NUMA 2 - Blue Gold

CHAPTER 37

The night shift guard was having a cigarette at the end of the Valhalla pier when his relief man arrived and asked for a report. The swarthy ex-Marine squinted out at the sun-sparkled lake and flicked the butt into the water. “It's been busier'n a one-legged man at a kick-ass contest,” he replied in an Alabama drawl. “Choppers coming and going all night.”

The relief guard, a former Green Beret, looked up at the whup-whup sound of an approaching helicopter. “Looks like more guests are arriving.”

“What's going on?” the Alabaman said. “I don't hear much working nights and sleeping days.”

“Bunch of big shots are coming in for a meeting. We got the full crew on, and security around the compound's tight as a tick's ass.” He glanced toward the lake. “There's the ol' Tahoe Queen, right on time.”

He brought his binoculars up and focused on the stern wheeler as it crawled toward the north end of the lake. The Tahoe Queen looked like something out of Showboat. The boat was painted white, like vanilla frosting, with light blue trim that marked the divide between the enclosed first and second decks. Two tall black smoke stacks were located at the front. The paddle wheels that churned up the placid lake water and gave the boat its forward motion were painted fire-engine red. The top deck rail was overhung with red, white, and blue bunting. Flags fluttered in the breeze.

“Hmm,” the guard said, surveying the deck. “Not many tourists aboard today.”

The guard would have been less sanguine if he knew the same coral-green eyes that had scrutinized him the day before from the parasail were watching him again. Austin stood inside the pilothouse that was perched like a cigar box on the top for ward deck. He was studying the guards and assessing their state of alertness. Austin could see that the men were armed, but their lackadaisical posture suggested a bored attitude.

The boat's captain, a weathered lake veteran from Emerald Bay, was at the helm. “Want me to drop the Queen's speed down a couple of knots?” the captain asked.

The paddle wheeler was a charming anachronism built more for comfort than for speed. Any slower and it would stop, Austin thought. “I'd keep it steady, captain. Launch shouldn't be a problem.” He checked out the pier again and saw that one of the guards was leaving and the other ducked into the shade of a shelter. Austin hoped the man would take a nap.

He extended his hand. “Thanks for your cooperation, captain. Hope we didn't disappoint your regular customers by chartering your boat at the last minute.”

“I just drive this old girl back and forth no matter who's on it. Besides, this is a lot more exciting than a boatload of day trippers.”

The captain's excitement had come at a price. The boat line was reluctant to lose a day's revenue, and it took deep pockets and high-level calls from Washington to persuade it to charter the paddle wheeler for official business.