Gantries and cranes hung from the ceiling to service heavy loads. Sideways-traversing machinery could move a sub to the dry side for maintenance. Austin and Zavala went around the pool to where the submarine lay in dry dock. The sub was between three hundred and four hundred feet long, Austin estimated. They climbed aboard and explored the sub from end to end. The deck behind the conning tower was of an unusual design, long and flat and recessed. They climbed the sail and opened the entry hatch. The stale smell of food, unwashed bodies and fuel issued from the opening.

As the expert on underwater vehicles, Zavala volunteered to go inside the sub while Austin stood watch. A short while later, Zavala emerged.

“Nobody home,” he said, his voice echoing in the great chamber.

“Nothing?”

“I didn't say that.” Zavala handed Austin a navy baseball cap. “I found this in a bunk room.”

Austin examined the white lettering on the front of the cap. NR-1. “This raises more questions than it answers.”

“The boat itself is less of a mystery,” Zavala said. “It's a diesel, built for a specialized purpose. No torpedoes. She's probably pretty fast on the surface, from the looks of her, and those hydroplanes on the sail would give her good maneuverability under water. The deck is modified to carry something. Cargo. Submersibles maybe.”

“Something like the NR-1?”

“Easily. But why block off the entrance doors to the pen?”

“They don't need this baby anymore. What better way to hide the evidence? Let's see if we can find the owner of this cap,” he said, tucking the cap inside his suit.

Satisfied that the sub could yield no further clues, they walked the rest of the way around the pool until they carne back to their dive gear. Railroad tracks led to a set of double steel doors about twelve feet high. Next to the doors was an entryway to allow passage without having to open and close the big doors. Zavala tried the handle.

“It's unlocked,” he said. “We're in luck.”

“Don't be too sure about that. This may be a case of the spider welcoming the flies.”

“No problem,” Zavala said, fitting the holster to the butt of his Heckler and Koch.9-mm VP70M to form a shoulder stock, giving the pistol the capability of firing three-round bursts. “I brought spider repellent.”

Austin slipped his own brand of pesticide out of its leather holster. His Ruger Redhawk, custom-built by the Bowen Classic Arms Company, was a heavy-duty revolver chambered for the.50 special cartridge. His hand was filled with grips made of snake wood, a rare South American wood. The fat barrel was only four inches long, but the gun packed a deadly wallop.