“What do you know about your father's job?”

“He was a veteran pilot. He was hired by Avion Corporation, the company Northrop set up to manufacture flying wings, although he was still in the Air Force. Dad had several close calls. The wing design was a great concept, but with the materials and the know-how at the time, flying the prototypes was risky business. That's why nobody was surprised when his plane crashed.”

“You were very young, but do you remember anything he said?”

“Not much. My mother told me he loved to fly those contraptions, that he said they were going to revolutionize aviation. He seemed quite excited about his assignments. At one point he disappeared for a period of weeks. No communication, no contact except in the direst emergency. Mom said that when he came home she said something about his sunburn. He laughed and said it was more like snow burn, but he never explained what he meant.”

“Did he leave any papers, a journal or diary?”

“Nothing I know of. I remember after he died that a bunch of Air Force people came to the house. They might have taken whatever he had written. Does any of this help?”

Austin thought about his conversation with Fred Miller at Grabber, particularly the mention of early stealth aircraft technology. “My guess is that your father was training for a secret mission in the north.” “That was fifty years ago. Why still keep it secret?”

“Secrets have a way of justifying themselves beyond the point of necessity.”

Miller looked out over the shady yard. “The worst thing is knowing that my father could have been alive all those years.” He turned back to Austin. “Maybe he's still alive. He'd be in his eighties.”

“It's possible. It also means that there might be someone out there who knows the real story.”

“I'd like the truth to come out, Mr. Austin. Can you help me?”

“I'll do what I can.”

They talked further. Before parting they exchanged phone numbers. Austin vowed he would call if he learned anything. He started back for Washington. Like any good detective he had knocked on doors and used up some shoe leather, but this puzzle was too old, too complex for ordinary methods. It was time to see NUMA's computer whiz, Hiram Yaeger.

NUMA 2 - Blue Gold

CHAPTER 19

The Indian village was a marvel of city planning. Strolling along the network of hard-packed earthen paths that connected the thatched huts, the Trouts could almost forget that their entourage included a mysterious and beautiful white goddess in a jaguar-skin bikini and a silent escort of six armed Chulo Indians painted the color of an executive jet.

Francesca led the procession. The warriors, three on either side, kept pace a respectable spear's length away. Francesca stopped near the big well in the village center. Indian women were filling pots with water while gangs of naked children happily chased each other around their mothers' legs. Francesca beamed with obvious pride.