Page 32 of Clive Cussler Desolation Code

Kurt agreed, suppressing a flicker of anger at the games that were being played. “With a clearer message we might have gotten here earlier.”

Joe reminded him that it might not be that easy. “Don’t forget,Hiram and Max think the sender is risking their life transmitting these messages. Maybe a clearer message couldn’t be sent. Besides, based on the track the beacon took, this ship wasn’t supposed to be their final destination. At some point after they reached the shipping lane, they either got picked up or came aboard as stowaways. Makes me wonder if the crew locked them down here.”

It was impossible to know, but Kurt considered that unlikely. “Easier to throw them overboard. I’m guessing whoever these guys are, they got aboard this ship and found a place to hide and then got locked in here by accident. Otherwise, they wouldn’t still have the beacon. Which reminds me, do you see it?”

Joe moved closer and crouched beside the group. He found nothing nearby. Figuring the men would have gotten the transmitter as close to the window as possible, he looked between them. “Not here.”

“What’s that around the last guy’s neck?”

Joe looked up. Hanging around the dead man’s neck was a thick band with electronic parts attached to it. Joe pulled out the receiver and held it close to the necklace. A squeal of feedback rang out. “That’s it,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure this didn’t come from the warehouse in New Jersey.”

“Looks homemade,” Kurt said. “Cobbled together out of spare parts.”

“Reminds me of something I made in shop class twenty years ago,” Joe said. “But it’s tuned to match our transmitters precisely.”

“Not an impossible task,” Kurt said. “But it would require some inside knowledge.”

“More evidence that your mystery texter is well-versed in all things NUMA.”

Kurt focused on the dead men. “So who are these guys? Don’t exactly look like children.”

Joe shined the flashlight on the nearest man’s face. His skin tonewas reddish-brown. His lips were cracked and caked with either dried saliva or salt. His eyelids stretched tight over sunken eyeballs, shrinking due to the dehydration.

Joe rummaged through the rag-like clothing, but they had no pockets. “I don’t think these guys carry passports or wallets.”

“They have tattoos, though.”

Joe looked closer. Kurt’s light was trained on the nearest man’s neck. A horizontal stripe that reminded him of a barcode had been inked into the man’s skin beneath a series of numbers and letters.

“They all have the same mark,” Joe said, shining his flashlight at the other three. “Almost the same,” he said, correcting himself. “The first digits are the same, 6.28. The Greek letter is the same, but each one has a different fraction printed at the end.”

“Six point two eight,” Kurt said, looking at the marks. “That mean anything to you?”

“It’s tau,” Joe said. “The same as this Greek ‘T’ symbol. Engineers use it in place of pi sometimes. It represents a full circle, a line that never ends. It’s like pi in that no matter how many places you calculate it to, it never repeats itself.”

“What about these other numbers?” Kurt asked.

“They’re sequential,” Joe said. “Almost like identification numbers. Like the tattoos the Nazis used on the prisoners of the concentration camps.”

He wondered if they might be jumping to conclusions. Other than the neck tattoo, there was not another permanent mark on the man’s body. The others were in similar condition. No additional ink, no scars, freckles, or skin discolorations. In fact, there was little Joe could pick out that would tell them apart. They had the same facial structures, the same cheekbones, the same thick black hair, smallish ears, and dimpled chins. “These guys are identical.”

Kurt had noticed it, too.

Joe asked the question in both their minds. “What are a set of tattooed quadruplets doing in the hold of a dead ship, carrying a dummied-up NUMA beacon?”

“No idea,” Kurt said, “but this isn’t the time to talk about it. Get the beacon off that guy and get some DNA samples. Hair, skin, something. We need to see if we can figure out who these guys are.”

Joe leaned forward and gently lifted the necklace over the man’s head. As it came free, the man looked up, eyes opening wide. His hands shot forward, grabbing for Joe as he let out a raspy shout.

Joe pulled away as the seemingly dead man came to life. He landed on his back and pushed across the deck with his feet to get out of range. The man reached for him again and fell, unable to stand.

While Joe recovered from his fright, Kurt moved closer, blinding the man with his flashlight for a second and then aiming it elsewhere as the man held a hand up to block the light. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Wah…ter,” the man cried in a hoarse, dry whisper. “Water. Please.”

Expecting only a short trip, they hadn’t come with canteens, but Kurt had the bottle of filtered water he’d used to rinse the masks. He pulled it out and gave the man several small sips, as too much at once might make his tongue swell up.

“Who are you?” Kurt asked.

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