"I wonder if the entrance has been found and explored since then," said Gunn.

"It's possible," Pitt admitted. "Hiram Yaeger checked it out for me, and except for an unmanned meteorological station set up by the Aussies from 1978 until 1997 and monitored by satellite, the island has been totally uninhabited. If their weathermen found anything inside the mountain, they never mentioned it. All records are purely meteorological."

Little was leaning over the table, spellbound. "Then what happened?"

"The colonel sent one of his party back to the ship, and he returned with lanterns. Only then did they venture inside. They found that the passageway was smoothly carved from the rock and sloped downward for about a hundred feet, ending in a small chamber with dozens of strange and ancient-looking sculptures. They went on to describe unreadable inscriptions etched on the walls and ceiling of the chamber."

"Did they record the inscriptions?" asked Pat.

"No symbols went into the captain's log," answered Pitt. "The only drawing is a crude map to the entrance of the chamber."

"And the artifacts?" Sandecker probed.

"They're still on the Madras," explained Pitt. "Roxanna Mender, the wife of the captain of the whaler, mentioned them in a brief entry in her diary. She identified one as a silver urn. The others were bronze and earthenware sculptures of strange-looking animals she said she had never seen before. Under the laws of salvage, her husband and his crew intended to strip the Madras of anything of value, but the ice pack began to break up and they had to make a run for the whaler. They took only the obsidian skull."

"Another chamber, this one with artifacts," Pat said, staring as if seeing something beyond the room. "I wonder how many others are hidden around the world."

Sandecker eyed Giordino waspishly as the little Italian chewed on his immense cigar. "It seems we have our work cut out for us." He drew away his eyes from Giordino and trained them on Gunn. "Rudi, as soon as you can, expedite two expeditions. One to search for the Madras in the Antarctic. The second to check out the chamber found by the ship's passengers on St. Paul Island. Use whatever research vessels are nearest the areas in question." He turned to the men farther down the long table. "Dirk, you head up the search for the derelict. Al, you take St. Paul Island."

Giordino sat slouched in his chair. "I hope our bloodthirsty little friends didn't get to either place first."

"You'll know soon after you arrive," Gunn said, with a straight face.

"In the meantime," said Helm, "I'll keep two agents on the hunt throughout the U.S. for any leads to the organization that hired the killers."

"I must tell you, Admiral," Little said seriously to Sandecker, "this is not a priority assignment for Central Intelligence. But I'll do what I can to fill in the pieces. My people will concentrate on international corporate syndicates outside the United States that fund or search for archaeological searches. We'll also investigate any discoveries that involved murder. Your new evidence pointing to a neo-Nazi order may prove invaluable."

"Last but not least, we come to the lovely lady in our midst," Sandecker said. He wasn't being patronizing, it was the way he talked to most women.

Pat smiled in poised confidence at seeing every male eye focused on her. "My job, of course, is to attempt to decipher the inscriptions."

"The photos the killers took should be processed by now," said Gunn.

"I'll need a place to work," she said thoughtfully. "Since I am now a nonperson, I can't very well walk into my office at the University of Pennsylvania and begin an analysis program."

Sandecker smiled. "Between Ron, Ken, and myself, we have at our command what are perhaps three of the most sophisticated data-processing facilities and technicians in the world. Take your pick."

"If I may suggest, Admiral," said Pitt, making no attempt at impartiality, "because of NUMAs continued involvement with the chambers and their contents, it may be more efficient for Dr. O'Connell to work with Hiram Yaeger in our own computer facility."

Sandecker looked for some clue as to what was going on in Pitt's devious mind. Finding none, he shrugged. "It's your call, Doctor."

"I do believe Mr. Pitt is right. By working closely with NUMA, I can be in close communication with the expeditions."

"As you wish. I'll place Yaeger and Max at your disposal."

"Max?"

"Yaeger's latest toy," replied Pitt. "An artificial intelligence computer system that turns out visual holographic images."

Pat took a deep breath. "I'll need all the exotic technical help I can get.

"Not to worry," said Giordino with humorous detachment. "If the inscriptions prove ancient, they're probably nothing but a book of ancient recipes."

"Recipes for what?" inquired Helm.

"Goat," said Giordino moodily. "A thousand and one ways to serve goat."

"Forgive me for asking, but are you Hiram Yaeger?" Fueled by enthusiasm, Pat had made her way through the vast computer network that covered the entire tenth floor of the NUMA building. She had heard computer wizards at the University of Pennsylvania talk in awe of the oceans data center of the National Underwater & Marine Agency. It was an established fact that the center processed and stored the most enormous amount of digital data on oceanography ever assembled under one roof.

The scruffy-looking man sitting at a horseshoe-shaped console pulled down his granny glasses and peered at the woman standing in the doorway of his sanctum sanctorum. "I'm Yaeger. You must be Dr. O'Connell. The admiral said to expect you this morning."

The brain behind this incredible display of information-gathering power hardly fit the image she had of him. For some reason, Pat had expected Yaeger to look like a cross between Bill Gates and Albert Einstein. He resembled neither. He was dressed in Levi's pants and jacket over a pure white T-shirt. His feet were encased in cowboy boots that looked as if they had suffered through a thousand calf-roping contests on the rodeo circuit. His hair was dark gray and long and tied back in a ponytail. His face was boyish and clean-shaven, and featured a narrow nose and gray eyes.

Pat would have also been surprised to learn that Yaeger lived in a fashionable residential section of Maryland, was married to a successful animal artist, and was the father of two teenage daughters who attended an expensive private school. His only hobby was collecting and restoring old, obsolete computers.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," said Pat.

"Weren't you met at the elevator and shown to my domain?"

"No, I simply wandered around until I saw somebody who didn't look like Dilbert."

Yaeger, a fan of the comic strip character by Scott Adams, laughed. "I think I'm supposed to take that as a compliment. I deeply apologize for not having someone meet and escort you."

"No bother. I took a self-guided tour. Your data empire is quite grand. Certainly nothing like the equipment I'm used to working with at the university."

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine," said Pat. "Shall we get to work?"

"As you wish," Yaeger replied politely.