Not really, Eric Stone countered. They're already an international pariah, so what's a little more bad will?
Bad will, my butt. The U.S. is going to send an armada down there. It'll be like the Falklands War all over again.
Are you sure? Stone asked, one eyebrow arched.
Hanley opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it because he wasn't sure. With the U.S. military spread thin around the world and the current occupant of the White House more focused on domestic issues, it was possible that the government's response would be weak protests and another round of UN sanctions.
Now we have to ask ourselves if a six-hundred-year-old Chinese ship has anything to do with current global events, Eric said.
If things hold true to form, Juan replied, we can count on it.
Eddie asked, What do you want us to do once Linda returns? Should we stay down here or start heading north?
Cabrillo considered the options and came to a quick decision. Get the ship out of there. We have no idea what the Argentines are planning in Antarctica, but if the balloon goes up and war breaks out I want the Oregon clear. Also, we need to get into position for the Kuwaiti Emir's visit to South Africa. He's hired us as additional security, and that's one lucrative contract.
You got it, Eddie said. They should be back in a couple of hours and then we'll head northward again.
Call me when they're back. I want to hear Linda's full r eport.
Juan killed the connection and brought up his electronic Rolodex. There were more than a thousand names listed, from the direct lines of heads of state to some of the most shadowy characters in the world. He thought it ironic that when listed alphabetically, Langston Overholt's entry was next to a French pimp who also trafficked in information.
It was three hours earlier on the East Coast, so he wasn't worried about the time difference. A deep baritone answered on the second ring. Hello?
Mr. Perlmutter, this is Juan Cabrillo.
The infamous Chairman. How are you?
Though the two had never met and had spoken on the phone only once, each was well aware of the other's reputation. St. Julian Perlmutter was a living encyclopedia of all things maritime and owned the largest private collection of books, manuscripts, and folios about the history of ships and shipping. His Georgetown home was quite literally packed to the rafters with his well-thumbed trove.
It had been one of Perlmutter's research projects a few months back that eventually sent the crew of the Oregon to Libya and led to the rescue of the Secretary of State, Fiona Katamora.
Fine, sir. Yourself?
A bit peckish, as the Brits might say. Dinner's still in the oven, and the aroma is mouthwatering. Perlmutter's second-greatest love was food, and to meet him one could see he dined with gusto. Tell me you're here in the States, and I can finally get a tour of your ship.
Max Hanley and I are here, as a matter of fact, but the Oregon's at sea. There was no reason not to tell Perlmutter where the ship was other than that Juan didn't know if the other man's phones were clean. I was wondering if I could pick your brain.
Good God, man, you're starting to sound like Dirk. All he ever calls for is information. At least his kids have the decency to bring me a little something when they come to pump their old uncle St. Julian for his knowledge.
Max and I are in Washington State, we'll send you some of their famous apples.
Make it Dungeness crab instead, and you have a deal. What do you need to know?
The Chinese Treasure Fleet.
Ah, Admiral Zheng. What about it?
Actually, I'm talking about Admiral Tsai Song.
I'm afraid that's a myth, Perlmutter started, and then stopped speaking for a moment. Did you find evidence that he really existed? He's real?
Are you familiar with the Pine Island Treasure Pit?
Yes, of course, Perlmutter's voice suddenly shot up a couple of octaves. My God. That was Tsai?
There's a secret chamber off the main shaft. He left a plaque there, giving a hint to where they abandoned one of their other ships.
So it wasn't pirate loot at all. I never believed it was, but this is fantastic. Tsai Song's voyage was thought to be nothing more than a story, most likely invented in the eighteenth century as a way of claiming national pride when China was in the throes of unrest due to British meddling.
Kind of 'yLook at us, we once had an empire bigger than yours.'
Exactly. Listen, Captain Cabrillo
Juan, please.
Juan, I'm not really the person you need to be speaking with. All I know is that there was a claim that Tsai sailed to America and back sometime around the end of the 1400s. I am going to put you in touch with Tamara Wright. She's a Chinese history scholar who wrote an excellent book about Admiral Zheng's voyage to India and Africa and has pieced together a history of the Admiral Tsai legend. Can I call you in ten minutes?
Sure. Juan gave him his cell number and glanced at Max. You just witnessed history, my friend. Dirk Pitt told me that in all the years he's known Perlmutter, he's never been able to stump the man.
Not knowing St. Julian, Hanley was underwhelmed. I'll mention it next time I'm at NUMA.
Juan's phone trilled a few minutes later. Bad news, I'm afraid. Tamara's on vacation and won't be back to her office at Dartmouth until next Monday.
For reasons I can't discuss, Juan said, time might be of the essence. We only need a couple of minutes of her time.
That's just it. She's unavailable. The grad student who answered at her office said Tamara left her cell phone behind.
Do you know where she's vacationing? Maybe there's a way we can track her down.
Is it really that important? Perlmutter asked, and then spoke again before Juan could reply, Of course it is or you wouldn't have asked. She's on a Mississippi River jazz cruise aboard the Natchez Belle. I have no idea where they are right now, but you can probably get that information from the cruise line.
I'm already logging on to their website, Cabrillo said. Thank you, Mr. Perlmutter.
You can forget my crab and send me a translation of that plaque, and we'll call it even.
Done and done.
So? Max asked.
Juan spun the laptop so Hanley could see. The image on the screen was a beautiful white paddle wheeler with smoke coming from her two skinny stacks and people waving from her three wedding-cake-like decks. In the background was the famous St. Louis Arch, one of her usual ports of call.
Up for a little riverboat gambling?
I left my derringer at the safe house. Max shot his cuffs. But I should be able to find a few spare aces. Where is she now?
We can catch her in Vicksburg and get back off again in Natchez, Mississippi, Juan said, taking back the computer to book them on the overnight trip and make the flight arrangements to get them there. After that, we'll hook up with the Oregon again in Rio and either head to the assignment in South Africa or see where the Fates blow us.
You're having fun, aren't you? Max was pleased.
Apart from getting shot at and left at the bottom of a two-hundred-foot pit for a while, yeah, I am.
Hanley chuckled. You liked those parts, too.
Juan just grinned.
The Silent Sea
Chapter SEVENTEEN
THE CLOSEST LARGE AIRPORT TO VICKSBURG WAS IN Jackson, Mississippi, fifty miles to the east. The wall of humidity Cabrillo walked into when he stepped out of the terminal made him think he was back in the Amazon. The air shimmered with heat, and he couldn't seem to fill his lungs. Beads of sweat popped up on the dome of Max's balding head, and he had to mop his brow with a bandanna.