Dirk Pitt 22 - Poseidon's Arrow

by Clive Cussler

  The trawler was approaching Nueva’s eastern shore, which was faced with high dark cliffs. Waves pounded against the rocky shoreline, spraying billows of white foam.

  “Hope the coast is milder on the other side,” Dirk said. “If she hit the rocks around here, we won’t find her on this trip.”

  Dirk had the captain bring the trawler as close to shore as possible, and they began a counterclockwise survey of the island. Their search was purely for any visible signs of the submarine, had she run aground. If that failed, a sonar survey of the surrounding waters would follow with the arrival of a NUMA research vessel.

  They had scanned dozens of satellite images sent by Yaeger, identifying a handful of coastal anomalies that could be the remains of the Barbarigo. The only way to find out was to inspect the sites, regardless of the angry seas.

  They reached the north side of the island, passing towering rocks that could have crushed an approaching vessel. Two sites marked on the satellite photos proved to be rock formations that bore only faint resemblance to a submarine.

  As they worked their way west, the coastal terrain flattened, revealing a mixed shoreline of coarse beaches and jagged boulders.

  “Coming up on our third site,” Dirk said, comparing a satellite photo with the trawler’s navigation screen.

  Summer held a pair of binoculars to her eyes, struggling to hold focus as the deck rolled. “Tell me when we’re directly offshore.”

  Dirk plotted the boat’s progress. “Sometime now.”

  Summer studied the shoreline, scanning a small gravel beach between two rocky outcroppings. She caught sight of a smooth shape, then was knocked against the bulkhead by a large wave. “Take us in closer.”

  She searched for the object again—and spotted a smooth, rounded band tucked against the rocks.

  “Something’s there, though it doesn’t look very big.” She passed the binoculars to her brother. “Take a look.”

  “Yes, it’s some kind of man-made object.” He lowered the binoculars and looked at his sister. “Let’s go see what’s there.”

  The captain had to sail another mile down the coast before he found a small cove that afforded protection from the waves. A small rubber boat was launched, and Dirk and Summer paddled the short distance to land. As they pulled the boat onto the beach, a squall blew in, dousing them with rain.

  “Last time we were on an island,” Dirk said, “I would have killed for this kind of storm.”

  They trudged up the coast in the downpour, fighting the stiff offshore breeze that pelted their faces with stinging drops. Despite the dismal conditions, Summer noted the rugged beauty of this island at the tip of South America. But the coastal terrain became monotonous in the pouring rain, and after a half hour of hiking, they became unsure about where they had spotted the anomaly.

  Standing at the water’s edge studying the surrounding rocks, Summer finally spotted the object farther up the beach. It was a rusty curved plate of steel about six feet long, wedged firmly in the rocks.

  “I’ll go out on a limb,” Dirk said. “It could be part of a submarine conning tower.”

  Summer nodded and looked out to sea. “She probably struck those rocks and sank offshore. Or drifted out to sea again.”

  “No,” Dirk said, his voice registering surprise. “I think that we’ve been looking in the wrong direction.” He tapped Summer’s arm and pointed inland. She saw only a narrow gravel beach. Beyond was a shrub-covered hollow at the base of a rocky knoll. The beach was barren, so she gazed at the hollow—and her jaw dropped.

  Poking through the shrubs, another fifty feet inland, was the rest of the conning tower.

  They scrambled across the beach and into the thicket, where the entire hull of a submarine was concealed in the brush. The vessel was three-quarters buried, but Dirk could tell they had approached it from the stern. Where there once was a drive propeller he saw only a mangled shaft. They hiked along the hull until they reached the exposed conning tower, which rose like an abandoned castle. Summer pulled a black-and-white photo from her pocket and compared it to the rusting steel hulk. It was a perfect match.

  She smiled at her brother. “It’s the Barbarigo.”

  They climbed up the battered remnants of the conning tower, where they could make out the imposing hulk of the entire boat through the underbrush.

  “How could it have landed way up here?” Summer asked.

  “Probably a rogue wave. The area around Cape Horn is notorious for them. It must have been a real monster to throw her this far inland.”

  Summer gazed at the bow. “Do you think her cargo is still aboard?”

  It was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question—and the reason they had rushed down to Tierra del Fuego. For Perlmutter had uncovered much more than just the sailor’s logbook. He had pieced together the mystery of the Barbarigo’s last voyage.

  It all started with the German scientist Oswald Steiner, who had boarded the sub in Malaysia. Steiner, Perlmutter found, was a highly regarded physicist known for his research in advanced electromagnetics. Pressed into military research by the Nazis, he dabbled in their atomic program before focusing on a secret project of his own: a magnetic rail gun.

  Steiner advanced the theory that a projectile launched at extreme velocities could travel up to fifty miles, allowing the Germans to bombard the southeast coast of England from Normandy. For the system to work, he needed the most powerful magnets in the world, and those came from one source. Rare earths.

  In 1942 there was little demand for any of the rare earth elements, which were difficult to extract and refine. Germany and her conquests had few of the minerals, but Steiner found a lone source that could meet his needs. A small garnet mine in Malaysia, under Japanese control, extracted samarskite as a by-product. The samarskite contained high concentrations of the rare earth samarium, a key element in producing high-performance magnets.

  Traveling to Malaysia, Steiner was stunned to discover a large stockpile of the mineral, amassed over years from mining operations. The local workers referred to it as Red Death due to its deep russet color, but it was Steiner who determined it was lightly radioactive, which in time had produced illness in some of the miners.

  Thrilled with his discovery, Steiner requested transport of the samarskite back to Germany. An Italian submarine called the Tazzoli was assigned the task but was sunk in transit. When the Barbarigo arrived in Singapore, scheduled to pick up a supply of rubber and zinc, Steiner had her orders changed and stuffed her with samarskite. Accompanying the shipment home, he died with the Italian crew after they had to abandon the damaged sub.

  Dirk looked down the Barbarigo’s forward deck at an exposed patch of steel near the bow. He descended the conning tower and hiked across the forward deck, which was covered with mud and rocks from the hill above. Summer followed him to an indented section near the bow. Kicking away the built-up soil, he exposed the rusted deck. He eventually uncovered a looped bar welded on horizontally. It was a handgrip for the forward hatch cover. Summer joined in scraping away the overburden until they cleared the cover, complete with its locking wheel latch.

  “Think it’ll budge?” Summer asked.

  Dirk gave the wheel latch a few firm kicks to break the seal. “Give me a hand and we’ll find out.”

  They both gripped the wheel and threw their weight against it. After several tries, the latch broke its decades-long grip and spun freely. Dirk gave his sister a hopeful wink and heaved open the hatch.

  A dank and musty odor rose from the opening. There was little to see as the dark interior was filled almost to the ceiling with sediment. Sand, mud, or mineral, they couldn’t tell. Dirk reached inside and groped around until he grabbed a clump of the material. He held it up for Summer to see.

  It was a rock, dark yet shiny and lustrous. In the gray light of the rain squall, Summer could make out a reddish tint. “Is it Red Death?”

  Dirk looked at the rock and grinned. “No. I think it would be Crimson Gold.�
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  85

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  A THRONG OF DIGNITARIES AND NAVY VETERANS, nearly three thousand strong, poured through the gates of the New London Navy Base under a cool and cloudy sky. The visitors were guided to a dock where row upon row of folding chairs faced Connecticut’s Thames River.

  Filling the view was the Navy’s latest fast attack submarine, the USS North Dakota. Having completed her sea trials, she was now awaiting the last formal act of commissioning before taking to the seas in service of her country.

  Pitt and Loren threaded their way through the crowd to take their seats in the second row, behind a herd of fleet admirals in full-dress uniform. Eyeing the Navy brass, Pitt wondered if their prime seating was on account of his efforts to save the Sea Arrow or Loren’s clout on Capitol Hill. When the Chief of Naval Operations stopped by and fawned over his wife, he decided it was the latter.

  A short time later, Vice President Sandecker arrived, led by a blockade of Pentagon officials. A trademark stogie dangled from his lips as he was ushered to a seat near the podium. Spotting Pitt and Loren, he slipped from his escorts and made his way to the couple.

  “You’re looking ravishing as always, Loren,” he said, “despite the riffraff clinging to your arm.”

  Loren laughed. “He still cleans up well. Good to see you again, Mr. Vice President.”

  “Where are Summer and Dirk? I thought they’d be here.”

  Loren raised her brow in curiosity.

  “They’re both in Rome,” Pitt said. “The Italian government is holding a memorial for the Barbarigo’s crewmen recovered in Madagascar. The kids were invited as guests of honor.”

  “We’d have been dead in the water if it weren’t for them,” Sandecker said. “Their discovery of the crew’s remains helped sway the Italians to give us the rare earth elements carried in the submarine. Kept us from having a one-trick pony today.” He winked at Pitt.

  “Speaking of rare earth elements,” Loren said, “I heard a rumor on the Hill that the Chinese are lifting their export ban.”

  “They’ve told us as much. Once the Australians stepped in and took over Edward Bolcke’s mine at Mount Weld, the Chinese lost hope of monopolizing the market. And our rebuilding efforts at Mountain Pass are well ahead of schedule. Fortunately, the remnant materials we acquired from Bolcke’s former operations in Panama and Madagascar have kept us humming.”

  An aide materialized at Sandecker’s side, informing the Vice President that the ceremony was about to start.

  “Duty calls.” He bowed to Loren and shook Pitt’s hand before returning to his seat.

  A moment later, Ann Bennett worked her way down the aisle and took an empty seat next to Loren. “Hello,” she said warmly. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”

  “Did you just fly in?” Loren asked.

  “Yes. Dan Fowler’s sentencing was this morning, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

  “Ironic timing,” Pitt said. “What did he get?”

  She gave a satisfied smile. “Thirty years, as the prosecutors hoped.”

  An admiral took to the podium and introduced the Vice President, who gave a rousing speech about protecting the seas from all forms of enemies. A string of Navy officials followed with the expected words of ceremony.

  During the speeches, Ann leaned across Loren and whispered to Pitt, “Is it in the water?”

  Pitt nodded. “Two nights ago, under the downpour they were waiting for.”

  “And ready for sea trials?”

  “All systems look good, I’m told.”

  “I thought the North Dakota already had her sea trials,” Loren said.

  “Yes, that’s right, dear,” Pitt said, tightening his lips.

  At the podium, the North Dakota’s honorary sponsor was introduced and sang out the traditional commissioning first order. “Man our ship and bring her to life!”

  The crew and officers of the North Dakota stepped aboard the submarine to the cheers of the attending crowd. Pitt’s eyes looked beyond the vessel, focused on a motorized barge surrounded by numerous red-and-white warning buoys.

  “Where is she?” Ann whispered.

  “By the barge on the other side.”

  Loren noticed that some of the Navy officials also seemed more interested in the barge than the newly minted North Dakota.

  “What’s with everybody?” she asked. “You all act like there’s something more important going on here than the North Dakota’s launching. And why is everyone staring at those buoys by the barge?”

  Pitt smiled at his wife and squeezed her hand.

  “The sea doesn’t always reveal all her mysteries,” he said. “Even under the threat of a rusty butter knife.”

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