Unlike his colleague Dirk Pitt, who collected antique autos and relished driving them, Austin was indifferent when it came to ground transportation. Driving a sedan from the NUMA car pool, nondescript except for its turquoise color, he headed to Langley, along a route he knew well from his days with the CIA, and parked his car next to dozens of other government vehicles. Security at the sprawl- ing complex was tighter since 9/11.

Herinan Perez, whom he had called earlier, was waiting in the vis- itors' area. Perez was a slightly built man with an olive complexion and dark-brown eyes that matched his thinning hair. Perez helped speed the check-in process through security and led Austin through the labyrinth of corridors to an office uncluttered by a scrap of paper. The only objects on the desktop were a computer monitor, a tele- phone and a photo of an attractive woman and two cute children.

“Kurt, it's great to see you!” Perez said, motioning for Austin to sit down. “Thinking of jumping Sandecker's ship to come back into the Company? We'd love to have you. The cloak-and-dagger stuff you're so good at has become respectable at Langley once again.”

“Admiral Sandecker might have something to say about that. But I'll have to admit that I still get misty-eyed when I think about the fun we had on our last job.”

“The secret missile retrieval job we did off Gibraltar,” Perez said with a boyish grin. “Oh boy, that was something.”

“I was thinking about that on the drive over this morning. How long has it been?”

“Too damned long. You know something, Kurt, I still hear little flamenco dancers in my head whenever I drink Spanish wine.” A dreamy look came into Perez's face. “By God, we had some good times, didn't we?”

Austin nodded in agreement. “The world has changed a lot since then.”

Perez laughed in reply. “Not for you, old pal! Hell, I read about that amazing rescue you pulled off in the Faroe Islands. You haven't changed a bit, you old sea dog. Still the same swashbuckling Austin.”

Austin groaned. “These days, for every minute swashing buckles, I spend an hour at my desk dealing with reports.”

“I hear you! I could do without the paperwork, although I've got- ten to like my nine-to-five schedule since I became a father. Two kids, would you believe it? Being a desk jockey isn't all bad. You might want to try it.”

“No, thanks. I'd rather have my eyeballs tattooed.”

Perez laughed. “Well, you didn't come here to talk about the good ol' days. You said on the phone that you were looking for background info on Balthazar Aguirrez. What's your interest in him, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Not at all. I ran into Aguirrez in the Faroe Islands. He seemed like a fascinating character. I know he's a shipbuilding magnate, but I suspected there was more to him than meets the eye.”

“You met him?”