Blue Gold

"A full frontal waterborne assault is out of the question," he said.

"Can't say I'm disappointed. I haven't forgotten our shoot out in Alaska," Zavala said.

"I had hoped to see down into the water. In the old days the lake was as clear as crystal, but the runoff from all the development around the shores has clouded up the water with algae growth."

Zavala had been studying another photo. After their strategy meeting at NUMA headquarters, Austin called up a NOAA satellite photo of Lake Tahoe. The shot showed the water temperature of the lake in colors. The lake was almost entirely blue except for one spot along the western shore where the red shade denoted high temperatures. The heated water was practically under the Gogstad pier. It was similar to the heat pulse in the ocean off the Baja coast.

"Pictures don't lie," Zavala said. "There's always the possibility of a hot spring."

Austin frowned.

"Okay, say you're right, that there's an underwater facility like the one in the Baja. There's one thing I don't understand. We're talking about a desalting plant. This is a freshwater lake."

"I agree, it doesn't make sense. But there's only one way to find out for sure. Let's head back and see if our package has arrived."

Austin started the engine and pointed the winch boat toward South Lake Tahoe. They skimmed over the intense blue waters, and before long they were pulling into a marina. A lanky figure stood at the end of a finger pier waving at them. Paul had stayed on shore. His wound was still too tender to allow him to bounce around in a boat. As they pulled up to the slip he grabbed the line with his good hand and tied them off.

"Your package has arrived," he a

"That was fast," Austin said. "Let's take a look." He and Zavala set off toward the parking lot.

"Wait," Paul said.

Austin was eager to check out the delivery. "We'll fill you in later," he said over his shoulder.

Paul shook his head. "Can't say I didn't try to warn you," he muttered.

The flatbed truck was pulled up off to the side. The object on the trailer was about the shape and size of two cars, one be hind the other. It was covered with padding and dark plastic. Austin had moved in for a closer look when the passenger door of the truck opened and a familiar figure stepped out. Jim Contos, skipper of the Sea Robin, strolled over with a grin on his face.

"Uh-oh," Zavala said.

"Jim," Austin said. "What a nice surprise."

"What the hell is going on, Kurt?" The grin had vanished.

"It was an emergency, Jim."

"Yeah, I figured it was an emergency when Rudi Gu

Austin noticed a picnic table and suggested they sit down. Then he laid out the situation, using the photos and drawings as visual aids. Contos sat silently through the entire explanation, his dark features growing graver with each added detail.

"So there you have it," Austin said. "When we saw that there might be only one way in, we checked on the nearest submersible to do the job. Unfortunately it happened to be the one you were testing."

"Why play Blind Man's Bluff?" Contos said, referring to daring covert underwater operations during the cold war. "Why not just go in?"

"First of all, the place has better security than Fort Knox. We checked on land access. The complex is surrounded by razor-wire fence rigged to set off alarms if you so much as breathe on it. The perimeter is heavily patrolled. There is only one access road in and out. It runs through dense forest and is heavily guarded. If we send a SWAT team in with guns blazing it's likely someone would get hurt. Beyond that, what if we're wrong about the whole thing, that the women are not being held there, and what's behind all those fences is perfectly legal?"

"You don't think that's the case, do you?"

"No, I don't."

Contos gazed out at the sailboats peacefully gliding across the lake, then turned to Paul, who had joined them at the table.

"Do you think your wife is in there?"

"Yep. I have every intention of getting her out."

Contos noted Trout's arm in its sling. "I'd say you could use an extra hand. And your friends here will need some help launching the SeaBus."

"I designed it," Zavala said.

"I'm well aware of that, but you haven't been the one testing it, so you don't know the quirks. For instance, the batteries are supposed to be good for six hours. They barely make it past four. From what you say, this facility is quite a way from here. Have you given any thought to how you're going to get it to the launch point?"

Austin and Zavala exchanged an amused glance.

'As a matter of fact, we have already lined up a delivery sys tem," Austin said. "Would you like to see it?"

Contos nodded, and they got up from the table and walked through the parking lot to the dock. The closer they got to the water the more puzzled was the expression on Contos's face. Used to NUMA's state-of-the-art equipment, he was looking for something like a high-tech barge fitted out with cranes. There was nothing like that.

"Where's your delivery system?" he said.

"I think I see it coming in now," Austin said.

Contos looked out at the lake, and his eyes grew wider as the old-fashioned paddle-wheel tour boat made its way in their direction. The vessel was painted red, white, and blue and deco rated with bunting and fluttering flags.

"You're kidding," he said. "You're going to launch from that? It looks like a waterborne wedding cake."

"It is pretty festive. The old girl makes the trip from one end of the lake to the other every day. No one gives it a second look anymore. It's the perfect cover for a covert operation, don't you think, Joe?"

"I've heard they serve a pretty good breakfast aboard," Zavala said with a straight face.

Contos stared grimly at the approaching vessel. Then, with out warning, he wheeled about and headed for the parking lot.

"Hey, captain, where are you going?" Austin called after him.

"Back to the truck to get my banjo."

Chapter 36

Francesca stood on the deck of the Viking ship taking in its long, sweeping lines, its graceful, upturned bow and stern, the painted square sail. Even with the thick planking and massive keel it seemed almost delicate in its construction. She looked around at the huge chamber, with its vaulted ceiling, the flaming torches, and high stone walls hung with medieval weapons, and she wondered how anything so beautiful could be in a setting so bizarre and ugly.

Standing by the tiller, Brynhild Sigurd mistook Francesca's silence for appreciative awe.

"It's a masterpiece, isn't it? The Norsemen called this a skuta when they built the original nearly two thousand years ago. It was not the biggest of their boats, like the dragon ship, but it was the fastest. I have had her duplicated in every way, from the oak planking to the spun cow's hair that was used as caulking. She is more than seventy-nine feet long and sixteen feet wide. The original is in Oslo, Norway. An earlier replica actually sailed across the Atlantic. You must be wondering why I went through the trouble to have her built and placed in the great hall."

"Some people collect old stamps, others old cars. There's no accounting for tastes."