“You did the best you could,” he said to Huxley.

Then he left the sick bay and walked down the Oregon’s passageway.

Ackerman’s words were still ringing in his head.

Walking onto the stern of the ship, he found Hanley staring over a trio of bodies. Hanley was holding an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch computer picture in his hand.

“I enhanced the photograph with a computer to distort the face in order to account for the swelling,” he said as soon as Cabrillo walked closer.

Cabrillo took the photograph from Hanley, bent down next to the body, and held it to the face. He stared at the face of the corpse and then the photograph.

“Al-Khalifa,” he said slowly.

“He must have been weighed down and tossed overboard,” Hanley noted. “The only thing was that the killers didn’t know that the bottom of the ocean around here is littered with geothermal vents. The hot water caused the bodies to quickly bloat and overcome the weight. If it weren’t for that, we’d have never found them.”

“Have you ID’d the others?” Cabrillo asked.

“I haven’t found any records yet,” Hanley said, “plus there are more surfacing as we speak. Probably just Al-Khalifa’s minions.”

“Not minions,” Cabrillo said, “madmen.”

“Now the question is…” Hanley said.

“Who is crazy enough,” Cabrillo said, “to steal from other crazies.”

22

LANGSTON OVERHOLT IVwas sitting in his office, bouncing a red rubber ball off a wooden paddle. The telephone receiver was cradled to his ear. The time was barely 8 A.M. but he’d already been at work for more than two hours.

“I left a pair of my engineers on board,” Cabrillo said to Overholt. “We’re claiming salvage rights.”

“Nice prize,” Overholt said.

“I’m sure we can use it somehow,” Cabrillo agreed.

“What’s your current location?” Overholt asked.

“We are north of Iceland heading east. We’re trying to track the bugs on the meteorite. Whoever killed Al-Khalifa and stole the meteorite must be aboard another ship.”

“You’re sure the body you recovered is Al-Khalifa?” Overholt asked.

“We’re faxing you fingerprints and digital photographs of the corpse,” Cabrillo said, “so your people can make a positive identification. But I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”

“After you woke me up this morning, I ordered some of my men to try to check out the ID on the passenger aboard the Eurocopter. We got nothing. I’m sending a team to Greenland to recover the bodies, then hopefully we’ll know more.”

“Sorry about the midnight call, but I thought you should receive the news as soon as possible.”

“No problem, I probably got more sleep than you.”

“I managed to grab a few hours once we left the Akbar,” Cabrillo admitted.

“What’s your gut feeling, old friend?” Overholt asked. “If Al-Khalifa is dead, then the threat of the dirty bomb seems diminished. The meteorite is radioactive, but without a catalyst the danger is a lot less.”

“True,” Cabrillo said slowly, “but the missing Ukrainian nuclear bomb is still out there somewhere, and we don’t know that several of Al-Khalifa’s own people didn’t kill him and will now try to mount the mission themselves.”

“That would explain a lot,” Overholt said, “like how the killers accessed the Akbarso easily.”

“If it wasn’t some of Al-Khalifa’s own people, then we have another group to contend with. If that’s the case, we should be wary. Whoever made the assault on the Akbarwere highly trained and as deadly as vipers.”

“Another terrorist group?”

“I doubt it,” Cabrillo said. “The operation had none of the earmarks of religious fanatics. It was more like a military operation. No emotion or fuss—just a surgical and flawless elimination of the opposition.”

“I’ll dig around,” Overholt said, “and see what I can find out.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Good thing you managed to bug the meteorite,” Overholt added.

“The only card up our sleeve,” Cabrillo agreed.

“Anything else?”

“Just before he died, the archaeologist started talking about the Ghost,” Cabrillo said, “as if he were a man and not a disembodied apparition.”

“I’m on it,” Overholt said.

“This is turning into an episode of Scooby-Doo,” Cabrillo said. “Find out who the Ghost is and we solve the caper.”

“I don’t seem to remember a Scooby-Dooepisode dealing with nuclear weapons,” Overholt said.

“Update it for the twenty-first century,” Cabrillo said before disconnecting, “it’s a much more dangerous world now.”

THE FREE ENTERPRISEwas steaming through the frigid ocean water on a course toward the Faeroe Islands. The team was starting to relax—after they delivered the meteorite they’d have a break for a while. Once they repositioned the ship to Calais, they would simply wait for a call if needed. The mood aboard the ship was light.

They had no idea a greyhound of the sea disguised as an old cargo ship was following.

Nor did they know that both the Corporation and the might of the U.S. government would soon be aligned against them. They were in ignorant bliss.

“IT’S IMPORTANT,” TD Dwyer explained to the receptionist.

“How important?” the receptionist asked. “He’s preparing for a White House meeting.”

“Very important,” Dwyer said.

The receptionist nodded and buzzed Overholt. “There’s a Thomas Dwyer here from Theoretical Applications. He claims that he needs to see you immediately.”

“Send him in,” Overholt said.

The receptionist rose and walked over to Overholt’s door and opened it. Overholt was sitting behind his desk. Closing a file, he swiveled around and slid the file into a slot in a safe behind his desk.

“Okay,” he said, “come in now.”

Dwyer slid past the receptionist and she closed the door behind him.

“I’m TD Dwyer,” he said. “I’m the scientist tasked with the analysis of the meteorite.”

Overholt walked from behind his desk and shook Dwyer’s hand, then motioned him over to a pair of chairs around a seating pit. Once they were both seated, he spoke.

“What have you got?”

Dwyer was less than five minutes into his dissertation when Overholt stopped him.

He walked over to his desk and spoke into the intercom. “Julie, we need to schedule Mr. Dwyer to accompany me to the meeting at the White House.”

“Could you ask him his clearance, sir?” Julie asked.

“One-A critical,” Dwyer answered.

“Then we can go in the front,” Overholt said to Julie, “as planned.”

“I’ll call over, sir.”

Overholt walked back to the chair and sat down. “When it’s our turn I want you to deliver your findings without hyperbole. Just lay out the facts as best you know. If you are asked for an opinion—and you probably will be—give it, but qualify it as such.”

“Yes, sir,” Dwyer said.

“Good,” Overholt said. “Now, just between us, lay out the rest of it, harebrained theories and all.”

“The gist of the theory is this: There is a possibility that if the molecular structure of the meteorite is pierced, a virus could be released that might have dire consequences.”

“Worst case?”

“The end of all organic life on earth.”

“Well,” Overholt said, “I can safely state you’ve ruined my morning.”

IN THE OREGON’S control room, Eric Stone was carefully watching a monitor. He would pin down the location of the meteorite, then it would seem to move. Using all the various locations, Stone was trying to vector in on the object. Then he punched in more commands on the computer keyboard and glanced at a different screen. Stone was using space the Corporation rented on a commercial satellite.

The image filled the monitor but the sea was hidden by a heavy cloud cover.