Sea of Greed

Kurt studied a glass screen. According to the information on it, the fuel cells were running at sixty percent capacity and putting out enough electricity to light up a small town.

“This is a high-density unit,” Tessa said. “It’s being developed to replace diesel engines in semitrucks,” she said. “A smaller version will be used for luxury cars. But, just making a dent in the trucking industry will turn us profitable. There are over fifteen million trucks in the U.S. alone, three million of which are tractor-trailers. Think of the fuel savings, the reduction in both air and sound pollution, when we’ve eliminated millions of noisy, smoke-belching trucks. And that’s just one market. In twenty years, fuel cells will replace every coal-burning power plant, most of the gas-burning plants and every internal combustion engine in the industrial world.”

She was back in sales pitch mode. Kurt acted as if he was considering the financial potential, but he was actually studying the schematic on the screen of the fuel cell. It looked a lot like a diagram Joe had drawn.

He turned to Tessa. “You should know I have nearly five hundred million dollars to invest — half my money, half from my partners. I won’t say you’re going to get it all, but if this all pans out, I’d be willing to offer a large portion of our funding in exchange for an exclusive deal.”

Tessa looked confident now, radiant in the electronic glow of the small room. “I’m certain something can be worked out.”

Tessa’s phone buzzed. As she pulled it from the pocket of her robe, Kurt reached into the key pocket of his bathing suit and palmed a tiny, waterproof listening device. He would wait for the best moment to place it somewhere.

“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Franco, but you have visitors coming in,” the security guard said.

“If that’s Oliver Warren, tell him he’s too late.”

“It’s Mr. Volke, Mr. Yates and Mr. Millard,” the security leader said. “They’re on their way in by boat.”

“Tell them I’m busy.”

“I told them as much already, ma’am. Mr. Volke insists on seeing you. He says the matter is urgent. Mr. Yates wants to speak with you as well.”

Kurt let her off the hook. “Duty calls.”

“So it would appear.” Tessa sighed. “Send them down here when they arrive,” she said to the guard. “I’ll meet them on board the Monarch.”

Kurt took her arm and she walked him back through the aircraft to the door on the lower deck. They paused in the doorway. Kurt drew her close and took one last look around as if admiring the plane. With his free hand, he placed the listening device behind a curved section of the fuselage.

“I hope I’ll be hearing from you,” he whispered as he stepped out through the door.

29

GULF OF MEXICO

PAUL TROUT stood at the wheel of the Raleigh’s primary launch, which was basically a souped-up lifeboat without a top shell. Gamay was with him, heading north across the warm Gulf of Mexico waters.

“Didn’t get much of a send-off,” Paul said, glancing back at the distant lights of the Raleigh, almost ten miles behind them.

“That’s what happens when you slip away in the middle of the night without telling anyone,” Gamay replied.

That wasn’t quite true. The captain and the executive officer knew, as did a few members of the third watch who saw them depart, but after Kurt and Joe had been ambushed in Florida, the Trouts had decided not to take any chances.

They’d loaded seven containers of the soil and bacteria onto the launch and pushed off, headed for New Orleans, where they would deliver the samples to a group of scientists handpicked by the President to study the bacteria and look for more efficient ways to kill, counteract or contain it.

“Do these scientists know we’re coming?” Gamay asked.

“I figured we’d call them when we get into port,” Paul said. “I didn’t want anyone to know we were moving the samples.”

Gamay nodded. “Speaking of that, I’d better check the containers. The bacteria are putting off more gas than we thought, and I don’t want any explosions, which we might have if the pressure in those containers rises too high.”

She left Paul’s side and made her way to the short stairway that led to the boat’s forward cabin. Stepping down to the bottom of the boat, she flicked the light on, lifted a tarp and then stepped back in shock.

“Derrick,” Gamay said. “What are you doing here?”

He stood rapidly. “Quiet,” he snapped, his voice a harsh whisper. He had a pistol in one hand and a radio in the other. The gun was pointed her way. There was no mistaking the message.

He put the radio to his mouth. “Prowler, this is Reynolds,” he said. “You might as well move in. They’ve found me.”