Devil's Gate

“Strongest?” Pitt asked. “What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t be able to explain it,” Takagawa said. “I’m just an old ship’s captain. But you must have people who will understand. The information I have on it is in there.”

Pitt would get the information to Hiram Yaeger as soon as he returned to the office. “Why were you afraid to tell me that?” Pitt asked.

“Because it’s not a naturally occurring compound,” Takagawa said. “It’s created in a lab. The Ti version is patented by an American corporation, and, more important, it’s listed as a restricted technology. Transfer to other nations, including China, is illegal. By allowing it onto our ship, Shokara is in violation of this law.”

Now Pitt began to understand. With economic tensions between the U.S. and China always simmering, and claims, mostly substantiated, that the Chinese government and its corporations preferred espionage and theft to honest development, neither the Chinese nor the U.S. government would be happy to hear that this compound had been shipped to Hong Kong. But with both countries needing each other, the most likely candidate to be punished and made a scapegoat would be the shipper: Shokara.

“Why would you be involved in something like this?” Pitt asked. “This country has been phenomenally good to you.”

“I was not aware of it until after the Kinjara Maru went down,” Takagawa said.

Dirk believed that. He sensed the heavy heart and the weight of dishonor that Takagawa felt.

“I believe someone boarded that ship to steal something,” Pitt said. “It sounds like this YBCO was the most likely target.”

“It is worth more than its weight in gold,” Takagawa said.

“Do you know anything about the people who hit your ship?” Pitt asked. “Any rumors even?”

Takagawa shook his head.

There had to be something. “Where did you load the compound?”

“Freetown,” Takagawa said. “Sierra Leone.”

Dirk had been in Freetown ten years back when NUMA had consulted on a project to deepen the navigation cha

From what he’d heard, things had improved quite a bit under the autocratic leadership of its president, Djemma Garand, but it wasn’t exactly a hub of high-tech activity.

“Could it have come from there?” he asked.

Takagawa shook his head. “Sierra Leone has mines and mineral wealth, but, as I said, YBCO doesn’t come from the ground.”

“So Freetown was a transfer point,” Pitt said.

“It happens this way,” Takagawa said. “The loophole. You transfer to a country that is legally allowed to take the material and they send it to a third party without violating any of their own national laws. And then that third party sends it to Russia or China or Pakistan.”

“Do you have any idea who the buyer is?” Dirk asked.

“They will deny it, but it’s in there,” Takagawa said. “Certainly it does not matter now. They did not receive what they paid for.”

Dirk’s mind was working overtime, playing catch-up. “What about the seller?”

Takagawa shook his head. “Not known to me.”

Dirk didn’t like the picture that was forming. “I need a favor,” he said respectfully.

“I can give you no more.”

Pitt stared at him. “Many of your crew died in flames, Haruto.”

Takagawa closed his eyes as if in pain. His left hand went unconsciously to his right wrist and the scars. “Are you chasing them?” he asked.

“I’m about to start,” Dirk said.

“Then I will give you all I can find.”

Pitt stood and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “I promise it will go no further.”

Takagawa nodded but seemed unable to look directly at Dirk. Finally, Pitt turned to go.

“I was wondering,” Takagawa said, “do you still have such wonderful cars? I collect them now myself.”

Pitt stopped and turned back. “Yes, I still have them, and a few more.”

“What one did you drive here tonight?” Takagawa asked, smiling just a bit, no doubt remembering how he and Pitt had discussed cars as a way to stay calm during their escape from the inferno thirty years back.

Pitt shook his head. “I took a cab.”

Takagawa seemed disappointed. “A pity.”

“But the other day,” Pitt said, “I took my Duesenberg roadster out for a spin.”

Takagawa’s face brightened, as if the thought of Pitt at the controls of the luxurious automobile warmed his heart somehow.

“Friday,” Takagawa said.

Dirk nodded. “It was a nice day for a drive.”

30

KURT AUSTIN SLID THE DOOR of the microvan open and stepped out onto the street fronting Praia Formosa. The night was quiet; he could hear the waves breaking on the beach just beyond. He offered a hand to Katarina, helped her through the door, and paid the driver.

“Do you want to earn another fare?” he asked.

“Sure,” the driver said, his round face lighting up.

“Go around the block,” Kurt said, “and wait down the end with your lights off and watch for us.” In his hand Kurt held out a hundred-dollar bill. He ripped it in half and gave one piece to the driver.

“How long do you want me to wait?” the driver asked.

“Until we come back out here,” Kurt said.

The driver nodded, put the vehicle in drive, and began to move away.

“You sure we’re not putting him in danger?” Katarina asked.

Kurt was pretty certain they’d lost whatever tails had tracked them to the restaurant. “He’s in no danger,” Kurt said confidently. “Neither are we, unless the French team wants to fight about the core sample they’ve taken.” “Not the French way,” she said.

“Which house?” he asked, noticing several villas along the stretch of sand.

“This way,” she said. She turned and began walking, stepping off the rough pavement and onto the grass. Kurt guessed that felt better on her bare feet.

“We have to get you some shoes,” he said.

“Or get rid of yours, and we’ll go for a walk on the beach,” she said, smiling at him.

That sounded like more fun than waking up a group of scientists and accusing them of stealing.

They arrived in front of a yellow-painted villa.

“This is the one,” she said.

Kurt knocked. And then knocked again. They waited.

No answer.

The place was dark. Even the outside lights were off.

“You sure this is it?” Kurt asked.

“They had a party here last night,” she said. “Everyone came.” Kurt knocked again, banging harder, not at all concerned that he might be waking the neighbors. As he pounded the door something strange happened. The outside light, which was off, flickered on for an instant with each strike of his fist.

“What the…”

He stopped hammering the door and turned his attention to the light. Reaching into the sconce, his hands found the bulb. It was loose. He twisted it and it came on. Two more turns sealed it tightly.

“Doing some maintenance?” Katarina said.

Kurt held up a hand, and she went quiet. He crouched down and studied the doorjamb. Gouges and scrapes around the lock told him more bad news.

“What’s wrong?”

“Somebody forced the lock,” he said. “They unscrewed the bulb so no one would see them working it. Old thief’s trick.” Kurt tested the door. It was certainly locked now.

He headed for the side of the house. Katarina followed.

“Stay here,” he said.

“Not a chance,” she replied.

He didn’t have time to argue. He snuck past a hedge of tropical bougainvillea and moved toward the rear of the house. A sundeck beckoned. Kurt hopped up onto it and moved to a sliding glass door.

Nothing but darkness inside.

It took all of three seconds to pop the door up off its tracks and slide it open.

“Did you used to be a burglar?” Katarina whispered.