“What does it prove?” Marganin asked.

“It proves nothing, but it suggests that the Novaya Zemlya patrol guard was murdered and the agent responsible escaped, most likely rendezvoused with the First Attempt. It suggests that the United States is up to something when a NUMA research ship deviates from her planned schedule without explanation.”

“What could they possibly be after?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion.” Prevlov leaned back in his chair and smoothed his mustache. “Have the satellite photos enlarged of the immediate area at the time of the event in question.”

The evening shadows were darkening the streets outside the office windows when Lieutenant Marganin spread the photo blowups on Prevlov’s desk and handed him a high-powered magnifying glass.

“Your perceptiveness paid off, sir. We have something interesting here.”

Prevlov intently studied the pictures. “I see nothing unusual about the ship; typical research equipment, no military-detection hardware in evidence.”

Marganin pointed at a wide-angle photo that barely revealed a ship as a small white mark on the emulsion. “Please note the small shape about two thousand meters from the First Attempt in the upper-right corner.”

Prevlov peered through the glass for almost a full half minute. “A helicopter!”

“Yes, sir, that’s why I was late with the enlargements. I took the liberty of having the photos analyzed by Section R.”

“One of our Army security patrols, I imagine.”

“No, sir.”

Prevlov’s brows raised. “Are you suggesting that it belong to the American vessel?”

“That’s their guess, sir.” Marganin placed two more pictures in front of Prevlov. “They examined earlier photos from another reconnaissance satellite. As you can see by comparing them, the helicopter is flying on a course away from Novaya Zemlya toward the First Attempt. They judged its altitude at ten feet and its speed at less than fifteen knots.”

“Obviously avoiding our radar security,” Prevlov said.

“Do we alert our agents in America?” said Marganin.

“No, not yet. I don’t want to risk their cover until we are certain what it is the Americans are after.”

He straightened the photographs and slipped them neatly into a folder, then looked at his Omega wristwatch. “I’ve just time for a light supper before the ballet. Do you have anything else, Lieutenant?”

“Only the file on the Lorelei Current Drift Expedition. The American deep-sea submersible was last reported in fifteen thousand feet of water off the coast of Dakar.”

Prevlov stood up, took the file and shoved it under his arm. “I’ll study it when I get a chance. Probably nothing in it that concerns naval security. Still, it should make good reading. Leave it to the Americans to come up with strange and wonderful projects.”

<<5>>

“Damn, damn, double damn!” Dana hissed. “Look at the crow’s-feet coming in around my eyes.” She sat at her dressing table and stared dejectedly at her reflection in the mirror. “Who was it who said old age is a form of leprosy?”

Seagram came up behind her, pulled back her hair, and kissed the soft, exposed neck. “Thirty-one on your last birthday and already you’re running for senior citizen of the month.”