When I discussed this problem with Sidney, he came up with a brilliant solution: "Tomorrow we'll pull up the anchor and head to the search area Promptly at six o'clock in the morning." There was groaning in the ranks, but they all agreed that if we were to accomplish anything we had to get off the mark early.

The shore team showed up at the dock promptly at 5:30- Solid Walt Schob was already there with the boat, standing by to ferry us to the Keltic Lord. Poor Marty Klein looked as miserable as a lobster in the desert. Gary Kozak had one of the worst hangovers I'd ever seen. It was not a pretty sight.

When we reached the boat, after groping our way through a thick fog, we boarded and found the decks devoid of life. The crew, the British dive team, and Sidney Wignall were all sound asleep, no doubt with visions of Yorkshire pudding dancing in their heads.

Eyes brimming with malice and undisguised contempt for those who hadn't suffered as we had, I stormed into the crew's quarters, kicked Wignall's door off its hinges, and yelled, "If this boat isn't underway in ten minutes, I'm tying you to the propeller!"

I'll give Sidney credit. He showed great depth of understanding.

The anchor clanked up, the ancient engine coughed up a cloud of black smoke through its stack, and the bow cut the water in eight minutes flat.

The wreck that Sidney thought might be the Bonhomme Richard turned out to be a cargo ship sunk by a German U-boat during World War I. And so the curtain came down on my introduction to the intrigue and adventure of hunting for shipwrecks.

Six months later, I was saddened to learn that the Keltic Lord, along with its entire crew, vanished without a trace in the North Sea during a winter storm. I'll bet the pubs in the seaport city of Hull haven't been the same since Gonzo's been gone.

Much to everyone's surprise, I got up off the mat and came out for the second round. I organized another expedition for the following year. Wayne Gronquist, Austin, Texas, attorney and eventual president of NUMA, suggested that for tax purposes we should incorporate as a nonprofit foundation. Wayne filed the papers in Austin, and we became a Texas not-for-profit corporation. Early on, the trustees wanted to call it the Clive Cussler Foundation. Humble Herbert I ain't. But my ego isn't quite that monstrous. I nixed the idea. So they decided it would be humorous to name it after the government agency that employs the hero in my books, Dirk Pitt. I was outvoted and the National Underwater & Marine Agency was born. Now I could say, "Yes, Virginia, there really is a NUMA, a NUMA dedicated to preserving American marine heritage by locating and identifying lost ships of historic significance before they are gone forever."