"I'd have to go along," said Brogan. "There has been no evidence of terrorist movements operating out of Mexico."

"You forget Topiltzin," the President said unexpectedly.

Brogan was surprised at the cold, mysterious look of pure anger that spread across the President's face.

"The agency has not forgotten Topiltzin," Brogan assured him, "or what he did to Guy Rivas. I'll have him taken out whenever you say the word."

The President suddenly sighed and sagged in his chair. "If only it was that simple. Snap my fingers and the CIA obliterates a foreign opposition leader. The risk is too great. Ken nedy found that out when he condoned the mafia's attempt to kill Castro. "

"Reagan made no objections to the attempts to get Muarnmar Qaddafi. "

"Yes," the President said wearily. "If only he had known Qaddafi would fool everyone and die of cancer!"

"No such luck with Topiltzin. Medical reports say he's as strong as a Missouri mule."

"The man is a bloody lunatic. If he takes over Mexico, we'll have a disaster on our hands."

"You played the tape made by Rivas?" Brogan asked, knowing the answer.

"Four times," the President said bitterly. "It's enough to provoke nightmares."

"And if Topiltzin topples the present government and makes good his threat by sending millions of his people flooding across our border in a mad attempt to recover the American Southwest." . . . ?" Brogan let the question hang.

The President replied in a strangely mild tone. "Then I will have no choice but to order our armed forces to treat any horde of illegal aliens as foreign invaders."

Brogan arrived back in his office at the CIA headquarters in Langley and found the Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Elmer Shaw, waiting for him.

"Sorry to foul up your busy schedule," said Shaw, "but I have some interesting news that might make your day."

"Must be important to warrant your personal visit."

"It is."

"Come in and sit down. Is the news good or bad?"

"Very good."

"Nothing else is going right lately," said Brogan solemnly. "I'll be glad to hear something decent for a change."

"Our survey ship, the Polar Explorer, has been searching for the Soviet Alfa-class submarine that went missing."

"I'm familiar with the mission," Brogan interrupted. "Well, they've found it."

Brogan's eyes widened slightly, and he rapped his desk in a rare display of pleasure. "Congratulations. The Alfa class is the finest sub in both navies. Your people have pulled off a master stroke."

"We haven't got our hands on it yet," said Shaw.

Brogan's eyes suddenly narrowed. "What about the Russians? Are they aware of the discovery?"

"We don't think so. Shortly after instruments detected the sunken sub, which, by the way, includes videotape of the wreckage, our ship pulled off the search track and assisted in the rescue operations of the downed U.N. aircraft. A heavensent smoke screen. Our best intelligence from inside the Soviet navy confirms business as usual. Nothing from the KGB

either. And our space surveillance of their North Atlantic fleet shows no indication of dramatic course changes toward the search area."

"Odd they didn't have a spy trawler shadow the Polar Explorer."

"They did," explained Shaw. "They also kept a close eye on our operations all right, monitoring our ship's course and communications by satellite. They left it alone, sitting back and hoping our more advanced underwater search technology would get lucky where theirs failed. Then they banked their expectations on the clear possibility our crew would give away the location through the tiniest of errors."

"But they didn't."

"No," answered Shaw firmly. "Ship security was airtight. Except for the captain and two NUMA underwater search experts, the entire crew was briefed to think they were on an iceberg-tracking and sea-bottom geology survey. My report on the success of the discovery was hand-carried from Greenland by the Polar Explorer's executive officer so there was no chance of communications penetration."

"Okay, wherr do we go from here?" inquired Brogan. "Obviously the Soviets would never allow another Glomar Explorer snatch. And they still have a ship patrolling the area where they lost that missile sub off the East Coast in 'eighty-six."

"We have an underwater salvage job in mind," said Shaw.

"When?"

"If we began putting together the operation now, redesigning and modifying existing submersibles and equipment, we should be ready for salvage in ten months."

"So we ignore the sub, or act like it until then?"

"Correct," replied Shaw. "In the meantime, another event has fallen into our laps that will confuse the Soviets. The Navy needs your agency's cooperation to carry it out."

"I'm listening."

"During rescue and subsequent investigation of the air crash, the NUMA people working with us in the search accidentally stumbled on what looks like an ancient Roman shipwreck buried in ice."

Brogan stared at Shaw skeptically. "In Greenland?"

Shaw nodded. "The word from experts is it's genuine."

"What can the CIA do to help the Navy with an old shipwreck?"

"A little disinformation. We'd like the Russians to think the Polar Explorer was looking for the Roman ship all along."

Brogan noted a flashing light on his intercom. "A sound concept. While the Navy prepares to grab their newest sub, we scatter bread crumbs down the wrong path."

"Something like that."

"How will you handle the Roman wreck from your end?"

"We set up an archaeological project as a cover for an onsite base of operations. The Polar Explorer will remain on station so the crew can give a hand in the excavation."

"Is the sub close by?"

"Less than ten miles away."

"any idea of her condition?"

"Some structural damage from a collision with a rise on the seafloor, but otherwise intact."

"And the Roman ship?"

"Our men on the scene claim they've found the frozen bodies of the crew in an excellent state of preservation."

Brogan rose from his desk and walked with Shaw to the door.

"Incredible," he said, fascinated. Then he grinned impishly. "I wonder if any ancient state secrets will be found too?"

Shaw grinned back. "Better a hoard of treasure."

Under the direction of the archaeologists the crew of the Polar Explorer cut their way down to the ice-locked ship, layer by layer, until the top deck was laid bare from bow stern to sternpost.

Everyone in the fjord was drawn to the site, hypnotized by curiosity.

Only Pitt and Lily were missing. They remained on board the icebreaker to study the wax tablets.

A compelling silence gripped the crowd of seamen and archaeologists, joined by the air-crash investigating team, as they stood on the edge of the excavation. They stared down at the partially cleared vessel as though it were a hidden tomb of ancient royalty.

Hoskins and Graham measured the hull, arriving at an overall length of just under twenty meters, with a beam of seven meters. The mast had broken two meters above its step and was missing. The remains of the hemp rigging snaked over the weather deck and sides as if wadded up and dropped by a giant bird. A few shredded pieces of canvas were all that remained of the once broad, square sail.