They sat down, and she told them about their attack and rescue.
After hearing her story, Ryan tented his fingers and stared off into space. "Austin is right. It's Oceanus. Vmsure of it." "Me too. I'm less sure who our rescuers were." "Austin didn't know who they were?" She shook her head. "He said no."
"Was he telling the truth?" "He may suspect who they were, but I didn't press him on that.
Kurt doesn't strike me as someone who lies."
"Well, well, my tough-minded legal counsel has a soft side after
all. You like him, don't you?" Ryan said with a foxy grin.
"I won't deny it. He's-different."
"I'm different, too, you must admit."
"That you are," she said with a smile. "That's why we're profes- sional colleagues and not lovers."
Ryan sighed theatrically. "Guess I'm fated to be a bridesmaid, never a bride."
"You'd make a hideous bride. Besides, you had your chance to be a bride. As you recall, I didn't like playing second fiddle to SOS."
"Didn't blame you. I am something of a warrior monk when it comes to the Sentinels."
"Crap! Don't give me that monk stuff. I happen to know you've got a girlfriend in every port."
"Hell, Therri, even a monk has to get out of the monastery and kick up his heels from time to time. But let's talk about your in- triguing relationship with Austin. Do you think he's smitten by your charms, enough to have him wrapped around your finger?"
"From what I've seen, Kurt doesn't wrap around anyone s finger." Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on in that tangle of plots and schemes that you call a mind?"
"Just a thought. I'd like to get NUMA on our side. We need mus- cle if we're going to tackle Oceanus."
"And if we can't get NUMA to help us?"
He shrugged. "Then we'll have to go it alone."
Therri shook her head. "We're not big enough to do that. This is not a street gang we're dealing with. They're too big and powerful. You saw how easily they sabotaged our ship. If someone like Kurt Austin is nervous, then we should pay attention. We can't risk any more lives."
"Don't underestimate SOS, Therri. Muscle isn't everything. Strength can come from knowledge."
"Don't talk in riddles, Marcus."
He smiled. "We may have a winning card. Josh Green called yes- terday. He has stumbled onto something big, and it concerns an Oceanus operation in Canada."
"What sort of operation?"
"Josh wasn't sure. It came out of Ben Nighthawk."
"The college intern in our office?" Ryan nodded. "As you know, Nighthawk is a Canadian Indian.
He's been getting these weird letters from his family in the North Woods. A corporation took over a big tract of land near their village. As a favor to Ben, Josh looked into the ownership. The land was purchased by a straw corporation set up by Oceanus."
In her excitement, Therri put aside her fears. "This may be the lead we're looking for."
"Uh-huh. I thought the same thing. Which is why I told Josh to check it out."
"You sent him up there alone?"
"He was on his way to Canada to meet Ben when he called. Night- hawk knows the lay of the land. Don't worry. They'll be careful."
Therri bit her lower lip as she thought back to the savage attack on a quiet Copenhagen street. She respected Ryan for a hundred dif- ferent reasons, but sometimes his zeal to attain a goal got in the way of his judgment.
Fear clouded her eyes. "I hope so," she murmured.
19
THE GIANT TREE trunks soared like columns in an ancient temple. Their intertwining branches blocked the sun's rays and created an artificial twilight on the forest floor. Far below the tree- tops, the dented old pickup lurched and dipped like a boat in a storm as it climbed over ropy tree roots and unyielding rocks.
Joshua Green sat on the passenger side, jouncing on the hard seat. He kept one hand above his head to cushion the impact of his skull against the interior of the truck's roof. Green was an environmental law expert with the Sentinels of the Sea. He was a sandy-haired, thin-faced man whose large, round glasses and birdlike nose made him look like an emaciated owl. He had gamely toughed out the ride without a complaint until the truck hit a bump that practically bounced him through the overhead.
"I'm feeling like a kernel in a popcorn machine," he said to the driver. "How much longer do I have to endure this torture?"
"About five minutes; then we'll start walking," Ben Nighthawk replied. "Don't blame you for getting sick of the bumpy ride. Sorry about the transportation, too. It's the best my cousin could come up with."
Green nodded in resignation and turned his attention back to the deep woods that encroached on every side. Before being assigned to SOS headquarters, he'd been part of the field operations SWAT team. He had been rammed and shot at, and he'd spent short but un- forgettable times in jails no better than medieval dungeons. He had acquired a reputation for amazing aplomb under fire, and his pro- fessorial appearance disguised a tough interior. But the unnatural darkness of his surroundings unnerved Green more than anything or anybody he had ever encountered at sea.
"The road doesn't bother me. It's these damned woodsy he said, staring out at the forest. "Damned creepy! It's the middle of the day, the sun is shining, and it's dark as Hades out there. Like something out of a Tolkien novel. Wouldn't surprise me if an Ore or an ogre
jumped out at us. Whoops, I think I just saw Shrek."
Nighthawk laughed. "I suppose the woods are a little spooky if you're not used to them." He gazed through the windshield, but in- stead of apprehension, a look of reverence bathed his round, apple- brown features. "It's different when you grow up around here. The forest and the darkness are your friends because they provide pro- tection." He paused and said wistfully, "Most of the time."
A few minutes later, Nighthawk brought the truck to a halt, and they got out and stood in the cathedral gloom. Clouds of tiny flies whirled around their heads. The powerful scent of pine was almost suffocating, but to Nighthawk it was like the finest perfume. He ab- sorbed the sights and smells with a beatific expression on his face, then he and Green donned the backpacks that carried cameras and film, survival tools, water and snacks.
Without consulting a compass, Nighthawk started walking. "This way/' he said, as confident as if he were following a dotted line on the ground.
They moved in silence across the thick carpet made up of decades of fallen pine needles, weaving their way through the tree trunks. The air was hot and oppressive, and sweat soaked their shirts within minutes. Except for clusters of ferns and moss hills, no underbrush grew beneath the trees. They made good time without bushes and briars to slow them down. As he loped after Nighthawk, Green re- flected on the path that had led him from the comfort of his air- conditioned office to this murky weald.
In addition to his duties with SOS, Green taught part-time at Georgetown University in Washington, which was where he'd met Ben Nighthawk, who was attending his class. The young Indian was in college on scholarship. He wanted to use his education to save the North Woods environment, which was threatened by development. Struck by Ben's intelligence and enthusiasm, Green had asked him to be a research assistant in the SOS office.
The lanky environmentalist and the stocky young Indian were only a few years apart in age, and they had soon become good friends as well as colleagues. Nighthawk was glad for the friendship because he infrequently made it home. His family lived on the shores of a big lake in a remote and almost inaccessible part of eastern Canada. A seaplane owned jointly by the villagers made weekly trips to the near- est town for supplies and emergencies and also carried mail back and forth.
His mother had been keeping Nighthawk up to date about a major construction project on the lake. Someone was probably build- ing a trophy lodge, Nighthawk had assumed with resignation. It was the sort of project he was determined to wage war against when he got out of college. Then, the week before, his mother had written an upsetting letter hinting at dark goings-on, and asking her son to come home as soon as he could.