"As of yesterday," she lectured, "the Navy's aircraft carrier Roosevelt was docked at Pearl Harbor, taking on supplies and making repairs to one of her flight-deck elevators before joining the Tenth Fleet off Indonesia."
Gunn looked at her curiously. "You know that for certain?"
Molly smiled sweetly. "I keep my toes dipped in the offices of the Joint Chiefs."
"I know what you're thinking," said Sandecker. "But without a reflector, I fail to see how a carrier at Pearl Harbor can solve our dilemma."
"The carrier is a side bonus," explained Molly. "My primary thought was a recollection of an assignment at a satellite information collection center on the Hawaiian island of Lanai."
"I didn't know Lanai had a satellite facility," said Yaeger. "My wife and I honeymooned on Lanai and drove all over the island without seeing a satellite downlink facility."
"The buildings and parabolic reflector are inside the extinct Palawai volcano. Neither the natives, who always wondered what was going on in there, nor the tourists could ever get close enough to check it out."
"Besides tuning in on passing satellites," asked Ames, "what was its purpose?"
"Passing Soviet satellites," Molly corrected him. "Fortunately, the former Soviet military chiefs had a fetish for guiding their spy satellites over the military bases on the Hawaiian Islands after they orbited the U.S. mainland. Our job was to penetrate their transponders with powerful microwave signals and foul up their intelligence photos. From what the CIA was able to gather, the Russians never did figure out why their satellite reconnaissance photos always came back blurred and out of focus. About the time the Communist government disintegrated, newer space communications facilities made the Palawai facility redundant. Because of its immense size, the antenna was later utilized to transmit and receive signals from deep-space probes. Now I understand that its dated technology has made the facility's equipment obsolete, and the site, though still guarded, is pretty much abandoned."
Yaeger jumped right to the heart of the matter. "How large is the parabolic reflector?"
Molly buried her head in her hands a moment before looking up. "I seem to recall that it was eighty meters in diameter."
"More than the surface area we require," said Ames. "Do you think the NSA will let us borrow it?"
asked Sandecker.
"They'd probably pay you to carry it away."
"You'll have to dismantle it and airlift the pieces to' Pearl Harbor," said Ames, "providing you can borrow the carrier Roosevelt to reassemble and lower it on the convergence area."
Sandecker looked squarely at Molly. "I'll use my powers of persuasion with the Navy Department if you'd work on the National Security Agency end."
"I'll get on it immediately," Molly assured him.
A balding man with rimless glasses, sitting near the end of the table, raised a hand.
Sandecker nodded at him and smiled. "You've been pretty quiet, Charlie. Something must be stirring around in your brain."
Dr. Charlie Bakewell, NUMA's chief undersea geologist, removed a wad of gum from his mouth and neatly wrapped it in paper before dropping it in a wastebasket. He nodded at the image of Dr. Ames in the holograph. "As I understand this thing, Dr. Ames, the sound energy alone can't destroy human tissue, but enhanced by the resonance coming from the rock chamber which is under assault by the acoustic mining equipment, its frequency is reduced so that it can propagate over vast distances. When it overlaps in a single ocean region, the sound is intense enough to damage human tissue."
"You're essentially correct," admitted Ames.
"So if you reflect the overlapping convergence zones back through the ocean, won't some energy reflect from Gladiator Island?"
Ames nodded. "Quite true. As long as the energy force strikes the submerged level of the island without surfacing and is scattered in diverse directions, any prospect of carnage is dramatically decreased."
"It's the moment of impact against the island that concerns me," said Bakewell conversationally. "I've reviewed the geological surveys on Gladiator Island by geologists hired by Dorsett Consolidated Mining nearly fifty years ago. The volcanoes on the opposite ends of the island are not extinct but dormant. They have been dormant for less than seven hundred years. No human was present during the last eruption, but scientific analysis of the lava rock dates it some time in the middle of the twelfth century. The ensuing years have been followed by alternating periods of passivity and minor seismic disturbances."
"What is your point, Charlie?" asked Sandecker.
"My point, Admiral, is that if a catastrophic force of acoustical energy slams into the base of Gladiator Island it just might set off a seismic disaster."
"An eruption?" asked Gunn.
Bakewell merely nodded.
"What in your estimation are the odds of this happening?" inquired Sandecker.
"There is no way of absolutely predicting any level of seismic or volcanic activity, but I know a qualified vulcanologist who will give you a bet of one in five."
"One chance of eruption out of five," Ames said, his holographic image gazing at Sandecker. "I am afraid, Admiral, that Dr. Bakewell's theory puts our project into the category of unacceptable risk."
Sandecker did not hesitate a second with his reply. "Sorry, Dr. Ames, but the lives of a million or more residents of Honolulu, along with tens of thousands of tourists and military personnel stationed at bases around Oahu, take priority over 650 miners."
"Can't we warn Dorsett Consolidated management to evacuate the island?" said Yaeger.
"We have to try," Sandecker said firmly. "But knowing Arthur Dorsett, he'll simply shrug off any warning off as a hollow threat."
"Suppose the acoustic energy is deflected elsewhere?" suggested Bakewell.
Ames looked doubtful. "Once the intensity deviates from its original path, you run the risk of it retaining its full energy and striking Yokohama, Shanghai, Manila, Sydney or Auckland, or some other heavily populated coastal city."
There was a brief silence as everyone in the room turned to face Sandecker, including Ames, who was sitting at a desk thirty-two hundred kilometers to the west. Abstractedly, Sandecker toyed with an unlit cigar. What most did not know was that his mind wasn't on the possible destruction of Gladiator Island.
His mind was saddened and angered at the same time over the abandonment of his best friends in a raging sea by Arthur Dorsett. In the end, hate won out over any humane consideration.
He stared at the image of Sanford Ames. "Compute your calculations, Doc, for aiming the reflector at Gladiator Island. If we don't stop Dorsett Consolidated, and stop them in the shortest time possible, no one else will."
Arthur Dorsett's private elevator in the jewelry trade center rose noiselessly. The only evidence of ascent was the progression of blinking floor levels over the doors. When the car eased to a gentle stop at the penthouse suite, Gabe Strouser stepped out into an entryway that led to the open courtyard where Dorsett stood waiting to greet him.
Strouser did not relish his meeting with the diamond maverick. They had known each other since they were children. The close association between the Strousers and the Dorsetts had lasted well over a century, until Arthur cut off any future dealings with Strouser & Sons. The break was not amicable.
Dorsett coldly ordered his attorneys to inform Gabe Strouser that his family's services were no longer required. The axe fell, not with a personal confrontation but over the telephone. It was an insult that badly stung Strouser, and he never forgave Dorsett.
To save his family's venerable old firm, Strouser had switched his allegiance to the cartel in South Africa, eventually moving his company headquarters from Sydney to New York. In time he rose to become a respected director of the board. Because the cartel was barred from doing business in the United States due to national antitrust laws, they operated behind the coattails of the respected diamond merchants of Strouser & Sons, who acted as their American arm.
He would not be here now i
f the other board directors had not panicked at the rumors of Dorsett Consolidated Mining's threat to bury the market in an avalanche of stones at sharply discounted prices.
They had to act decisively and fast if they were to avert a disaster. A deeply scrupulous man, Strouser was the only cartel member the board of directors could trust to persuade Dorsett not to shatter the established price levels of the market.
Arthur Dorsett stepped forward and shook Strouser's hand vigorously. "It's been a long time, Gabe, too long.
"Thank you for seeing me, Arthur." Strouser's tone was patronizing, but with an indelible tinge of aversion. "As I recall, your attorneys ordered me never to contact you again."
Dorsett shrugged indifferently. "Water under the bridge. Let's forget it happened and talk old times over lunch." He motioned to a table, set under an arbor shielded by bulletproof glass, with a magnificent view of Sydney's harbor.
The complete opposite of the crude, earthy mining tycoon, Strouser was a strikingly attractive man in his early sixties. With a thick head of well-groomed silver hair, a narrow face with high cheekbones and finely shaped nose that would be the envy of most Hollywood movie actors, he was trim and athletically built with evenly tanned skin, several centimeters shorter than the hulking Dorsett, he had dazzling white teeth and a friendly mouth. He gazed at Dorsett through the blue-green eyes of a cat ready to spring away from the attack of a neighbor's dog.
His suit was beautifully cut of the finest wool, conservative but with a few subtle touches that made him look fashionably up-to-date. The tie was expensive silk, the shoes custom-made Italian and polished just short of a mirror shine. His cuff links, contrary to what people expected, were not diamonds but made from opals.
He was mildly surprised at the friendly reception. Dorsett seemed to be playing a character in a bad play. Strouser had expected an uncomfortable confrontation. He certainly had not anticipated being indulged. He no sooner sat down than Dorsett motioned to a waiter, who lifted a bottle of champagne from a sterling-silver ice bucket and poured Strouser's glass. He noted with some amusement that Dorsett simply drank from a bottle of Castlemaine beer.
"When the cartel's high muck-a-mucks said they were sending a representative to Australia for talks,"
said Dorsett, "it never occurred to me they would send you."
"Because of our former long-standing association, the directors thought I could read your mind. So they asked me to inquire about a rumor circulating within the trade that you are about to sell stones cheaply in an effort to corner the market. Not industrial-grade diamonds, mind you, but quality gem stones."
"Where did you hear that?"
"You head an empire of thousands, Arthur. Leaks from disgruntled employees are a way of life."
"I'll have my security people launch an investigation. I don't cotton to traitors, not on my payroll."
"If what we hear has substance, the diamond market is facing a profound crisis," explained Strouser.
"My mission is to make you a substantial offer to keep your stones out of circulation."
"There is no scarcity of diamonds, Gabe, there never was. You know you can't buy me. A dozen cartels couldn't keep my stones out of circulation."
"You've been foolish for operating outside the Central Selling Organization, Arthur. You've lost millions by not cooperating."
"A long-term investment is about to pay enormous dividends," Dorsett said irrefutably.
"Then it's true?" Strouser asked casually. "You've been stockpiling for the day when you could turn a fast profit."
Dorsett looked at him and smiled, showing his yellowed teeth. "Of course it's true. All except for the part about a fast profit."
"I'll give you credit, Arthur, you're candid."
"I have nothing to hide, not now."
"You cannot continue to go your own way as if the network didn't exist. Everybody loses."
"Easy for you and your pals at the cartel to say when you hold monopolistic control over world diamond production."
"Why exploit the market on a whim?" said Strouser, "Why systematically cut each other's throat? Why disrupt a stable and prosperous industry?"
Dorsett held up a hand to interrupt. He nodded to the waiter, who served a lobster salad from a cart.
Then he stared at Strouser steadily.
"I am not operating on a whim. I have over a hundred metric tons of diamonds stored in warehouses around the world, with another ten tons ready to ship from my mines as we speak. A few days from now, when fifty percent of them are cut and faceted, I intend to sell them through the House of Dorsett retail stores at ten dollars a carat, on average. The rough stones, I'll sell to dealers at fifty cents a carat.
When I'm finished, the market will tumble and diamonds will lose their luster as a luxury and an investment."
Strouser was stunned. His earlier impression was that Dorsett's marketing strategy was for a temporary dip in prices to make a quick profit. Now he saw the enormity of the grand design. "You'll impoverish thousands of retailers and wholesalers, yourself included. What can you possibly gain by putting a rope around your neck and kicking over the stool?"
Dorsett ignored his salad, swilled his beer and gestured for another before continuing. "I'm sitting where the cartel has sat for a hundred years. They control eighty percent of the world's diamond market.
I control eighty percent of the world's colored gemstone market."
Strouser felt as if he were teetering on a trapeze. "I had no idea you owned so many colored gemstone mines."
"Neither does anyone else. You're the first outside my family to know. It was a long and tedious process, involving dozens of interlocking corporations. I bought into every one of the major colored stone producing mines in the world. After I orchestrate the demise of diamond values, I plan to move colored stones into the limelight at discounted prices, thereby spiraling the demand. Then I slowly raise the retail price, take the profits and expand."
"You always were a snatch and trash artist, Arthur. But even you can't destroy what took a century to build."
"Unlike the cartel, I don't plan to suppress competition at the retail level. My stores will compete fairly."
"You are making a fight nobody can win. Before you can collapse the diamond market, the cartel will break you. We'll use every international financial and political maneuver ever devised to stop you in your tracks."
"You're blowin' in the wind, mate," Dorsett came back heatedly. "Gone are the days when buyers have to grovel in your high-and-mighty selling offices in London and Johannesburg. Gone are the days of licking boots to be a registered buyer who has to take what you offer him. No more sneaking through back streets to bypass your well-oiled machinery to purchase uncut stones. No more will international police and your hired security organizations fight sham battles with people you label criminals because they engage in your artificially created myth of smuggling and selling on what your little playmates have concocted as the great and terrible illicit diamond market. No more restrictions to create an enormous demand. You've brainwashed governments into passing laws that confine diamond traffic to your channels and your channels only. Laws that forbid a man or woman from legitimately selling a rough stone they found in their own backyard. Now, at long last, the illusion of diamonds as a valued object is only days away from being pronounced dead."
"You cannot outspend us," said Strouser, fighting to remain calm. "We think nothing of spending hundreds of millions to advertise and promote the romance of diamonds."
"Don't you think I've considered that and planned for it?" Dorsett laughed. "I'll match your advertising campaign budget with my own, pushing the chameleon quality of colored gemstones. You'll promote the sale of a single diamond for an engagement ring, while I'll promote the spectrum, a world of fashion touched by colored jewelry. My campaign is based around the themèColor her with love.' But that's only the half of it, Gabe. I also plan to educate the great unwashed public about the true rarity '', of colored gemstones
versus the cheap, overabundant supply of diamonds. The end result is that I will significantly shift the buyer's attitude away from diamonds."
Strouser rose to his feet and threw his napkin on the table. "You're a menace that will destroy thousands of I people and their livelihood," he said uncompromisingly.
"You must be prevented from disrupting the market."
"Don't be a fool," said Dorsett, showing his teeth. "Climb aboard. Switch your allegiance from diamonds to colored stones. Get smart, Gabe. Color is the wave of the future in the jewelry market."
Strouser fought to control the anger that was seething to the surface. "My family have been diamond merchants for ten generations. I live and breathe diamonds. I will not be the one to turn my back on tradition. You have dirty hands, Arthur, even if they are well manicured. I will personally fight you up and down the line until you are no longer a factor in the market."
"Any fight comes too late," Dorsett said coldly.
"Once colored gemstones take over the market, the diamond craze will disappear overnight."
"Not if I can help it."
"What do you intend to do when you leave here?"
"Alert the board of directors of what you have up your sleeve so they can plan an immediate course of action to knock the wind out of your scheme before it can be realized. It's not too late to stop you."
Dorsett remained sitting and looked up at Strouser. "I don't think so."
Strouser missed his meaning and turned to leave. "Since you won't listen to reason, I have nothing more to say. Good day to you, Arthur."
"Before you leave, Gabe, I have a present for you."
"I want nothing from you!" Strouser snapped angrily.
"This, you will appreciate." Dorsett laughed uncharitably. "On second thought, perhaps you won't." He motioned with one hand. "Now, Boudicca, now."
In one swift motion, the big woman suddenly appeared behind Strouser and pinned his arms to his sides. The diamond merchant instinctively struggled for a minute, then relaxed, staring dazedly at Dorsett.
"What is the meaning of this? I demand that you unhand me."