“Why the departure from more, uh, conventional submersible models, like the saucer, torpedo, or bulbous shape?”

“Apart from the challenge, I wanted something I could use on NUMA assignments that would be fun to drive.”

“Will this thing work?”

“Field trials have gone well. I’ve designed a complete vehicle transport, launch, and recovery system too. The prototype is on its way to Turkey. I’m going over in a week to help out with an underwater archaeological dig of an old port they found in Istanbul.”

“A week should give us plenty of time.”

“Time for what?” Zavala said, suddenly wary.

Austin handed Zavala a science magazine that was open to an article describing the work of a ship that lassoed and towed icebergs threatening Newfoundland oil and gas rigs.

“How would you like to join me on a cruise to Iceberg Alley?”

Zavala scanned the magazine article.

“I don’t know, Kurt. Sounds mighty cold. Cabo might be more appealing to my warm-blooded Mexican American nature.”

Austin gave Zavala a look of disgust. “C’mon, Joe. What would you be doing in Cabo? Lying on the beach sipping margaritas. Watching the sun set with your arm around a beautiful señorita. Same old same old. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Actually, my friend, I was thinking of watching the sun come up as I sang my señorita love songs.”

“You’d be pressing your luck,” Austin said with a snort. “Don’t forget, I’ve heard you sing.”

Zavala harbored no illusions about his singing voice, which tended to be off-key. “Good point,” he said with a sigh.

Austin picked up the magazine. “I don’t want to push you into this, Joe.”

Zavala knew from past experience that his colleague didn’t push; he leaned. “That will be the day.”

Austin smiled and said, “If you’re interested, I need a quick decision. We’d leave tomorrow. I just got the okay. What do you say?”

Zavala rose from his chair and gathered up his submersible diagrams. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Where are you going?”

Zavala headed for the door.

“Home. So I can pack my flannel jockstrap and a bottle of tequila.”

NUMA 7 - The Navigator

Chapter 5

NEAR MA’ARIB, YEMEN

“DOWN THERE, MISTER, is tomb of queen.”

The wizened Bedouin jabbed the air, his bony finger pointing to a fissure about a yard wide and two feet high in the side of the pockmarked limestone hill. The rough-edged layers of strata above and below the opening were like lips afflicted with a bad case of trench mouth.

Anthony Saxon got down on his hands and knees and peered into the hole. He pushed aside thoughts of poisonous snakes and spiders, unwound his turban, and pulled off his beige desert robe to reveal long pants and a shirt. He flicked on a flashlight, probed the darkness with its beam, and took a deep breath.