Flood Tide

Stewart looked through a doorway at Gu

“Drop her in,” said Gu

The winch attached to the cradle hummed and the AUV slowly settled into the perpetual gloom of the river. The diver uncoupled the cradle, swam to a ladder and climbed onto the work platform.

Stewart entered the small compartment that was rilled from deck to roof with electronic equipment. He sat down next to Gu

“You'll get no argument from me,” said Gu

“Do they really think Qin Shang would conduct his smuggling operations through underwater passageways that co

“Some hotshot in Washington must think so. That's why we're here.”

“Like me to send for some coffee from the galley?” asked Stewart.

“I could use a cup,” said Gu

The cook's galley assistant soon brought a tray of cups along with a filled coffeepot. Three hours later the cups and pot were as empty as the inspection project. Nothing showed on the monitor except a seemingly unending wall of steel casings that were driven deep into the silt to act as a barrier for the landfill that in turn acted as a foundation for the dock and terminal buildings. Finally, just before noon, Gu

“So much for the west side of the port,” Gu

“See any hint of a door leading to a passage?”

“No so much as a crack or hinge.”

“We can move the AUV across the river cha

“The sooner we wrap this up, the better.” Gu

“Sure you don't want to knock off for a sandwich?” asked Stewart.

Gu

It took only ten minutes for the AUV to cross under the river to the east side of the port. Gu

The Marine Denizen's skipper picked up the receiver and then handed it to Gu

“Pitt.” Gu

“Hello, Rudi,” came Pitt's familiar voice. “I'm calling from an airplane somewhere over the Nevada desert.”

“How did your underwater search of the United States go?”

“Got a little hairy there for a while, but all Al and I found was a smooth hull and keel with no openings.”

“If we don't find anything on this end in the next few hours, we'll join you.”

“Are you using a submersible?” asked Pitt.

“Not necessary,” replied Gu

“Keep a tight leash on it, or Qin Shang's underwater security people will steal it before your eyes. They're sneaky devils.”

Gu

“How is Dirk?” inquired Stewart. “I haven't seen him since we worked together on the Lady Flamborough cruise-ship search down off Tierra del Fuego a few years ago.”

“Testy as ever. He gave me a strange warning.”

“Warning?”

“He said Qin Shang's underwater security people might steal the AUV,” Gu

“What underwater security?” said Stewart sarcastically.

Gu

Stewart's eyes followed Gu

A face wearing a diver mask filled the screen of the monitor They stared in amazement as the diver pulled off the mask and revealed very Chinese-featured eyes, nose and mouth. Then he flashed a wide g

Then the image went dark and was replaced with jagged gray and white streaks. Gu

PlTT KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG THE INSTANT THE NUMA driver stopped the car. A tiny indescribable alarm tingled inside his brain and traveled to the nape of his neck. Something was not as it should have been.

A life-threatening situation was the last thing on his mind on the ride from Andrews Air Force Base, where the NUMA jet had landed, to his home on a far corner of Washington's National Airport. Darkness had closed over the city, but he ignored the ocean of lights illuminating the buildings. He tried to relax and let his mind drift, but it kept returning to Orion Lake. He thought it odd that the story had not broken in the  news media.

From the outside, the former aircraft-maintenance hangar that was built in 1937, the year Amelia Earhart disappeared, appeared forlorn and deserted. Weeds grew right up to its rusting, corrugated-metal walls, whose paint had long since  vanished after decades of onslaught by the extremes of  Washington's weather patterns. Though it had been condemned as an eyesore and scheduled to be demolished, Pitt had visualized the hangar's potential. Stepping in at the last minute, he thwarted FAA bureaucrats by wi

Pitt's grandfather had acquired a small fortune in developing Southern California real estate. On his death, he left his grandson a considerable inheritance. After paying the estate taxes, Pitt had chosen to invest in classic cars and aircraft rather than stocks and bonds. In twenty years, he had built up a collection that was highly unique.

Rather than bathe the hangar in a battery of floodlights, Pitt preferred that it appear desolate and empty. One small light atop an electrical pole that gave off a dim yellow glow was all that illuminated the unpaved road that ended at the hangar. He turned and stared through the car's window and studied the top of the pole. A red light that should have beamed from a concealed security camera was dark.

It was an indication as conspicuous to him as a blinking stop sign that something was drastically wrong.

Pitt's security system was designed and installed by a friend with an intelligence agency who was at the top of his trade. No one but a skilled professional could have come within a country mile of breaking the code and compromising it. He gazed around the barren landscape and detected the shadow of a van faintly visible fifty yards away under the reflected light from the city across the Potomac. Pitt didn't require the services of a psychic to know that someone or some group had gained entry into the hangar and was waiting to throw a welcome inside.

“What's your name?” Pitt asked the driver.