"Why NUMA?"

"The contamination is on dry land. No need for an underwater salvage job. My crew and I can pack up and head for home."

Her helmet nodded imperceptibly. "A neat sidestep, Mr. Pitt, dropping the problem straight into the Army's lap."

"Do they know?" he asked seriously.

"Alaskan Command was alerted seconds after you'reported discovering the Pilottown. A chemical warfare disposal team is on its way from the mainland to remove the agent."

"The world applauds efficiency."

"It's not important to you, is it?"

"Of course it's important," Pitt said. "But my job is finished, and unless you have another spill and more dead bodies, I'm going home."

"Talk about a hard-nosed cynic."

"Say Yes."

She felt trapped, impaled, and was annoyed with herself for enjoying it.

She answered before she could form a negative thought. "Yes."

The men in the hold stopped their work amin enough poison to kill half the earth's population and clapped muted gloves together, cheering and whistling into their transmitters. She suddenly realized that her stock had shot up on the Dow Jones. Men admired a woman who could ramrod a dirty job and not be a bitch.

Later, Dover found Pitt thoughtfully studying a small open hatchway, shining his flashlight inside. The glow diminished into the darkness within, reflecting on dull sparkles on the oil-slicked water rippling from the cargo hold.

"Got something in mind?" Dover asked.

"Thought I'd do a little exploring," Pitt answered.

"You won't get far in there."

"Where does it lead?"

"Into the shaft tunnel, but it's flooded nearly to the roof.

You'd need air tanks to get through."

Pitt swung his light up the forward bulkhead until it spot lighted a small hatch at the top of a lander. "How about that one?"

"Should open into cargo hold four."

Pitt merely nodded and began scaling the rusty rungs of the lander, closely followed by Dover. He muscled the dog latches securing the hatch, swung it open and clambered down into the next hold, again followed by Dover. A quick traverse of their lights told them it was bone empty.

"The ship must have been traveling in ballast," Pitt speculated out loud.

"It would appear so," said Dover.

"Now where?"

"Up one more lander to the alleyway that runs between the fresh water tanks into the ship's storerooms."

Slowly they made their way through the bowels of the Pilottown, feeling like gravediggers probing a cemetery at midnight. Around every corner they half expected to find the skeletons of the crew.

But there were no bones. The creNVs living quarters should have looked like an anniversary sale at Macy's-clothes, personal belongings, everything that should have been strewn about by a crew hastily abandoning ship. Instead, the pitch-black interior of the Pilottown looked like the tunnels and chambers of a desert cavern.

All that was missing were the bats.

The food lockers were bare. No dishes or cups lined the shelves of the crew mess. Even the toilets lacked paper. Fire extinguishers, door latches, furnishings, anything that could be unbolted or was of the slightest value was gone.