Sea of Greed

CREW OF THE ALPHA STAR OIL PLATFORM

Rick L. Cox Operations manager and drilling supervisor of the Alpha Star offshore rig.

Leon Nash Roughneck and crewman on the Alpha Star.

NOVUM INDUSTRIA

Tessa Franco Founder and CEO of Novum Industria, a high-tech alternative energy company, also the designer of the Monarch, a one-of-a-kind amphibious aircraft.

Arat Buran Volatile leader of the Central Asian oil Consortium, Tessa’s former lover and confidant, currently involved with Novum via a clandestine financial arrangement.

Pascal Millard Censured French geneticist, now working for Novum.

Brian Yates Engineer and architect of Novum’s revolutionary fuel cells.

MERCENARIES

Volke Submersible pilot and former mercenary, works for Tessa in various capacities.

Woodrich Ecological fanatic, wants to see the end of the Oil Age at all costs, goes by the nickname “Woods.”

Alexander Vastoga Ex — Russian helicopter pilot and soldier of fortune, can be had for a high price.

FLORIDA

Misty Moon Littlefeather Electronics expert and old friend of Joe’s.

Redfish Misty’s father, always suspicious of Joe’s intentions toward his daughter.

WASHINGTON POLITICIANS

Lance Alcott Head of FEMA, jockeying for control of the Alpha Star cleanup.

Leonard Hallsman Former geologist, now Undersecretary of National Resources and Energy Security.

James Sandecker Vice President of the United States, founder and former Director of NUMA.

BERMUDA

Macklin Hatcher Wealthy venture capitalist, false identity assumed by Kurt Austin.

Ronald Ruff Hatcher’s assistant, false identity assumed by Joe Zavala.

ISRAEL

Admiral Natal Israeli Admiral, old friend of Rudi Gunn’s, currently in charge of the Office of Naval Records in Haifa.

SHIPS AND AIRCRAFT

INS Dakar Israeli submarine, purchased from the British, vanished on its way from the UK to Haifa in January 1968.

Minerve (S647) French submarine, vanished in 1968 roughly twenty-five miles from Toulon.

MonarchWide-body amphibious aircraft designed by Tessa Franco, built in Kazakhstan.

GryphonWell-armed NUMA hydrofoil, deployed in dangerous environments.

PART ONE THE VANISHING

1

ISLAND OF JAROS, AEGEAN SEA

JANUARY 1968

DAVID BEN-AVI walked along a trail on the rocky, windswept island of Jaros. The barren clump of land was just three miles in length and no more than half a mile wide at its broadest point. It sat in an isolated spot of the Mediterranean, a hundred miles northwest of Crete. Though it was officially uninhabited, Ben-Avi and a dozen others had called it home for nearly two years.

With hands shoved in his pockets, Ben-Avi kept his face to the wind, walking briskly. The Mediterranean air had a bite to it in January. Fresh and pure in comparison to the stuffy laboratory and cramped barracks they lived in.

The solitude wasn’t bad either… while it lasted.

“David,” a voice called from behind him. “Where are you going?”

The words came in English with a distinct French accent.

Ben-Avi stopped in his tracks. Mother Hen had found him.

He turned to see André Cheval, rushing after him. Cheval was leader of the French contingent on the island but also acted as overall commander for the entire group. He was always after them about something. Trash in the correct receptacle, no outside lights after sundown, be careful near the cliffs.

He was dressed in outdoor gear and carrying a wool peacoat, which he handed to Ben-Avi. “Put this on. It’s freezing out here.”

Freezing was an exaggeration, but Ben-Avi took the coat without objection, he knew better than to argue.

“Where are you going?” Cheval asked.

“You know where I’m going,” Ben-Avi said. “Out on the bluff, to watch the sunset and think.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Cheval said.

“Can’t I go anywhere without a chaperone?”

“Of course,” Cheval said. “You’re not a prisoner.”

That was true. Ben-Avi and the others were here as part of a joint Franco — Israeli research project. They had all volunteered, but after so long on the barren island, with only the monthly arrival of a supply ship to break the monotony, it felt like they were marking time and waiting to be paroled.

“I have a feeling,” Ben-Avi said, “that all who come to Jaros must be prisoners in one sense or another. The Greeks kept captured communist insurgents here after World War Two, the Turks used it five centuries before that and the Romans picked this desolate spot to exile a troublesome daughter of the Emperor Octavian.”

“Really?” Cheval said.

Ben-Avi nodded. At the same time, he wondered how the Frenchman could live on the tiny island so long and not know a thing about it.