"Can't a task force be formed to search them out, free them and release them into society?" Gunn persisted.
"The INS has sixteen hundred investigators in the fifty states, not counting those working in foreign countries, who made over three hundred thousand arrests of illegal aliens engaged in criminal activities. It would take twice that number of investigators just to stay even."
"How many illegals are coming into the Unites States each year?" asked Pitt.
"There is no way to achieve an accurate count," answered Sandecker. "Estimates run as high as two million aliens who poured in last year from China and Central America alone."
Pitt stared out the window at the calm
waters of Puget Sound. The rain had passed, and the clouds were becoming scattered. A rainbow slowly formed over the docks. "Has anybody a clue to where it will all end?"
"With a hell of a lot of people," Sandecker said. "The last census put the U.S. population at roughly two hundred and fifty million. With the coming increase in births and immigration, legal and illegal, the population will soar to three hundred and sixty million by the year twenty fifty."
"Another hundred million in the next fifty years," said Giordino dolefully. "I hope I'm gone by then."
Gunn said thoughtfully, "Hard to imagine the changes in store for the country."
"Every great nation or civilization either fell by corruption from within or was altered forever by foreign migration," said Sandecker.
Giordino's face registered indifference. The future was of little concern to him. Unlike Pitt, who found pleasure in the past, Giordino lived only for the present. Gunn, contemplative as ever, stared down at the floor, trying to picture the problems a population increase of fifty percent would bring with it.
Pitt said dryly, "And so the President in his infinite wisdom expects us to plug the dike with our fingers."
"Just how are we supposed to conduct this crusade?" asked Giordino, carefully removing a huge cigar from a cedar wrapper and slowly, very slowly, rolling the end over the flame from a lighter.
Sandecker stared at the cigar, his face reddening as he recognized it as one from his private cache. "When you arrive in Manila at the international airport, you will be met by a man named John Smith-"
"That's original," Giordino muttered. "I've always wanted to meet the guy whose signature I see above mine on motel registers."
To a stranger sitting in on the discussion, it would seem none of the NUMA men had the slightest respect for one another, and that there was a cloud of animosity hanging over them. Nothing could be further from the truth. Pitt and Giordino had nothing but total and unabridged admiration for Sandecker. They were as close to him as to their own fathers. Without the slightest hesitation, they had on more than one occasion risked their own lives to save his. The give-and-take was a game they had played many times over the years. The apathy was a sham. Pitt and Giordino were too wildly independent to accept instructions without a display of rebellion. Nor were they known to jump up and salute before dashing out the door to do their duty with an overabundance of fervor. It was a scene of puppets pulling the strings of puppets with an underlying sense of humor.
"We land in Manila and wait for a John Smith to make himself known," said Pitt. "I hope there's more to the plan than that."
Sandecker went on. "Smith will escort you to the dock area, where you'll board a tired old intercoastal freighter. A singularly uncommon vessel, as you will discover. By the time you set foot on the deck, NUMA's Sea Dog II submersible will be secured aboard. Your job, when the opportunity arises, will be to inspect and photograph the hull of the United States below the waterline."
Pitt shook his head, his expression one of incredulity. "We cruise around, examining the bottom of a ship that's the length of three football fields. Shouldn't take more than forty-eight hours of downtime. Naturally, Qin Shang's security people wouldn't think of dropping sensors around the hull for just such an intrusion." He looked at Giordino. "How do you see it?"
"Like giving a nipple to a baby," Giordino said casually. "My only problem is, how does a submersible with a top speed of four knots keep up with a ship that cruises at thirty-five knots?"
Sandecker gave Giordino a long, sour look, then answered the question. "You conduct your underwater survey while the ship is docked in port. That goes without saying."
"What port have you got in mind?" asked Pitt.
"CIA informants in Sevastopol report that the ship's destination is Hong Kong, where the final interiors and furnishings will be fitted before she takes on passengers for voyages in and around port cities of the United States."
"The CIA is in on this?"
"Every investigative agency in the government is cooperating with INS until they can work together to bring the situation under control."
"The intercoastal freighter," said Pitt. "Who owns and operates it?"
"I know what you're thinking," Sandecker replied. "You can forget any connection with an intelligence agency. The vessel is privately owned. That's all I can tell you."
Giordino exhaled a large blue cloud of cigar smoke toward a tank full of fish. "There must be over a thousand miles of water between Manila and Hong Kong. Any old tramp steamer I've ever seen seldom made more than eight or nine knots. We're looking at a voyage of almost five days. Do we have the luxury of that much time?"
"You'll be docked in Hong Kong less than a quarter of a mile from the United States and staring up at her keel within forty-eight hours after leaving the Philippines," answered Sandecker.
"That," said Giordino, his eyebrows raised in skepticism, "should prove interesting."