"No great mystery. Sometime during the aircraft's service life the gear assembly was probably replaced with a new one. It's not an uncommon occurrence. The mechanics found a flaw in the structure. A hard landing cracked the strut. Perhaps it was damaged while being towed. There are a dozen different reasons that would require a replacement."

"Do the maintenance records show a replacement?"

"No, they do not."

"Isn't that a bit peculiar?"

"Irregular, maybe, but not peculiar. Air Force maintenance personnel are noted for their skill at mechanical repair, not for administrative bookkeeping."

"This also states that no traces of the aircraft or its crew ever turned up."

"I'll concede a puzzler on that score. The records indicate the search was an extensive one., much larger than the normal air-sea rescue procedures called for by the book. And yet, combined units of the Air Force and Navy drew a big fat zero." Steiger nodded thanks as Pitt handed him a steaming cup of coffee. "However, these things happen. Our files are crammed with aircraft that have flown into oblivion."

" 'Flown into oblivion.' That's very poetic." There was no concealing the cynicism in Pitt's voice.

Steiger ignored the tone and sipped at his coffee. "To an air-safety investigator, every unsolved crash is a thorn in the flesh. We're like doctors who occasionally lose a patient on the operating table. The ones that get away keep us awake nights."

"And 03?" asked Pitt evenly. "Does that one keep you awake?"

"You're asking me about an accident that occurred when I was four years old. I can't relate to it. As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Pitt, and as far as the Air Force is concerned, the disappearance of 03 is a closed book. She's lying on the bottom of the sea for all eternity and the secret behind the tragedy lies with her."

Pitt looked at Steiger for a moment, then refilled the man's coffee cup. "You're wrong, Colonel Steiger, dead wrong. There is an answer and it's not three thousand miles from here."

After breakfast Pitt and Steiger went their separate ways — Pitt to probe a deep ravine that had been too narrow for the helicopter to enter, Steiger to find a stream in which to pan gold. The weather was crisp. A few soft clouds hovered over the mountaintops and the temperature stood in the low sixties.

It was past noon when Pitt climbed out of the ravine and headed back toward the cabin. He took a faintly marked trail that meandered through the trees and came out on the shore of Table Lake. A mile along the waterline he met a stream that emptied out of the lake, and he followed it until he ran into Steiger.

quality they share."

'I fail to see the connection," said Steiger. "When installed in the aircraft, they work under two entirely different flow systems, one gas and the other hydraulic."

"Yes, but take them off the aircraft and they both have one characteristic in common."

"Which is?"

Pitt gazed at Steiger and smiled and smiled. Then he spoke the magic words.

"They float."

Alongside most sleek executive jets, the Catlin M-200 came off like a flying toad. Also slower in flight, it had one redeeming quality that was unmatched by any other airplane its size: the Catlin was designed to land and take off in impossible places with cargo loads twice its own weight.

The sun gleamed on the aquamarine color scheme adorning the plane's fuselage as the pilot expertly banked the craft and settled it onto the narrow asphalt strip of the Lake County airport outside Leadville. It came to an abrupt halt with nearly two thousand feet to spare and then turned and taxied toward the area where Pitt and Steiger waited As it neared, the letters NUMA could be clearly distinguished on the side. The Catlin rolled to a stop, the engines were shut down, and a minute later the pilot climbed down and approached the two men.

"Thanks a lot, buddy," he said, and grimaced at Pitt.

"For what, a carefree all-expenses-paid vacation in the Rockies?"

"No, for prodding me out of the sack with a madcap redhead in the middle of the night to assemble a cargo and fly it out here from Washington."

Pitt turned to Steiger. "Colonel Abe Steiger, may I present AI Giordino, my sometimes able assistant and always chief bellyacher, of the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

Giordino and Steiger sized each other up like two professional fighters. Except for Steiger's cleanly shaved head and Semitic features, and Giordino's mischievous Italian grin and curly map of black hair, they could have passed for brothers. They were built exactly alike: same height, same weight, even the muscles that fought to escape their clothing seemed poured from the same mold. Giordino extended his hand.

"Colonel, I hope you and I never get mad at each other."

"The feeling is mutual," Steiger said, smiling warmly.

"Did you bring the equipment I specified?" asked Pitt.

Giordino nodded. "It took some conniving. If the admiral finds out about your little back-door project, he'll throw one of his renowned temper tantrums."

"Admiral?" Steiger queried. "I don't see how the Navy enters into this."

"They don't," Pitt answered "Admiral James Sandecker, retired, happens to be Chief Director of NUMA. He has this Scrooge hangup: he frowns on clandestine expenditures by the hired help that aren't included in the agency's fiscal budget."

Steiger's eyebrows rose with sudden realization. "Are you saying that you had Giordino take a government aircraft at government expense halfway across the country without authorization, not to mention a stolen cargo of equipment?"

"Something like that, yes."

"We're really quite good at it," Giordino said, deadpan.

"Saves enormous time," said Pitt unconcernedly. "Bureaucratic red tape can be such a bore."

"This is incredible," said Steiger softly. "I'll probably be court-martialed as an accomplice."

"Not if we get away with it-," Pitt said. "Now then, if you two will untie the cargo, I'll back the Jeep up to the airplane." With that he walked toward the parking lot.

Steiger watched him for a moment and then turned to Giordino. "Have you known him long?"

"Since the first grade. I was the class bully. When Dirk moved into the neighborhood and showed up for his first day at school, I worked him over pretty good."

"You showed him who was boss?"

"Not exactly." Giordino reached up and opened the cargo door. "After I bloodied his nose and blackened one eye, he got up off the ground and kicked me in the crotch. I walked lopsided for a week."

"You make him sound devious."

"Let's just say that Pitt has a ton of balls, the brains to go with them, and an uncanny knack for knocking the shit out of any obstacle, man made or otherwise, that gets in his way. He is a soft touch for kids and animals, and helps little old ladies up escalators. To my knowledge, he's never stolen a dime in his life nor used his sly talents for personal gain. Beyond all that, he's one helluva guy."

"Do you think he might have gone too far this time?"

"You mean his stock in a nonexistent aircraft?"

Steiger nodded.

"If Pitt tells you there's a Santa Claus, hang your stocking on the mantel, because you better believe it."

Pitt crouched on his knees in an aluminum rowboat and fine-tuned the TV monitor. Steiger sat toward the bow and struggled with the oars. Giordino was in another boat, about twenty feet forward, nearly hidden behind a pile of battery-powered transmitters. As he rowed, he kept a wary eye on the cable that crept over the stern and disappeared into the water. At the other end was a TV camera enclosed in a watertight case.