Zavala's smile faded and a pained expression came onto his darkly handsome features, as Austin laid out his plans for Joe's immediate future. With a mighty sigh, he replaced the phone, looked soulfully into the dreamy and compliant blue eyes of his date and said, “I'm afraid I've got bad news. My grandmother just died.”

WHILE ZAVALA TRIED to cushion his date's disappointment with an improvised list of outrageous promises, Paul Trout's six-foot-eight figure was bent like a praying mantis over a lab counter at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in Massachusetts, examining mud samples from the deepest parts of the Atlantic Ocean. Although the work was potentially messy, Trout's white lab coat was spotless. He wore one of his trademark bright bow ties, and his light brown hair was parted down the middle and combed back at the temples.

Trout grew up in Woods Hole, where his father was a Cape Cod fisherman, and he returned to his roots whenever he got the chance. He had developed friendships with many of the scientists at the world-renowned institute and often lent them his skills as a deep-ocean geologist.

Trout's intense concentration was broken by the sound of his name being called. Keeping his head lowered to the sample, he peered upward and saw a lab tech standing there.

“Call just came in for you, Dr. Trout,” she said, handing him a phone. Trout's mind was still on the ocean bottom, and when he heard Austin's voice he assumed the head of the Special Assignments Team was at NUMA headquarters.

“Kurt, are you already back home?”

“Actually, I'm calling from Istanbul, where you'll be in twenty-four hours. I've got a job for you in the Black Sea.”

Trout blinked his hazel eyes. “Istanbul. The Black Sea?” His reaction was the complete opposite of Zavala's. “I've always wanted to work there. My colleagues will be green with envy.”

“How soon can you leave?”

“I'm up to my ears in mud, but I can leave for Washington immediately.”

There was silence at the other end of the line as Austin pictured Trout in a pool of muck. Austin was used to Trout's Yankee eccentricities and decided he didn't want to know the details. He simply said, “Could you pass this along to Gamay?”

“Finestkind, Cap,” Trout said, using an old fisherman's expression that spoke for itself. “See you tomorrow.”