Sea of Greed

“Why don’t we start with that swim?”

28

GREAT SOUND, BERMUDA

JOE MADE IT BACK to the Lucid Dream, took a hot shower and then made his way up to the top deck. He found Priya watching Kurt through the high-powered camera.

“How’s he doing?”

“Not bad,” she said, “if swimming with a beautiful woman fits that definition.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joe said. “I have cats following me around, looking for a free meal, and Kurt is making out with our prime suspect. There’s no justice in this world.”

“I only wish he’d activated the listening device,” Priya said. “I wanted to hear them talking.”

Joe laughed. “You don’t strike me as the voyeuristic type.”

“I’m not,” Priya said, “but I haven’t had a date in months.”

Joe studied Priya. She was incredibly pretty and looking radiant in the moonlight. “If that’s not by choice, then there’s something with the men of Washington, D.C.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Joe picked up the binoculars and trained them on the pool.

Kurt and Tessa had left the pool and toweled off. With Tessa in a robe and Kurt in his swim trunks, they walked toward the marble stairs that led down to the Monarch’s berth.

“They’re heading down to the bay,” Joe said.

“Maybe they’re going skinny-dipping?”

“Let’s hope not.”

As Kurt and Tessa neared the water, she used a remote unit to extend a bridge toward the fuselage of the airplane. As soon as it bumped the side, she led Kurt across to it and opened the cargo door.

Tessa went inside, but Kurt paused by the entrance, visibly running his hand over the doorframe before disappearing into the lighted interior of the aircraft.

“Just when things were getting interesting,” Priya said.

Joe lowered the binoculars. “For better or worse, Kurt’s on his own now.”

• • •

“THIS IS ONE impressive piece of machinery,” Kurt said, admiring the Monarch as they went aboard. “Is it true you designed most of it yourself?”

“It is,” Tessa said. “Does that surprise you?”

“Not at all.”

“I had help, of course,” she replied. “But I came up with the initial design, did most of the aerodynamic research on my own and then hired a small army of engineers to do the actual work. We built it in a shuttered factory in Poland that used to manufacture military transports.”

Kurt knew all this already. “Why an amphibious plane? Just to be different?”

“Why did Hughes build the Spruce Goose?”

“He was trying to get a big contract to transport material across the Atlantic.”

“I’m looking for the same thing,” she said. “Three-quarters of the earth is covered in water. And many rural regions have no airports other than dirt strips, but they often have lakes to land on. The Monarch is eminently practical. One day, the world’s leaders will see this.”

They toured the aft section first, passing a boat and two automobiles protected beneath tarps. From the overall shapes and the low-profile tires sticking out, Kurt could tell they were performance cars.

“Bugatti?” Kurt asked.

“Ferrari, actually,” she said, “though I have a Bugatti at my house in France and I once owned a Formula 1 racing team. How about you? Have you ever raced?”

“I wrecked an experimental Toyota in Japan once. Does that count?”

“Did you win?”

“Of course,” Kurt said. “I cheated a little. But if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.”

She smiled with genuine glee. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The tour continued toward the tail end of the aircraft. A pair of Jet Skis and a powerboat were stored there. Beyond them sat a large cradle with hydraulic lifting arms. It didn’t escape Kurt’s attention that the cradle was circular in shape and, whatever it normally held, it was empty now.

He pretended not to notice, looked past it and studied the aft cargo door. The design of the door and placement of the hinges told him it could be lowered like a ramp. A conveyer belt system on the inside of the door could obviously be used to bring vehicles aboard and deposit them in the water.

“A rather ingenious setup,” Kurt said. “And quiet. I don’t hear an auxiliary power unit humming. How do you run all of this equipment?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Tessa said. “But, let me show you.”

They went up to the middle deck, toward the nose. As the fuselage narrowed, they came upon an arrangement of gray metal boxes with orange stripes.

“These are the fuel cells,” Tessa explained. “Most aircraft this size are forced to carry a dedicated APU to give them ground power for electrical, pneumatic and hydraulic controls. These are not small systems. On a typical 747, the APU puts out two thousand horsepower. The Monarch actually requires more power than a 747 due to our larger control surfaces and electrodes used to keep marine growth from forming on the bottom of the fuselage.”

“And you get all that from these two small cells?” Kurt said.

She nodded. “All we need and then some. See for yourself.”