A smell like burning rope assaulted Austin's nostrils. Wrinkling his nose, he lowered the Stabiscope and turned to see Captain Kemal. The captain removed the twisted black cigar from between his tobacco-stained teeth and jabbed it toward the shore.

“How does it look, Mr. Austin?”

“As quiet as a grave, Captain.”

“I don't think I like it quiet like that.” He exhaled twin streams of smoke through his crooked nose. “When I smuggled, I never liked a beach that was calm like this. Not even birds flying. You sure you want to go there now?”

“Unfortunately, we don't have much choice. I was hoping the fog would burn off, though.”

Kemal squinted toward shore. “Another hour. Two, maybe.”

“That's too long. We'll move soon.”

The captain waved his cigar in the air, discharging a shower of sparks. “The men are ready when you say.”

Austin nodded, thinking about the conversation he'd had with Kemal on the trip from Istanbul. Austin had asked the captain if he knew the Russian sailor who'd sold Kaela Dorn the map that led her to the sub base.

“His name is Valentin,” the captain had replied, with no hesitation. “The other fishermen use him when they need an extra hand. Miss Dorn paid him too much money for this big 'secret,' ” he said, with a sad shake of his head. “All the fishermen know about the submarines.”

“People knew there was a base here?”

“Sure.” Kemal's thin lips had widened in a knowing grin. “Fishermen know everything. We watch the weather, the water, birds, other boats.” He tapped the corner of an eye with his forefinger. “If you don't keep a lookout, you're going to be in trouble.”

Kemal's revelation was no surprise to Austin. He often worked with fishermen on NUMA assignments and found them to be keen observers of conditions under, on and above the sea. A fisherman had to be a combination biologist, meteorologist, mechanic and mariner. Their livelihood, their very lives, depended on their store of practical knowledge. As a former smuggler, Kemal would have been more vigilant than the average fisherman.

“How long did you fish these waters?” Austin asked.

“Many years. In the old days, you would see many boats from allover. Turkish, Russian, sometimes even Bulgarian. The fishing is good. Big schools of bonito come in close to feed. Nobody bothers us. Then one day the Russians come with patrol boats and men with machine guns. They tell the fishermen this is a science station. They will kill anyone who gets too close. Some fishermen didn't believe them and got shot, so the rest of us stayed away. We work offshore, where nobody bothers us. Sometimes the fishermen see periscopes. Once a big black fin came up near my boat.”

“A submarine conning tower?”