President Harper sat quietly back in his chair before speaking. "Could you give us a basic idea of what this theory is all about?"
Benson glanced down at his notes cleared his throat, and started speaking again. "I can try, Mr. President. Imagine a tree. The branches of this tree are each a universal force. One branch would be electricity, the next gravity, another magnetism, and others what scientists refer to…" Benson paused and read from his notes, "as the strong and weak forces. The trunk of the tree is the Unified Field Theory, the common element that binds them all together.
Dr. Einstein felt strongly that these forces had to be linked somehow. To possess the key to the Unified Field Theory would give one the key to control motion, power, and force. Maybe even the key to life itself." Benson looked wearily at the now excited crowd. "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but that's the best explanation I can offer. For anything more detailed you will need a physicist." Some members of the group in the briefing room showed signs of shock, their faces drained of color. Each one sank deep in thought.
"What agent is working on the case?" Harper asked softly. Benson hesitated before answering. "Mr. President, the identity of our agents is never disclosed to anyone outside our agency. Of course, we believe the president has a need to know. I'll be glad to identify the agent by name after the room has cleared." The others in the room looked at Benson in stunned silence.
Canter, the head of the CIA, spoke quickly. "We disclose our operations completely, General."
Benson raised an eyebrow. "I know, Mr. Canter, I read about them in the newspaper almost daily," he said dryly.
President Harper raised his hands to quell the erupting skirmish. "I understand what you're saying, General Benson. The need to protect your agent's identity is quite reasonable." The president paused, then added, "The rest of you please cull your files for any pertinent information about this theory. That will be all for today. General Benson, will you please remain?"
The room emptied quickly. Benson's personal aide left last, closing the door firmly behind him. President Harper looked over to Benson. The two men had already faced one catastrophe together and were comfortable with one another. Comfortable enough to be direct.
"How bad is it, Earl?" Harper asked plainly.
"Mr. President, it's all hypothetical at this point, but if the key to the theory has been recovered, the United States could lose its place as the dominant force on the planet. If the Chinese can unlock the power behind this theory, they could use it as a lever against us in negotiations — or force us into an all-out war," Benson stated forcefully. He paused, sighed, then continued. "It would seem we have a dire crisis if we cannot recover the papers."
"Which agents do you have assigned to this, Earl?" the president asked.
"The team of John Taft and Larry Martinez. They were the agents in charge of the
'Leaning Tree' incident," Benson replied.
"I remember them, Earl. They're your best agents, aren't they?" Benson thought back. "They're very good, Mr. President. Very good." President Harper nodded. "I want those papers, Earl. Do whatever it takes to recover them intact. If you can't do that, I want them destroyed."
"Yes, Mr. President," Benson said firmly.
The president rose to shake General Benson's hand and in the same instant they both spoke.
"Good luck," they said at the same time.
They both meant it.
CHAPTER 21
Taft tossed an empty bag that had contained two ham-and-cheese biscuits and a hash brown patty at the trash can in the hotel room, then finished his large cola and tossed that in the can as well.
"What is the H.L. Hunley," Taft shouted aloud at the television game in reply to the question. "It was the first submarine to sink a ship in battle."
"Yes," he said to his correct answer, "what is the H.M.S…." he began to say when his secure phone rang, jarring his thoughts.
"Yeah," Taft said, still watching the television. "It's me. The satellites traced the Deep Search to Boston Harbor. She's currently docked at Pier 53," Martinez said. "There's a small airport at Westhampton, on Long Island. I've arranged for a commercial helicopter charter service to fly you to Boston. The chopper's waiting for you now."
"It'll take me about twenty minutes to drive there," Taft said, staring at a map. "What do you want me to do with the rental car?"
"Leave it there. I'll have it picked up later." "Fair enough," Taft said.
"I'm coming in on a Navy jet. I should be there shortly after you."
"You're doing field work?" Taft asked. "Will wonders never cease."
"I think this operation will take both of us," Martinez noted.
"What's the plan?" Taft asked, still watching the television.
"We're going to seize the ship and recover whatever they found."
"Are you bringing along the weapons?" Taft asked.
"Yeah. You want the usual package?"
"Sounds about right," Taft said easily. "You know, I always like it when you get out of the office, Larry."
"I know you do, old buddy," Martinez said, "because I'm a better shot than you."
"My doctor told me it's healthy to embrace reality," Taft noted. "You might want to give some thought to that."
Taft hung up the phone before Martinez could answer.
Throwing his clothes into a black duffel bag, Taft placed the keys to the fishing boat into an envelope and left it with the frontdesk clerk. He piloted the rental car to the small airport and left it locked with the keys on the drivers side front tire. Thirty minutes later he was glancing out the side window of the chartered helicopter as it raced across Block Island Sound.
Less than an hour later, a white baseball cap devoid of markings shielding his eyes, Taft steered his second rental car of the day along Boston Harbor. He watched carefully for the signs marking the different piers. Finding Pier 52, he located an empty parking spot nearby and parked.
Slouching low and assuming the casual gait of a vacationing tourist, he walked east toward Pier 53. His blue eyes scanned the water toward the Deep Search, tied fast to the pier.
No crewmen were visible and the vessel was quiet.
He walked back to the rental car and placed a call to Martinez over the secure phone.
"I'm looking at the Deep Search. Where are you?"
"I'll be there in ten minutes or so. I pulled a blueprint of the Deep Search from the Lloyds insurance computer. The ship was built in Norway in 1985 and has an internal bay that can be used to launch and retrieve mini-subs for exploration work. With that inside bay the crew could easily recover an entire ship up to sixty feet in length if that was their plan."
"We'll talk about that when you get here. Hurry up," Taft said.
"I'm doing seventy miles an hour through traffic," Martinez said as the phone went dead.
Fifteen minutes later Martinez parked next to Taft, climbed from his car, and slipped into Taft's passenger seat. All that remained was to send out for some food and wait until five p.m. when the dock would be clear of any dock workers or tourists who might get in the way of gunfire.
Captain Holtz and First Officer Dietz of the Deep Search waited in suite 312 of the Royal Regent Hotel for a phone call giving them further instructions. If they had been looking to the south of the hotel, they would have seen the sun dancing off the blue water in Boston Harbor. But their eyes were not looking out at the panoramic view. They were instead focused on a European soccer game on the television set. Holtz answered the phone on the side table on the second ring.