Boris Godunov, but dumb luck is the only reason we're still alive. Second, since you don't have Russian visas you would have to enter the country illegally. Third, you don't have a way to get there."

Kaela countered each point on her own fingers, "I appreciate your concern, but first, we'd be more prepared than we were and would get out in a hurry at the first hint of danger. Second, lack of a visa didn't stop you from landing on Russian soil, And third, if I can't get Captain Kemal to go back, I'm sure other fishermen are willing to earn in a couple of days what it takes them a year to make otherwise."

Austin laced his hands behind his head, "You don't discourage easily."

"I don't intend to stay with Unbelievable Mysteries forever, A story like this could be my ticket to a big job with a major network."

"So much for my incredible powers of persuasion," Austin said. "Since you appear to have your mind made up, maybe I can convince you to accompany me on a tour of Istanbul at night, Topkapi Palace is a must-see, and there are some great shops around the Sulemaniye Mosque where you can pick up some gifts for the folks back home, We can wrap up the evening with dinner on board one of the Lufer boats."

"Another four-star chef."

"Not quite, but the scenery is special."

"I'm staying at the Marmara Hotel on Taksim Square."

"I know where it is, How about seven o'clock the day we dock?"

"I'll be looking forward to it," Austin saw little of Kaela the rest of the trip, She was busy with her two colleagues interviewing the captain and crew or working on background for Noah, He contacted NUMA headquarters and filed a report on the Russian incident and spent the rest of the time trying to piece the Gooney back together. The Argo made good time, and before long they were making their passage past the villages and old forts along the Bosporus.

THE TWO-HOUR PASSAGE through the Bosporus was never dull. The narrow seventeen-mile waterway is considered the world's most dangerous strait. Captain At- wood threaded the Argo around tankers, ferries and passenger boats as he made the twelve course changes necessary during the final leg of the voyage. The strong current that ran from the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara made life even more interesting. Those on board let out a collective sigh of relief as the survey ship passed the ferry terminals and cruise-ship docks to tie alongside a pier near the Galata Bridge.

From the ship, Austin watched the television crew stuff its gear into a cab. Kaela waved good-bye, and the cab headed away from the waterfront. He walked around the deck, taking in the view of the bridge guarding the mouth of the Golden Horn, and the sprawling Topkapi Palace built for Sultan Mehmet II in the 1400s. In the distance he could see the minarets of the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque.

He went back to his cabin and caught up on paperwork, then showered and exchanged his shorts and sweatshirt for casual slacks and a light cotton sweater. Near dinnertime, he walked down the gangway and made his way to the street to look for a cab. A taxi pulled up beside him. It was a vintage Chevrolet, circa 1950s. There were passengers in the car, which identified it as a dolmus, meaning "stuffed" in Turkish. Unlike the regular cabs, these taxis crammed in as many passengers as they could fit.

Austin got into the backseat with two other passengers who made space between them. A heavyset man sat on a jump seat and a fifth passenger occupied the front seat next to the meter. Austin told the driver to take him to the Taksim Square. He had visited Istanbul several times on NUMA assignments and knew the city fairly well. When the cab went a roundabout route, Austin thought it was simply to accommodate the other passengers. But nobody got off. The cab started to head away from Taksim Square and, suspecting the driver was trying to jack up the fare, Austin leaned forward and asked him where he was going.

The driver stared silently ahead, but the man in the front seat turned around. He had a wide, brutish face that even a mother couldn't love. Austin's eyes lingered on the passenger's features for only a second before shifting to the gun in the man's hand.