EIGHT
A MASSIVE salvage ship sat in the sun in the endless North Atlantic.
Steve Arkin floated down and landed on a narrow deck, which wrapped around the bridge. Feet on steel beside the railing, he peeked about the enormous vessel and then proceeded to stroll in through a hatch.
Sinewy sailors, scientists, and officers held motionless as Steve entered their control room. The wrinkled captain extended his hand. “Mr. Arkin, a good mornin’ to ya.”
“Thanks, cap.”
“You'd like any coffee? Donuts?” The captain pointed toward the breakfast table, where the muscular guys covertly stuffed themselves.
“Yeah. Don’t mind if I do. Gentlemen.”
The men stepped aside. All studied Steve's breakfast choices.
A coffee cup and a half donut left on the sea chart, Steve lifted the stack of contract pape
