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"We've got to find the yacht," Mercier said grimly.
Emmett looked at him. "I've already ordered a surface and air search."
"You won't find it that way," Metcalf interjected. "We're dealing with damned smart people. They're not about to leave it lying around where it can be found."
Fawcett poised his pencil in minair. "Are you saying the yacht was destroyed?"
"That may well be the case," Metcalf said, apprehension forming in his eyes. "If so, we have to be prepared to find corpses."
Oates leaned on his elbows and rubbed his face with his hands and wished he was anyplace but in that room at that moment.
"We're going to have to spread our trust," he said finally. "The best man I can think of for an underwater search is Jim Sandecker over at NUMA."
"I concur," said Fawcett. "His special project team has just wrapped tip a ticklish job off Alaska, where they found the ship responsible for winespread contamination."
"Will you brief him, Sam?" Oates asked Emmett.
"I'll go directly from here to his office."
'Veil, I guess that's it for now," Oates said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "Good or bad, we have a lead. Only God knows what we'll have after we find the Eagle." He hesitated, staring up at the blackboard. Then he said, "I don't envy the first man who steps inside."
Every MORNING, including Saturdays and Sundays, Admiral Sandecker jogged the six miles from his Watergate apartment to the NUMA headquarters building. He had just stepped out of the bathroom shower adjoining his office when his secretary's voice came over a speaker above the sink: "Admiral, Mr. Emmett is here to see you."
Sandecker was vigorously toweling his hair and he was not sure he heard the name right. "Sam Emmett, as in FBI?"
"Yes, sir. He asked to see you immediately. He says it's extremely urgent."
Sandecker saw his face turn incredulous in the mirror. The esteemed Director of the FBI did not make office calls at eight in the morning. The Washington bureaucratic game had rules. Everyone from the President on down abined by them. Emmett's unannounced visit could only mean a dire emergency.
"Send him right in."
He barely had time to throw on a terry-cloth robe, his skin still dripping, when Emmett strode through the door.
"Jim, we've got a hell of a problem." Emmett didn't bother with a preliminary handshake. He quickly lain his briefcase on Sandecker's desk, opened it and handed the admiral a folder. "Sit down and look this over, and then we'll discuss it."
Sandecker was not a man to be shoved and ordered around, but he could read the tension in Emmett's ey
es, and he did as he was asked without comment.
Sandecker studied the contents of the folder for nearly ten minutes without speaking. Emmett sat on the other side of the desk and looked for an expression of shock or anger. There was none.
Sandecker remained enigmatic. At last he closed the folder and said simply, "How can I help?"
"Find the Eagle."
"You think they sank her?"
"An air and surface search has turned up nothing."
"All right, I'll get my best people on it." Sandecker made a movement toward his intercom. Emmett raised his hand in a negative gesture.
"I don't have to describe the chaos if this leaks out."
"I've never lied to my staff before."
"You'll have to keep them in the dark on this one."
Sandecker gave a curt nod and spoke into the intercom. "Sylvia, please get Pitt on the phone."
