"Like Shane? No, I'm not quite ready for that. I'm off to Bali in a few days to see if SOS can stop the illegal trade in sea turtles. Then I've got to help with a sea lion rescue in South Africa and see what we can do about poaching in the Galapagos Marine Reserve. In be- tween, I'll be raising funds to replace the Sentinel

“An ambitious schedule. Good luck.”

“I'll need it.” Ryan checked his watch. “Sorry to run, but I've got to line up the troops.”

They walked back to the parking lot, where they shook hands once more.

“I understand you're seeing Therri later this week.” “We're having dinner, as soon as we crawl out from our office work.”

“I promise not to interrupt you the way I did back in Copen- hagen.”

“Don't worry,” Austin said. He glanced at the sky, a mysterious smile on his lips. “Where I'm taking Therri for dinner this time, no one will interrupt us.”

NUMA 4 - White Death

41

MAY I POUR you more champagne, mademoiselle?" the waiter said.

“Thank you,” Therri said with a smile. “I'd like that.” The waiter refilled the fine crystal champagne glass and gave the bottle of Moot a professional twist. Then, with a click of his heels, he walked back to his station, ready to be summoned with the slightest hike of an eyebrow. He was impeccably dressed, his black hair was slicked back with shiny pomade, and a pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip. He possessed the perfect attitude, a bored detachment combined with undivided attention.

“He's wonderful,” Therri whispered. “Where did you get him?” “Straight from the Orient Express,” Austin said. Seeing the doubt in Therri's face, he added, "I confess. I borrowed him from NUMA food services. He worked as a maTtre d' at La Tour d'Argent in Paris before Sandecker hired him away to organize the NUMA dining room.

“He's done an outstanding job organizing our dinner,” she said. They were sitting at a table for two. The tablecloth was white starched linen. The dishes and silverware were Art Deco. Dress was formal. Therri wore a knockout strapless black evening dress, and Austin had replaced the tux he'd ruined in the Washington dogsled race. She nodded in the direction of a string quartet that was play- ing Mozart in the background. “I suppose the musicians are from the National Symphony Orchestra.”

Austin's mouth widened in a sheepish grin. “They're friends from the NUMA engineering division who get together on weekends. Quite good, aren't they?”

“Yes. And so was dinner. I don't know who your chef was, but-” She paused, catching the look in Austin's eye. “Don't tell me. The chef was NUMA, too.”

“No. He's a friend of mine, St. Julien Perlmutter. He insisted on cooking for us tonight. I'll introduce you later.”