Medusa

by Clive Cussler

  "That's it. Where did you find this thing?"

  "I went back to the original video from the Hardsuit camera."

  Zavala clicked his mouse to replay the skirmish with the AUV. There was a quick succession of images, a confusion of bubbles, and glimpses of the vehicle.

  "I didn't give you much to go on," Austin said.

  "You gave me enough. I slowed the action and culled details here and there. I used those bits to create a rough outline of the AUV and then compared it with the automated underwater vehicles in my database. I've got info on practically everything self-propelled ever made, but at first I couldn't find this one anywhere."

  "My first impression was that it resembled the Manta, the sub that the Navy developed for mine detection and destruction."

  "Not a bad call," Zavala said. "Here's the Manta. There are some of the same features that you get when you have a computer-generated design. But your guy didn't have the launching pads for mini mine sniffers and torpedoes like the Navy's model."

  "Good thing. Neither one of us would be here if our little friend had been armed with the hard stuff."

  "After I breezed through military models, I went to scientific applications. Most of the AUVs I found are torpedo-shaped, like Woods Hole Oceanographic's ABE or Scripps's Rover. After ruling out military and scientific, I looked to industry. But oil, gas, and communications didn't pan out, so I tried commercial fishing."

  He called up an article from a commercial-fishing magazine.

  Austin looked at the photos with the article and smiled.

  "Jackpot," he said.

  "The vehicle in the magazine piece is used to film experimental fishnet designs," Zavala said.

  "That would account for the manta shape," Austin noted. "You'd need something flat and smooth to get under the nets, no projecting fins that might catch."

  "The pincers allow the AUV to cut its way through tangled nets," Zavala said. "It was used by a Chinese company, Pyramid Seafood Exports."

  "Chinese? That's significant. The men who attacked the ship were Asian. The weapons they carried were Chinese."

  "I Googled the name," Zavala said. "Pyramid is headquartered in Shanghai, but they're a global company."

  Austin said, "Why would a legitimate fishing company be involved in the attacks on the Beebe and the bathysphere?"

  "I may be able to answer that question after seeing my friend Caitlin Lyons at the FBI's Asian Crime Unit later today," Zavala said.

  Austin had to admit that Zavala's wide network of women friends sometimes came in handy.

  "Have you figured out how the attack on the B3 may have been set up?" Austin said.

  "The vehicle could have been launched from any of the press and party boats watching the dive," Zavala said.

  "Maybe someone saw the launch," Austin said. "We could get Detective-Superintendent Randolph and the Bermuda Coast Guard to ask around."

  "That's not a bad idea, but my guess is that the vehicle went into the water hours before the bathysphere dive and was put into a sleep mode, programmed to wake up after a certain time to begin the hunt. It could have been directed from the surface, in the general area of the Beebe."

  "How would it have picked its target?"

  "Sonar combined with the optical sensors would look for a vertical line. The AUV homes in on the B3's tether. Snip-snip. There goes the bathysphere."

  "And there goes Doc Kane and the mysterious research project that was going to affect everybody on the planet."

  "Any word from Kane since he took off into the wide blue yonder?" Zavala asked.

  "I've tried a number of official and nonofficial channels," Austin answered. "Bonefish Key may be our only lead."

  "Doubt he's there. Somebody wanted him to die a horrible death at the bottom. Bonefish Key would be the first place to look after finding out he wasn't on the Beebe."

  A look of alarm crossed Austin's tanned face.

  He dug his cell phone out of a pocket and called Paul Trout.

  "Have you heard from Gamay?" he asked.

  "I've been trying to reach her but my calls won't go through," Trout said.

  "Keep trying," Austin said. "I'm at Zavala's place. I may have been too casual when I asked you to poke around Kane's lab. Gamay should be alerted to possible danger from the people who wanted to take down Kane."

  Trout said, "Don't worry, Kurt, Gamay can take care of herself."

  "I know she can," Austin said. "Just tell her to be careful and not take any chances."

  Having done all he could to warn the Trouts, Austin put in a call to NUMA and asked for a dossier on the Pyramid Trading Company. The agency's computer center, under the supervision of cybergenius Hiram Yeager, was one of the greatest repositories of specialized information in the world. The powerful computers at NUMA were linked with databases around the world and in an instant could churn out reams of information on any subject having to do with the world's oceans.

  Austin said he would talk to Zavala after he'd studied the results of the computer search. He got back in his Jeep and drove to the thirty-story green-glass tower, overlooking the Potomac, that housed NUMA's headquarters. He parked in the underground garage and took the elevator up to his Spartanly furnished office.

  A thick file was sitting on his desk with a note from Yeager telling him to "Enjoy!"

  He opened the file, but had only made it past the first page when his telephone buzzed. Caller ID couldn't identify the number.

  He realized why after he picked up the receiver and heard the crisp voice of James Sandecker, the founder and longtime director of NUMA before being appointed Vice President of the United States when the elected second-in-command died. As was his usual style, Sandecker got right to the point.

  "Pitt forwarded your report on the B3 incident to me. What in blazes is going on, Kurt?"

  Austin could imagine Sandecker's crackling blue eyes and flaming red Vandyke beard, fixtures around NUMA for years.

  "I wish I knew, Admiral," Austin said, using Sandecker's hard-earned Navy title over his more recent political one.

  "How is Zavala faring after his ordeal?"

  "Joe's fine, Admiral."

  "That's fortunate. If Zavala had bought the farm, half the female population of Washington would go into mourning and we'd have to shut down the whole damned town… Then this attack on the Beebe… Shocking. It was a miracle no one was hurt. Are you making any progress?"

  "We think there's a Chinese connection," Austin said. "The AUV that went after me and the B3 is the same model used by a Chinese fishing company that's part of a multinational called Pyramid Trading. The men who attacked the ship carried Chinese weapons and were Asian. Joe will chase down any possible criminal connection. I'll check with the Bermuda police to see if their forensics turned up anything we can use. We think Doc Kane's research may hold the key to everything. Gamay is on Bonefish Key checking out the lab."

  Sandecker chuckled.

  "I don't know how Gamay wangled her way in, but she's not likely to learn a thing. The work they're doing is highly classified."

  "Sounds like you know what the lab is up to."

  "More than I'd like. This is part of something very big, Kurt, and we'll have to move quickly. The situation is reaching critical mass. I'm setting up a meeting that will explain things. I'll call you in about an hour, so stand by. In the meantime, pack your bags for a trip."

  "I still haven't unpacked from my last assignment."

  "That's good. You and Joe will have to move out on short notice. I'm still working out the details, don't have time to get into it now. Don't ever let anyone tell you the job of Veep is as worthless as a bucket of warm spit."

  Sandecker hung up without another word. Austin stared at the phone in his hand.

  He pushed speculative thoughts aside and soon was engrossed in the file on his desk. It didn't take him very long to learn that Pyramid was no ordinary corporation.

  CHAPTER 20

  Gamay had been awakened
earlier that day by the thin shafts of sunlight filtering through the louvered windows. She slipped out of bed and pulled on her running shorts, sport top, and shoes. Quietly exiting through the screened-in porch, she did a series of warm-up exercises, walked around the back of the lodge to the start of a trail, and began a slow jog that gradually accelerated into a steady rhythm.

  Feet crunching on the shell pathway, Gamay ran with an athletic grace, using a loose-boned economy of motion that assured that, if she were ever reincarnated, she'd come back as a cheetah. She ran every morning, a habit that went back to her tomboy days, hanging out on the streets of Racine with a gang of boys.

  Gamay heard footfalls and turned to see Dr. Mayhew coming up from behind.

  He caught up with Gamay and ran beside her.

  "Good morning, Dr. Trout!" he exhaled. "Enjoying your run?"

  "Yes, very much, thank you."

  "Good." He clicked on his quick smile. "See you at breakfast."

  Mayhew stepped up his pace and continued past Gamay until he disappeared around a corner.

  The legendary Florida humidity soon nudged the coolness of early morning aside, and Gamay returned to her room drenched in perspiration. She showered and dressed in a fresh pair of shorts, a tank top, and sandals, and she followed the sound of voices to the dining room.

  Dr. Mayhew waved Gamay over to join the group she had met the previous night and pointed to an empty chair. The consensus at the table was in favor of the brie-and-tomato omelet. It was cooked to perfection, and served with homemade oatmeal bread.

  Noting Gamay's gusto, Mayhew said, "The cooking here is one of the perks we insisted upon before marooning ourselves on Bonefish Key."

  He drained the rest of his coffee mug and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Then he reached under his chair and handed Gamay a plastic bag with a clean lab coat in it.

  "Ready for the tour, Dr. Trout?"

  Gamay rose and buttoned herself into the coat.

  "Anytime you are, Dr. Mayhew."

  He replied with the inevitable switched-on smile.

  "Follow me," he said.

  They took an unmarked shell path in a direction opposite that of the nature trail and came upon a one-story cinder-block building painted a light mossy green. The air vibrated with the hum of unseen electric motors.

  "Resource cultivation is done in this building," Mayhew said. "It may look like a garage, but this lab is on the leading edge of biomedical research."

  The dimly lit building housed dozens of large, lighted fish tanks. A couple of white-coated technicians armed with clipboards moved from tank to tank. They paid no attention to the newcomers, except for a casual wave. The air was heavy with a wet, fishy smell.

  "These seawater tanks are precisely maintained to duplicate exactly the habitat of the marine organisms they contain," Mayhew explained.

  "How many different organisms are you researching?" Gamay asked.

  "Dozens of species and subspecies. Let me show you the current reigning star of the show."

  Mayhew went over to a tank that housed several vibrantly colored red blobs, each about the size of a grapefruit. Short, pointed tentacles surrounded their mouths. They festooned the rocks inside the tanks.

  "Lovely," she said. "This must be the sea flower that I read about it in the scientific journals."

  "The staff likes to give common names to the creatures," Mayhew said. "Saves wrapping our tongues around Latin locutions. There's the sea star and the sea blossom, and so on. Ironic, when you realize that these exquisite creatures are efficient killing machines superbly engineered to attract small fish close enough to sting and devour."

  "There's another irony," Gamay said. "Despite being poisonous, they may be able to cure disease."

  "Killing and curing aren't mutually exclusive. Curare is a good poison that's used in medicine. Botox too."

  "Tell me about the sea star, Dr. Mayhew."

  "Gladly. That little beauty is related to another sponge discovered in 1984. Harbor Branch Oceanographic was diving off Bermuda in the Sea-Link submersible. They found a piece of sponge in the sub's suction tube. The sponge contained a chemical that in lab tests killed cancer cells."

  "I read about that in the scientific journals. An exciting discovery," she said.

  Mayhew nodded.

  "And frustrating as well," he said.

  "In what way, Dr. Mayhew?"

  "Scientists searched for another twenty years for a whole sponge without success. Then someone had a brainstorm: why not dive deeper and find the sponge's true habitat? On the first dive, they found enough sponges to support years of research. The scientists had been looking for the sponge in places where other stuff was growing. Their sponge grew at a depth of a thousand feet, where the bottom was practically bare."

  "Did you use the same search procedure for the sea star?" Gamay asked.

  "Essentially. We found fragments of an unknown specimen not far from the Harbor Branch dives, did a habitat profile, and, as that TV chef says, Bam! We found whole sponges that also contained the cancer-killing chemical."

  "Does the star's potential live up to its beauty?" she asked.

  "The Harbor Branch specimen produced a chemical dozens of times more potent than the most powerful drug. The star is almost twice that strong."

  "Do I detect a note of smugness in your voice, Dr. Mayhew?"

  The scientist widened his mouth in a smile that for once did not look pasted on his face.

  "We've got a long slog ahead of us before we can license the chemical to a pharmaceutical company, which would take the compound through clinical tests. We have to find a way to produce the chemical in quantity. Harvesting sponges in the wild isn't feasible economically or ecologically."

  "I'm sure you've looked into raising sponges through aquaculture," Gamay said.

  "We're researching that possibility. Better still would be culturing the microorganisms that produce the chemical. That would support our ultimate goal of synthesizing the chemical for wider distribution." He shrugged. "First, we have to figure out how it works."

  "You have your job cut out for you, Dr. Mayhew."

  "True, but the potential rewards are mind-boggling. Ocean biomedicine is expected to be the greatest source of pharmaceuticals in the future."

  Gamay cast her eyes around the lab.

  "What's in the other tanks?" she asked.

  "More sponges, different varieties. Each specimen has its own chemical characteristics. We're looking at cures for a host of human ailments. For instance, we've got corals that produce potential antibacterial and antiviral agents, and painkillers many times more powerful than morphine but without addictive qualities. The possibilities are endless."

  Mayhew attempted to move the tour along.

  "I'm a bit puzzled," Gamay said, subtly resisting the push of his guiding hand. "I'm sure I read on your website that you were doing research on other invertebrates. I haven't seen any species of Cnidaria."

  The question seemed to catch Mayhew by surprise. He dropped his hand from her elbow and glanced reflexively at the door to a walled-off section of the lab.

  "Jellyfish? Well…"

  Mayhew may have been an accomplished scientist, but he was an amateur at cloak-and-dagger. Gamay's eyes followed the direction of his revealing glance, and she gave him her most charming smile. Taking him by the arm, she urged him toward the door.

  "I'll bet you forgot," she said.

  "It's not that," he said. "It's… We don't like to disturb them." He was folding under her unrelenting gaze. "Well, I suppose it won't do any harm."

  He opened the door and ushered Gamay into a room that was dark except for the light emanating from a tall, cylindrical transparent plastic tank four feet across and eight feet high.

  The light came from a dozen or so jellyfish, each about the size of a cabbage, that glowed with pulsating blue lights. They were in constant motion, moving from the bottom to the top of the tank in a graceful, hypnotic underwater dance.
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  A figure on a ladder, bending over the top of the tank, turned toward their interruption. The unearthly light revealed the face of Dr. Bennett, the toxicologist. She opened her mouth in surprise.

  "Dr. Mayhew, I didn't expect—"

  "I leaned on Dr. Mayhew to show me this part of the lab," Gamay explained. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

  Bennett glanced at Mayhew, who gave her a nod.

  "Not at all," Bennett said with a halfhearted smile. She brandished the long-handled dip net in her hands. "This procedure can be a little tricky at times."

  Gamay's eyes took in Bennett's protective gloves and clear plastic face mask and coverall, and then she shifted her gaze back to the undulating, vaguely cube-shaped forms and their strange acrobatic ballet. Threadlike tentacles were attached to lacy fringe that rimmed each diaphanous creature. Their bioluminescence was almost bright enough to read a book by.

  "In all my years of diving," Gamay said, "I don't think I have ever seen anything this beautiful."

  "Or as deadly," added Mayhew, who had come up behind her. "The medusae in this tank produce a toxin that would put a cobra to shame."

  Gamay dug into her memory.

  "This is a box jellyfish, isn't it?" she asked.

  "That's right. Chironex fleckeri, the sea wasp. There have been almost one hundred recorded deaths from its sting, which can kill a human being in under three minutes. I suggest that we stand back and give Dr. Bennett some room."

  Dr. Bennett pulled the mask over her face and dipped the net in the tank.

  To Gamay's surprise, the jellyfish didn't shy away from the net but clustered closer to it, making it easy to snag one and transfer it to a beaker. In the process, the color of the jellyfish deepened and the pulsating became more frequent, as if they were agitated.

  "I've never seen jellyfish act in that fashion before," she said. "They'll usually try to avoid any threat they perceive."

  "Jellyfish are predators," Mayhew said, "but most species simply drift around, encountering their meals quite by chance. The eye in jellyfish is more acutely developed, which means it can see rather than sense its prey. Combined with its jet-propulsion capabilities, a jellyfish actually can chase down its intended meal."