"Hell no! Not in a hundred years. I'm surprised you didn't make a move on the lady. Losing your touch?"
"My heart belongs only to NUMA," Austin said, placing his hand on his chest. "Which brings up why I'm here. I'm going to need some help, no questions asked."
The captain cocked his head. He had known Austin a long time and never knew the man to leave business of any sort unfinished.
"We'll do what we can, as long as it doesn't involve putting the Argo or its crew in jeopardy."
"It won't. All I need is the loan of some gear." Austin summarized his wish list and asked that the equipment be delivered to the Turgut. None of it would be a problem, the captain said. While Atwood ordered up the requested gear, Austin went to his cabin and plugged in his laptop computer. He called up a commercial satellite-imaging company off the Internet and requested photos of a location on the Russian coast of the Black Sea. He examined the photos closely, but wasn't surprised when nothing unusual popped out at him. The Soviets would not be advertising their secret base.
He punched out a number on his Globalstar phone. It was still early back in the States, but he knew from his days of working with the CIA that Sam Leahy would be in his office.
"How's the weather at Langley?" Austin said, when Leahy's brass-lunged voice came on the phone.
There was a pause. "You've got the wrong number, pal. If you're looking for a goddamn weather report, call the National Underwater and Marine Agency. Hell, I hear the smart alecks at NUMA know everything there is to know."
"Almost everything, Sam. That's why I'm calling for your help."
"I knew you'd come crawling back to the Company. Great hearing from you. How have you been, you old sea dog?"
"I'm fine. They still have you tied to a desk?"
"Not for long. Retirement is in six months. Then it's running fishing charters on the Chesapeake. I could use a first mate if you ever get tired of the Washington rat race."
"Sounds tempting. Put me down for a charter at the very least. Right now I could use some information. What do you know about Soviet sub bases?"
"Broad subject. Anything in particular you'd like to know?"
"Yes. How were they physically constructed?"
"To begin with, they were big. They had to be large enough to accommodate the babies like the Typhoon, with a length of five hundred fifty-seven feet. The beam alone was seventy-five feet. Those monsters were armed with twenty nukes a piece. The Soviets wanted them protected from a nuclear attack, so they built the pens deep. They learned from the German U-boat pen construction that held up pretty well under Allied bombing. Basically, they'd blast a tunnel out of a hillside and line it with several yards of reinforced granite."
"Do you have any data on the where and how of these bases?"
"I can get it." Austin heard an unspoken conditional in the answer. "It would really be a help if you could dig out what you can."
"No problem. Lots of that stuff has been declassified anyhow. But I'll hold you to that promise to do a charter."
Austin was relieved. He'd expected Leahy to say he would have to run the request through his higher-ups. "You provide the bait and I'll bring the beer."
Austin gave Leahy his e-mail address, thanked him again and hung up. He worked out some logistical problems on his computer, then he went out to check on the preparations for his trip with Captain Kemal. The equipment he'd asked for was stacked in boxes on the deck and ready to go. A truck was on its way to run the equipment to the Turgut. Austin had done all he could until he heard from the Special Assignments Team. He didn't have to wait long. As he was taking an equipment inventory, his phone buzzed. It was Joe Zavala calling.
"We're at the airport," Zavala said.
"What took you so long?"
Zavala sighed loudly. "That's gratitude for you. You yanked me out of the arms of the most beautiful woman on the planet."
"Every woman you've ever been involved with was the most beautiful woman on the planet."
"What can I say? I am a fortunate man."
"One day you'll thank me for rescuing you from the bonds of matrimony."
"Matrimony! A sobering thought. Don't even joke about it."
"We can talk about your love life later. How soon will you be at the Argo?"
"Gamay is nailing down a cab and Paul is humping the luggage out to the curb. We'll be there sooner than you can spell Constantinople."