Poseidon's Arrow

Recent Vice Presidents had maintained only a ceremonial office in the building, preferring to inhabit the West Wing, where they could stay glued to the President. That all changed with the arrival of Admiral James Sandecker. A reluctant appointee when his predecessor had died in office, Sandecker preferred to keep his distance from the spinmasters that infiltrated every administration. Instead he made the vice presidential office in the old Executive Office Building his primary work domain. He gladly hiked the underground tu

After passing through several layers of security, Pitt reached the foyer to the Vice President’s suite on the second floor and was escorted into the private office. The large room was decorated with the nautical motif befitting a retired admiral, showcasing several antique oil paintings of long-forgotten clipper ships battling the high seas. Though right on time, Pitt walked into a meeting in progress. Two men and a woman sat in wingback chairs around a coffee table, listening to the Vice President, who paced the lush carpet while clenching a large cigar.

“Dirk, there you are.” He zipped across the room to shake Pitt’s hand. “Come, take a seat.”

Though diminutive in stature, Sandecker had the energy of ten men. A fiery intensity burned in his blue eyes, which contrasted with his flaming red hair and matching Van Dyke beard. A Washington veteran who despised politics, he was both respected and feared for bluntness and integrity. For Pitt, he was something of a father figure, having been his boss at NUMA for many years before becoming Vice President.

“Good to see you, Admiral. You’re looking fit.”

“One keeps plenty fit in this office just smacking down the gadflies,” he said. “Dirk, let me introduce you around. Dan Fowler, here, is with DARPA, Tom Cerny is a special aide to the President, and A

Pitt shook hands then took a seat, glancing at his watch.

“You’re not late,” Fowler said. “We just had some earlier business with the Vice President.”

“Fair enough. So how may a humble marine engineer be of service?”

“You’re probably not aware,” Sandecker said, “but there’s been an alarming rash of security breaches in our weapons development programs, stretching back at least three years. Without going into specifics, I can tell you they’ve been at a high level and are costing us dearly.”

“I take it the Chinese are the primary beneficiaries.”

“Yes,” Fowler said. “How did you know?”

“I recall them introducing a new fighter jet last year. It looked suspiciously like our F-35.”

“That’s only the tip of the iceberg,” Sandecker said. “Unfortunately, we’ve had only limited success at plugging the leaks. A multiagency task force has been formed, by request of the President, to investigate the situation.”

“These breaches directly threaten the ability of our military forces,” Cerny said. He had a pasty face and large dark eyes and spoke with the fast delivery of a used-car salesman. “The President is deeply disturbed by these events and has demanded whatever action is necessary to protect our vital technology.”

Pitt fought off the urge to cry “Hooray for the President!” Cerny, he pegged, was a typical presidential yes-man who relished the power he wielded while accomplishing nothing with it.

“That’s well and fine,” Pitt said, “but isn’t half the government already engaged in hunting spies and chasing terrorists?”

“There’s plenty of risk to go around.”

Sandecker lit his cigar as the men engaged, puffing it in defiance of the building’s smoking ban. “The task force has a need for some marine resources. Just a small project I thought you could assist with. Agent Be

“It’s a missing person, actually,” Be

Pitt locked eyes with the thirtyish agent, a pert, attractive woman concealed behind a conservative appearance. Her blond hair, layered short, matched the serious cut of her charcoal business suit. But the effect was softened by her dimpled cheeks and a petite nose that held up a pair of clear-framed reading glasses. She returned Pitt’s gaze through lively aqua-colored eyes, then looked down at the folder in her lap.

“An important research scientist with DARPA, Joseph Eberson, disappeared several days ago in San Diego,” she said. “He was believed to have gone on a fishing excursion aboard a private pleasure craft named Cuttlefish. The bodies of the boat owner and his assistant were found a few miles offshore by a passing sailboat. Local search-and-rescue teams combed the area but failed to locate Eberson or the boat.”

“You suspect foul play?”

“We have no specific reason to think so,” Fowler said, “but Eberson was involved with some of the Navy’s most sensitive research programs. We need closure on what happened to him. We have no reason to suspect that he defected, but an abduction has been viewed as a possibility.”

“What you really want is a body,” Pitt said. “Unfortunately, if the boat sank and he drowned with his buddies, his body could be halfway to Tahiti by now. Or inside the stomach of a great white shark.”

“That’s why we’d like you to help us find the boat,” A

“Sounds more like a job for the San Diego Police Department.”

“We’d like to recover the boat so our investigators can try to determine if Eberson was aboard,” Fowler said. “We’re told the waters could be rather deep, so that’s beyond the police department’s capability.”

Pitt turned to Sandecker. “Where’s the Navy in all this?”

“As it happens, the Navy’s West Coast salvage fleet is engaged in a training exercise in Alaska. On top of that, the bodies were found in Mexican territorial waters. Things will be a lot less complicated if an oceanographic research ship handled the search and recovery.”

Sandecker walked to his desk and peered at a memo. “It just so happens that the NUMA survey vessel Drake presently is docked in San Diego, awaiting assignment.”

Pitt shook his head. “I’ve been done in by my own kind.”

Sandecker’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve still got a few friends over in your building.”

“Well, then,” Pitt said, giving A

“Exactly how will you go about the search?” Cerny asked.

“The Drake has several different sonar systems aboard, as well as a small submersible. We’ll set up a survey grid and perform a thorough sweep of the area with sonar to try and locate the Cuttlefish. Once we find her, we’ll investigate with scuba divers or send down the submersible, depending on the depth. If the boat’s still intact, we’ll see about raising her.”

“A

“About as soon as I can find a flight to San Diego . . . and Agent Be

Pitt was thanked for undertaking the project and departed the meeting. After he left the room, Sandecker turned to Cerny.

“I don’t like leaving him in the dark. There’s not a man alive I trust more.”

“Presidential orders,” Cerny said. “It’s best that nobody knows what we’ve potentially lost.”

“Can he do it?” Fowler asked. “Can he find the boat if it sank?”

“It’ll be a piece of cake for Pitt,” Sandecker said, blowing a thick ring of smoke toward the ceiling. “What I’d worry about is what, exactly, he finds aboard.”

10

THE MAN STROLLED ACROSS THE DECK WITH A PAIR of scuba tanks under each arm, showing all the strain of carrying a feather comforter. His arms were almost as thick as his legs, while his chest bulged like an overinflated tractor tire. Al Giordino’s brown eyes and dark curly hair reflected his Italian heritage, while his sharp brows and upturned mouth hinted at his devilish wit.