“No indication what the dustup was all about?”

He shook his head. “They put us below, and when they brought us on deck again it was night. The monster sub was back. There was a ship nearby, too. We couldn't see in the dark, but it sounded like a big one. They loaded us aboard the sub, except for the captain and pilot-same first-class accommodations. We traveled underwater, a shorter time than before. When we were allowed out, we were in a place as big as an airplane hangar.”

“That would be the sub pen. What happened to the NR-1?”

“We don't know. It was still tied up alongside the salvage vessel when we left. The captain and pilot are okay, I hope,” he said with consternation. “Why would they keep us prisoner and let them go?”

“They may have further work for the NR-1 or simply want hostages. What happened next?”

“They put us in yet another bunk room. A real dump. We were there a couple of days. Bored as hell. The only excitement was what sounded like a big explosion from somewhere below.”

“They were sealing the entrance to the sub pen.”

“Why would they do that?”

“The base had been discovered, and they wanted to make sure no one would find the evidence. The big sub used in the hijack had served its purpose. I wouldn't be surprised if they planned to plug the surface entrance later. Maybe with you inside. What was the guard situation?”

“Same bunch who kept an eye on us on the salvage ship. Military types with automatic weapons. They gave us black bread and water, and locked us in. Next thing we know, these guys with the funny hats and the baggy pants showed up. The first guards were Girl Scouts compared to this gang. They beat up a couple of the guys just for chuckles, dragged us outside and herded us into that big field. You know the rest.”

Austin looked around the room. “Any questions?”

“Did you get a glimpse of your GPS position when you were on the NR-1?” Gunn asked.

“They kept us away from the positioning gauges, then turned them off later so we couldn't see.”

“Damn shame,” Gunn said.

Laughter rippled around the room.

“Are we missing a joke?” Gunn said.

A slim blond-haired crewman in his midtwenties stood and identified himself as Seaman Ted McCormack. He passed a sheet of paper toward the table. “These are the GPS coordinates for the wreck.”

“How can you be sure?” Gunn said, reading the figures.

McCormack held out his arm and displayed what looked like an overgrown digital wristwatch. “My wife gave this to me. We got married just before I shipped out. She's got a chart back home so when I called her she could mark exactly where I was.”

“We used to kid Mac about being on a short leash,” Kreisman said. “Not anymore.”