At least in the North Sea and the Norwegian Sea, the numerous oil platforms provided landmarks, although from the edge of the continental shelf, where the Sonne had been sailing for the past two days, most were too distant to see. Now even the few rigs in view were shrouded in drizzle. The vessel and everyone on it was soaked. A clammy cold crept under their waterproof jackets and overalls. Plump raindrops would have been preferable to the never-ending trickle of water, which seemed to rise off the sea as well as fall from the sky. It was one of the most unpleasant days that Johanson could remember. He pulled his hood down over his head and made for the stern, where the technicians were raising a CTD probe. Bohrmann caught up with him half-way there.
'Seeing worms in your sleep yet?' asked Johanson.
'Not quite' said the marine geologist. 'What about you?'
'Oh, I'm pretending I'm in a film. It's kind of reassuring.'
'Good idea. Who's directing?'
'Hitchcock.'
'The deep-sea version of The Birds.' Bohrmann smiled wryly. 'Sounds intriguing… Ah, here we go!'
He hurried towards the stern. A circular cage of rods rose over the side of the boat, hanging from the arm of a crane. Its top half was covered with an array of PVC bottles, containing samples of water from varying depths. Johanson watched as the probe was hauled on board and the bottles removed. Then Stone, Hvistendahl and Lund appeared. Stone hurried over to him. 'What's Bohrmann saying?' he asked.
'Not much.'
Stone's belligerence had given way to dejection. The Sonne had been following the continental slope south-west to a point above the tip of Scotland, taking readings from the water, while a sledge-mounted video system filmed from below. It was a bulky piece of equipment, like a steel shelf packed with gadgets, that was towed along the seabed. It was equipped with sensors, a floodlight and an electronic eye that took pictures and sent them via optical cable to the control lab on board.
The Thorvaldson's footage came courtesy of the more up-to-date Victor. The Norwegian research vessel was following the slope in a north-easterly direction towards Tromso, taking readings from the Norwegian Sea. Both vessels had set out from the site where the unit was to be built and were now on course to meet. Two days remained until their rendezvous, by which time they would have navigated the slope from Norway to the North Sea and recharted it from scratch. It had been Bohrmann and Skaugen's decision to survey the area as though they were exploring new territory – which, as it turned out, was what the waters had become. Since Bohrmann had announced the first findings, nothing seemed certain any more.
The news had come in the previous morning, before the sledge's first pictures arrived on the screen. They'd lowered the CTD probe at first light, when the air was damp and cold. Johanson had tried to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach as the boat pitched over the waves. The first samples were whisked away to the geophysical lab where they underwent analysis. Shortly afterwards, Bohrmann had summoned the team to the seminar room on the main deck. They sat at the polished wooden table, waiting expectantly and clasping mugs of coffee.
Bohrmann's eyes were fixed on a sheet of paper. 'The first results are available already,' he said. 'They're not representative, more a snapshot of what's going on.' His eyes lingered briefly on Johanson, then shifted to Hvistendahl. 'Is everyone acquainted with methane plumes?'
A young man from Hvistendahl's team shook his head.
'They form when free methane gas escapes from the seabed,' explained Bohrmann. 'The gas dissolves in the water, is pulled along by the current and rises to the surface. Usually plumes are found at plate boundaries, where one plate pushes beneath the other, causing sediment compaction and uplift. As a result, fluids and gases escape. It's a well-known phenomenon.' He cleared his throat. 'Areas of high pressure like this are common in the Pacific but not in the Atlantic – and certainly not around Norway. The boundaries here are mainly passive. But this morning we picked up a highly concentrated methane plume. It doesn't figure in any of the earlier data.'
'What level of concentration?' asked Stone.
'Worryingly high – on a par with the levels we found off the coast of Oregon. And that was in a fault zone.'
'Right.' Stone smoothed the frown from his forehead. 'Well, to my knowledge, methane is always leaking into the water around here. I've seen it countless times. It's a well-known fact that somewhere on the seabed gas is constantly escaping. There's always a reason for it. I don't see any call for panic.'
'I don't think you quite understand.'
'Now, look here,' said Stone, 'all I care about is whether or not there's cause for concern. If you ask me, there isn't. We're wasting our time.'
Bohrmann smiled amicably. 'The slope in this region, Dr Stone, especially to the north of here, is held together by methane hydrates. The layers of hydrate are sixty to a hundred metres deep – that's a hefty wedge of ice keeping the seabed in place. However, we're aware of vertical breaks in the layers. Gas has been escaping through them for years. Theoretically, it shouldn't happen. At such high pressure and low temperature, it should freeze on the seabed. But it doesn't. That's the gas you were referring to. We can live with it – we can even decide to ignore it. But we shouldn't let our graphs and tables make us feel complacent. I'm telling you, the concentration of free gas in the water is excessively high.'
'But is it really a seep?' asked Lund. 'Is the gas in the water escaping from the crust, or is it coming from-'
'Dissociated hydrates?' Bohrmann hesitated. 'That's the big question. If hydrates are dissociating, it means the parameters have changed.'
'And is that the case here?' said Lund.
'There are only two parameters affecting the stability of the hydrates: pressure and temperature. But we haven't detected any rise in water temperature, and the sea level hasn't altered.'
'What did I tell you?' said Stone. 'You're worrying about a problem that doesn't exist. So far, we've only seen one sample.' He looked to the others for support. 'A single bloody sample.'
Bohrmann nodded. 'You're right, Dr Stone. We're speculating. But we'll find out the truth. That's why we're here.'
JOHANSON AND LUND HAD headed for the canteen. 'Stone's getting on my nerves,' Johanson said. 'He's always trying to undermine the tests. What's wrong with him? It's his bloody project.'
They refilled their coffee mugs and took them out on deck.
'What do you make of the results?' asked Lund.
'They're preliminary findings, not results.'
'All right. What do you make of the preliminary findings?'
'I don't know.'
'Go on, you can tell me.'
'Bohrmann's the expert.'
'But, in your opinion, is there a link with the worms?'
Johanson thought back to his conversation with Olsen. 'I don't have an opinion,' he said cautiously, 'not yet. It's too early to say.' He blew on his coffee. The sky stretched gloomily above them. 'But I'd rather be at home than here.'
That had been yesterday.
While the new set of samples was analysed, Johanson took himself off to the radio room tucked behind the bridge. From there he could contact anyone in the world via satellite. For the past few days he'd been working on a database of contacts, firing off queries to institutes and scientists, presenting the whole thing as of scholarly interest. The first replies had been disappointing. No one else had found the worm. A few hours previously, he'd extended the search to some of the other expeditions currently at sea. Now he pulled up a chair, squeezed his laptop in among the radio equipment and logged into his account. The only interesting email was from Olsen, who'd written to say that the jellyfish invasion in South America and Australia was now out of hand:
I don't know whether you're listening to the news out there, but there was an update last night on the jellies. They're swarming all over the coast. According to the newsreaders' oracle, they're specifically targeting well-populated areas. Which is nonsense, of course. Apart from that, there's been anothe
r pile-up – a couple of container ships near Japan. Boats are still disappearing, but they've managed to record a few distress calls. No concrete details about British Columbia yet, but plenty of rumour. Supposedly the whales are getting their own back and have started hunting humans. Not everything you hear is true, though, thank God. Well, that's all the good news from Trondheim for now. Don't drown.
'Thanks a bunch,' Johanson muttered tetchily.
But Olsen was right they didn't listen to the news enough here. Being on a research vessel was like falling out of space and time. People always said they were too busy to listen to the news when in fact they just wanted to he rid of politicians, cities and wars for a while. But after a month or two at sea, they'd start to long for civilisation, with its technology, hierarchies, cinemas, fast-food outlets and floors that didn't rise and sink.
Johanson realised he wasn't concentrating. His mind was on the images that had filled the monitors for the past two days.
Worms.
The continental slope was crawling with them. The mats and seams of frozen methane had disappeared under millions of seething bodies trying to burrow into the ice. They could no longer treat it as a localised invasion. They were witnessing a full-scale attack that ran the length of the Norwegian coast.
As if someone had magicked them there…
Surely other people had come across something similar.
Why did he get the feeling that the worms and the jellies were connected?
It was a crazy idea.
And yet, he thought suddenly, the craziness looked like the start of something new.
This was only the beginning.
He called up the CNN homepage to check out Olsen's news.
Lund walked in, set a mug of black tea in front of him and smiled conspiratorially. Their trip to the lake had forged a bond between them, a kind of unspoken solidarity.
The smell of freshly brewed Earl Grey filled the air. 'I didn't know they had it on board,' said Johanson.
'They don't,' she said. 'You bring it with you, if you know someone who likes it.'
Johanson raised his eyebrows. 'That was thoughtful of you. What favour were you hoping to extract from me this time?'
'A thank-you would be nice.'
'Thank you.'
She glanced at the laptop. 'Any luck?'
'Zilch. How're they getting on with the samples?'
'No idea. I had other things to deal with.'
'Such as?'
'Looking after Hvistendahl's assistant.'
'What's wrong with him?'
'He's feeding the fish.' She shrugged. 'You know, mustering his bag.'
Johanson chuckled. Lund liked using sailors' slang. Research vessels brought together two different worlds: scientists and seamen. The two groups tiptoed around each other, doing their best to be accommodating, adjusting to their different ways of talking and living, and getting used to each other's quirks. After a while, they'd know they were in safe water – but until then there was a respectful distance between them, which they bridged with jokes. 'Mustering a bag' was the crew's euphemism for a newcomer's seasickness.
'You threw up the first time too,' said Johanson.
'And you didn't?'
'No.'
'Huh.'
'It's true!' Johanson put his hand on his heart. 'I'm a good sailor.'
Lund dug out a scrap of paper with a scribbled email address. 'Next up is a trip to Greenland. One of Bohrmann's contacts is working out there.'
'Lukas Bauer?'
'You know him?'
Johanson nodded slowly. 'There was a conference a few years back in Oslo. He gave a lecture. I think he was working on currents.'
'He's an engineer. He designs all kinds of things – oceanographic equipment, pressurised tanks. Bohrmann said he even had a hand in the deep-sea simulation chamber.'
'And now he's in the Greenland Sea.'
'He's been there for weeks,' said Lund. 'You're right about his interest in currents, though. He's collecting data there. Another candidate for interrogation in your quest for the worm.'
Johanson hadn't come across the expedition in his earlier research.
The Greenland Sea… Weren't there methane deposits there too? 'How's Skaugen getting on?' he asked.
'Slowly,' Lund told him. 'He's been gagged.'
'By the board?'
'Statoil's a state-controlled company. Need I say more?'
'So, he won't learn anything new,' said Johanson.
Lund sighed. 'The others aren't stupid, you know. They'll notice if someone's trying to pump them for information without giving anything in return. And, anyway, they've got their own code of silence.'
'That's what I told you.'
'Oh, if only I had your brains.'
There was the sound of footsteps outside, then one of Hvistendahl's team poked his head round the door. 'Meeting in the conference room,' he said.
'When?'
'Now. We've got the results.'
Johanson and Lund exchanged a glance. Deep down they already knew the truth. Johanson closed the lid of the laptop, and they followed the man to the main deck below.
BOHRMANN STOOD AT THE TABLE, leaning forward on his knuckles.
'So far we've found the same state of affairs all along the slope,' he said. 'The sea is saturated with methane. Our readings concur with those from the Thorvaldson. There are a few variations, but the basic picture's the same.' He paused. 'I don't want to beat about the bush. Something has started to destabilise large sections of the hydrates.'
No one stirred. No one spoke.
Then the Statoil team all started talking at once.
'What are you saying?'
'So the hydrates are dissociating. I thought you said worms can't destabilise the ice!'
'Is the water getting warmer? Because if it isn't…'
'But what happens if-'
'OK!' Bohrmann gestured for everyone to be quiet. 'That's the situation. I still don't believe the worms are capable of causing serious damage. However, we shouldn't forget that the incidence of the worms coincides time-wise with the breakdown of the hydrates.'
'Very helpful,' muttered Stone.
'Do we know how advanced the process is?' asked Lund.
'We've studied the data from the Thorvaldson expedition a few weeks ago,' said Bohrmann. He was trying to sound reassuring. 'That was when you first discovered the worms. The readings were normal then. They must have started rising since.'
'So what's the deal?' asked Stone. 'Is it getting warmer down there or isn't it?'
'It's not. The stability field is unchanged. The fact that methane's escaping must he due to processes occurring deep in the sediment. Deeper, in any case, than the worms could burrow.'
'What makes you so sure?'
'We've already proved-' Bohrmann broke off. 'With the help of Dr Johanson we've already proved that these creatures can't survive without oxygen. They can only burrow a few metres deep.'
'All you've proved is what happens in a tank,' said Stone, disparagingly. He seemed to have selected Bohrmann as his new arch-enemy.
'If the water isn't getting warmer, then maybe the seabed is,' suggested Johanson.
'Volcanic activity?'
'It's just an idea.'
'Well, it makes sense – but not in this region.'
'Can the dissociated methane get into the water?'
'Not in sufficient quantities, no. For that the worms would need to reach a gas pocket, or be capable of melting hydrates.'
'But they can't possibly have reached a gas pocket,' Stone insisted stubbornly.
'No, like I said-'
'I know exactly what you said. Now it's your turn to listen to me. Each one of those worms is radiating heat, the same as any living creature does. And the warmth they're creating is melting the ice. It only melts a few centimetres on the surface, but it's enough to-'
'The body temperature of a deep-sea creature matches that of its environment,' said Bohrmann, smo
othly.
'But, even so, if-'
'Clifford.' Hvistendahl placed a restraining hand on Stone's arm. It looked like a friendly gesture, but Johanson sensed it was a warning. 'Why don't we wait for the next set of readings?'
'Bugger that!'
'You're not helping, Cliff Drop it.' There was silence again.
'What happens if the methane keeps escaping?' asked Lund.
'There are various possible scenarios,' said Bohrmann. 'Methane fields have been known to disappear. The hydrates can dissociate within a year. That could be what's happening here, and it's conceivable that the worms have triggered the process. If that's the case, large quantities of methane will be released into the air above Norway.'
'Just like fifty-five million years ago?'
'No, there isn't enough for that, and we really shouldn't speculate. Having said that, I don't see how the process can continue without a decrease in pressure or an increase in temperature, and there's no evidence of either. In the coming hours we'll send down the video grab. Maybe that'll clear things up. That's all for the moment.' And with that he left the room.
JOHANSON EMAILED Lukas Bauer in the Greenland Sea. He was starting to feel like a biological detective. Have you seen this worm? Can you describe it to me? Could you pick it out from five other specimens in an identity parade? Is this the worm that stole the lady's handbag? All relevant information will be noted in evidence.
First he wrote a few friendly lines about their meeting in Oslo, then enquired whether Bauer had detected unusually high levels of methane in the area where he was working. He'd deliberately left this point out of his other emails.
When he returned to the deck, he saw the video sledge dangling from the arm of the crane while Bohrmann's geologists inspected it. They were hauling it in. Not far away, outside the repair room, a group of sailors sat talking on a large chest filled with scrubbing brushes. Over the years, it had established itself as a lookout and living room combined. Draped in a threadbare cloth, it was known by some as 'the couch'. It was the ideal place to sit and poke fun at the unsteady movements of the research assistants and scientists, but there were no jokes today. The tension was affecting the sailors too, most of whom knew what the scientists were up to: there was something wrong with the continental slope, and everyone was worried.
The Swarm Page 23