The Storm

“I remember when the gypsy moths came to New England,” Paul said. “No

Marchetti nodded glumly.

Quiet followed as the group pondered what Marchetti had said. Kurt imagined the microbots spreading through the Indian Ocean and around the world. He wondered if the thought was rational or paranoid and why someone would want that to occur or how they could profit from it.

“Whatever they’re doing, I think we can assume it’s not a good thing,” Pitt said. “Therefore we need to find out what it is and get on top of it. Any suggestions how we can do that?”

All eyes focused on Marchetti again.

“Two ways,” he said. “Either catch the microbots in the act, for which I offer my services and the island, or go to the source and see what their orders are.”

“Go to Yemen,” Pitt clarified.

Marchetti nodded. “I hate to say it, and I certainly wouldn’t want to ride along, but if these things are being manufactured in this underground compound in Yemen, your best chance of discovering what they’re being created for is to go to the factory and check out the specs.”

Pitt nodded thoughtfully but said nothing for the moment. He looked over the assembled team one by one.

“All right,” he said finally. “Our original goal was to find out what happened to the crew, but I think we can all agree that we’ve discovered a greater threat here. One they were probably killed for. We need to follow this up from both angles. Paul and Gamay will take advantage of Mr. Marchetti’s hospitality and head up the waterborne search, using Aqua-Terra as home base. Kurt, you and Joe get ready. Unless you have any objections, I’m going find a way to sneak you into Yemen.”

Kurt looked at Joe, who nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

Pitt signed off. The meeting adjourned, and everyone began to file out.

Leilani came up to Kurt. “I want to go with you,” she said.

Kurt continued gathering up his things. “Not a chance.”

“Why?” she asked. “If this Ji

Kurt cut his eyes at her. “You jeopardized us once, I’m not going to let you do that again. Nor am I going to take you into danger. Nor are we going to get this guy. Unlike you, we’re not some kind of hit squad. We want to find out what he’s up to and why, that’s it. The best thing you could do is go home to Hawaii.”

“I don’t have anyone to go home to,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, “but that isn’t going to work on me this time.”

Gamay came over to intercede. “We could use a marine biologist if we’re going to analyze what’s going on with the food chain. Why don’t you stay here with us?”

Leilani didn’t seem to like that idea, but it was clear she had no other option. Finally she nodded.

Kurt stepped out through the door without another word. He felt badly for her, but he had a job to do.

CHAPTER 16

GULF OF ADEN, OFF THE COAST OF YEMEN

THIRTY-SEVEN HOURS AFTER THE MEETING IN MARCHETTI’S conference room, Kurt and Joe found themselves sitting in a wooden fishing boat in the dark of night a mile or so off the coast of Aden.

Clad in black wet suits, with fins, and small oxygen tanks on their backs, they waited patiently for a signal.

Kurt rubbed a light coat of baby shampoo on the inside glass of his mask before rinsing it to keep it from fogging up. Joe checked his air one last time and secured a diving knife in a sheath on his leg.

“You ready?” Kurt asked.

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Joe said. “You see anything?”

“Not yet.”

“What if this guy got held up?”

“He’ll make it,” Kurt said. “Dirk swears this guy has helped him out a few times before.”

“Did he give you a name?”

Kurt shook his head and smiled. “He said we wouldn’t need it.”

Joe chuckled. “Dirk has his secrets, that’s for sure.”

It was a moonless night with a light wind from the northwest. Kurt could smell the desert on that breeze, but he could see nothing. They were anchored off a desolate stretch of the coast, bobbing up and down on the swells and waiting to hit the water. But they couldn’t go until they were sure someone had arrived to pick them up.

Finally a pair of lights flashed in their direction. On-off. On-off. And then back on again for a few seconds before going permanently dark.

“That’s our man,” Kurt said, pulling his mask into place.

Joe did the same, pausing for a second. “One question,” he said. “What if those bots are in the water here, waiting to chow down on us?”

Kurt hadn’t thought about that and, quite frankly, wished Joe hadn’t either. “Then you better hope they’re not hungry,” he said.

With that, he pushed back over the side and dropped into the inky black water.

A few seconds later Joe hit the water behind him, the muted sound of his plunge reverberating through the dark.

Without delay, Kurt got his bearings and began to kick with smooth, powerful strokes, the thrust from his fins moving him swiftly through the water. It was a quiet, slow-motion approach to the beach.

As he closed in on the shore, he could hear the sound of the waves pounding, he could feel the pull of the ebb tide trying to drag him to the east. He angled slightly into it, but rather than wear himself out fighting it, he mostly rode with it.

Closer in, he focused on the swells, trying to get a rough sense of timing for the set of waves. One big swell pushed him upward, threatening to dump him face-first, but it passed, broke and sent white foam racing up onto the sand fifteen yards in front of him.

The undertow caught him as the water flowed back, but Kurt powered through it, caught the next wave and bodysurfed right up onto the beach.

Thirty feet ahead boulders offered shelter. He pulled off his fins and dashed forward, taking shelter between them. Once he was there, he pulled his mask off, unzipped the wet suit a few inches and drew out a small night vision scope. He sca

Seventy yards to the west, an old VW bus sat parked on the road. That was their transportation.

He turned his head in time to see Joe coming up onto the beach. After a short delay, Joe sprinted to the rocks.

Kurt pointed to the van. “Not bad,” he said. “We only missed it by a football field.”

“Easier to walk that distance than to swim head-on into the current,” Joe replied.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kurt said. “Besides, on the off chance our friend has been watched or tailed, probably best not to come out of the water right in front of the getaway vehicle.”

The two men stripped out of their diving gear to reveal plain clothes. Watching for trouble, they moved down the beach in spurts until they reached the VW.

The thirty-year-old vehicle was a tawny brown color, pitted and scratched from years of flying sand. Its tires looked bald, and the VW emblem on the front was broken, missing half of the W.

“Maybe it’s a knockoff,” Kurt said.

“Yeah,” Joe replied, “a Volks Vagon.”

“Not much style to it,” Kurt said, and then, thinking of the Vespa, he added, “but at least it has four wheels.”

“You must be moving up in the world,” Joe said.

Kurt chuckled as he slid the door open. Whatever it lost on style points, the van had other attributes, including ample room for supplies, an air-cooled engine that would be more reliable crossing the desert than a water-cooled power plant, and authentic Yemen plates that Kurt hoped were current.