Lost City

"Any idea what these structures are?" Austin said.

"That island was originally owned by the British government, which operated it as a submarine station during World War Two and the Cold War. Later it was sold to a private corporation. We're still looking into that. Supposedly it was used for bird research although nobody knows for sure, because access to the island is barred."

"This could be a patrol boat to enforce the no-trespassing order," Austin said, pointing to a tiny white line that marked a wake.

"That's a good bet," Muller agreed. "I had the pictures taken at different times during the day, and the boat is always at some point around the island, following pretty much the same route."

As he examined the rocks and shoals guarding the island, Austin noticed a dark, oval object near the harbor opening. He saw it again in other photos but at different positions. It had a vague outline, as if it were underwater rather than on the surface. He turned the photos over to Zavala.

"Take a look at these and see if you see anything unusual, Joe." As the team's expert on remotely operated and ma

vehicles, Zavala noticed the strange object immediately. He spread out the pictures. "This is an underwater vehicle of some sort."

"Let me see that," Muller said. "I'll be damned. I was so concentrated on what was above water that I didn't notice what was under it. I must have thought it was a fish of some kind."

"It's a fish all right," Zavala said. "Battery-operated and motorized. My guess is that it's an AUV."

"An Autonomous Underwater Vehicle?"

Originally built for commercial and research use, AUVs were the hottest development in undersea technology. The robot vehicles could operate on their own, guided by preprogrammed instructions, unlike Remote Operated Vehicles, which had to be guided with a tether.

"This AUV could have a sonar and acoustic instrumentation, and would be able to detect anything or anyone moving on or under the waters surrounding the island. It could send an alarm to land-based monitors."

"The navy has been using AUVs as replacements for the dolphins who sniffed out mines. I've heard that some AUVs can be programmed to attack," Muller said.

Austin stared at the photos and said, "It seems that we may have to make a fast decision."

"Look, I'm not telling you what that should be, and I know you're concerned about your friends," Muller said. "But there isn't much you can do here. Captain Gutierrez will continue the search and he can notify you if and when he finds something."

"You'd like us to check this place out?"

"The U.S. navy can't go busting in on this island, but a couple of highly trained and determined people could."

Austin turned to Zavala. "What do you think we should do, Joe?"

"It's a gamble," Zavala said. "While we're chasing creeps with bloodshot eyes, Paul and Gamay could be a million other places."

Austin knew that Zavala was right, but his instincts were pointing him to the island.

"We asked the seaplane to stand by," he told Ensign Mullen "We'll fly back to the Azores and catch a jet. With any luck we can take a close look at your mysterious island tomorrow."

"I hoped you'd say that," Muller said with a smile.

Less than an hour later, the seaplane lifted off from the water and climbed into the air. The aircraft circled once over the research vessel and the cruiser, and then headed toward the Azores, taking Austin and Zavala on the first leg of their journey into the unknown.

DARN AY LIVED IN a converted farmhouse of stucco and red tile that overlooked the historic old city of Aix-en-Provence. Skye had called the antiquities dealer from the train station to let him know she had arrived and Darnay was waiting at the front door when the cab dropped her off at his villa. They exchanged hugs and the perfunctory double cheek kisses, then Darnay ushered her onto a broad terrace that bordered a swimming pool surrounded by sunflowers. He seated her at a marble and wrought-iron table and poured two Kir cocktails of creme de cassis and white wine.

"You don't know how delighted I am to see you, my dear," Darnay said.

They clinked glasses and sipped the cold sweet mixture.

"It's good to be here, Charles." Skye shut her eyes and let the sunlight toast her face as she breathed in air tinged with the scents of purple lavender and the distant Mediterranean.

"You didn't say much when you called," Darnay said. "Your visit to the Fauchards went well, I trust."

Her eyes blinked open. "As well as could be expected," she said.

"Bon. And did Mr. Austin enjoy driving my Rolls?" Skye hesitated. "Yes and no." Darnay raised an eyebrow.

"Before I tell you what happened, you had better pour us another drink."

Darnay freshened their glasses and Skye spent the next forty-five minutes describing the events at the Fauchard chateau, from the time Emil greeted them at the front door to their madcap flight in the stolen airplane. Darnay's face grew graver with each new revelation. "This Emil and his mother are monsters!" he said. "We're very sorry about your car. But as you see, it couldn't be helped under the circumstances."

A broad smile replaced Darnay's grim expression. "What matters most is that you are safe. The loss of the Rolls is of no consequence. The car cost me a fraction of its worth. A 'steal," as your American friend might say."

"I thought it was something like that."

Darnay paused in thought. "I'm intrigued by your description of the Jules Fauchard portrait. You're sure he was wearing the same helmet?"

"Yes. Have you made any progress with its identification?" "A great deal of progress." He drained his glass. "If you are sufficiently refreshed, we will go see Weebel." "What's a Weebel?"

"Not a what, but a who. Oskar Weebel is an Alsatian who lives in the city. He has the helmet." "I don't understand."

Darnay rose from his chair and took Skye by the hand. "You will when you meet him."

Minutes later, they were in Darnay's Jaguar, speeding along a narrow, twisting road. Darnay casually wheeled the car around the switchbacks as if he were on a straightaway.

"Tell me more about your friend," Skye said as they entered the outskirts of the historic old city. Darnay turned off onto a narrow street between the Atelier de Ceza

"Weebel is a master craftsman," Darnay said. "One of the finest I've ever come across. He fabricates reproductions of antique weapons and armor. He farms out most of his production these days. But his own work is so good that some of the finest museums and most discerning collectors in the world are unaware that what they consider antique pieces were actually forged in his shop."

"Fakes?"

Darnay winced. "That's such an ugly word to come from such a lovely mouth. I prefer to call them high-quality reproductions."

"Pardon me for asking, Charles, but have any of these wonderful reproductions been sold to the museums and collectors who are your clients?"

"I seldom make claims about the authenticity of my wares. Something like that could land me in jail for fraud. I merely imply that the item in question may have a certain provenance and let the client co