Sea of Greed

“Get everything secured down here,” she said, forcing them to work together. “And make it quick. We’re leaving.”

As Volke and Woods went to work securing the submarine, Tess made her way to the cockpit. The pilots were there, ready and waiting. “Time to go,” she said.

Ten minutes later, the engines were roaring and the Monarch was accelerating along the smooth water behind Gull Island. As it picked up speed, the aircraft rode higher in the water, until only the very bottom of the keel was skimming the surface. All at once, it pulled free, soaring into the sky and shedding a trail of mist behind it.

12

CAPITOL HILL, WASHINGTON, D.C.

RUDI GUNN was at the Capitol Building, briefing the congressional delegation from Louisiana on the latest developments in the Gulf, when Lance Alcott arrived.

Rudi acknowledged him silently and continued his explanation. When a short break was called, Alcott leaned over and whispered in Rudi’s ear. “Just came from the White House,” he said with glee. “Sorry to tell you, Rudi, NUMA’s off the project and FEMA is taking over. We’re going to be directing the Coast Guard on this.”

Rudi was used to this kind of jockeying in Washington. Early on, when disaster was a distinct possibility, there was plenty of hand-wringing about who should take charge. Once the fires had been put out and the disaster avoided, everyone wanted to be seen as a hero of the cleanup. As the saying went, Failure is an orphan, but success has a thousand fathers. And it sounded like Alcott had just become a father. “By project, I assume you mean the Alpha Star disaster.”

“I mean the whole thing,” Alcott said. “The disaster, the cleanup, the investigation. Let’s be honest, NUMA isn’t really equipped to handle something like this. Your ships can go back to surveying wrecks or studying fish migrations or whatever it is you do most of the time.”

Rudi stood. He was neither angry nor surprised. In all honesty, he was pleased. “What we do is whatever needs to be done.” He slid a bulging file in front of Alcott. It was so full of papers it couldn’t be closed. “Have fun with the senators. None of them are really happy right now.”

Leaving Alcott behind, Rudi packed his briefcase and walked toward the door. On his way out, he passed the junior senator from Louisiana, who was coming back in.

“Where are you going?” the senator asked.

“Vacation,” Rudi said with a grin.

And while Rudi hadn’t taken a vacation in years, the idea suddenly appealed to him. At least until his phone buzzed with a call from the White House.

“Rudi Gunn,” he said, holding the phone to his ear and making his way down the hall.

“Rudi, this is Sandecker,” a voice said over the phone.

James Sandecker was the founder of NUMA and its leader for several decades before he’d accepted a position as the Vice President. He and Rudi had worked side by side for years and had a friendship that trumped politics and policy. A rare find in Washington these days.

“Mr. Vice President,” Rudi said cordially. “What can I do for you today?”

“For starters, you can stop calling me Mr. Vice President,” Sandecker said. “Admiral will do just fine.”

Rudi almost laughed. Old habits die hard and Sandecker had been an admiral far longer than he’d been the VP. “Yes, Admiral.”

“And when you’re done snickering at that, you can make your way over to the White House. The President wants to talk to you about this Alpha Star catastrophe.”

Rudi stopped in the hall. “Afraid I was just relieved from that post.”

“I know you were,” Sandecker said. “It was my idea. Need to free you and NUMA up for something else. Something more important.”

Rudi didn’t like it when Sandecker played things close to the vest. It usually meant things were worse than they seemed. “I’m almost to the door now. I’ll walk down Pennsylvania Ave and see you in a few minutes.”

“Turn around,” Sandecker said. “Head downstairs to the mailroom. Need you to take the train. We don’t want anyone to see you arrive or leave today.”

“I’m sneaking into the White House?”

“Yes, you are,” Sandecker said.

Rudi put the phone away and backtracked into the heart of the Capitol Building, eventually making his way into the underground mailroom as Sandecker had requested. There, he flashed his ID and was escorted by a member of the Secret Service to another, deeper level, where he hopped on a small train.