Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

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Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 25

by Cussler, Clive


  As the ROV passed the second plane's fuselage and approached the first

  plane's set of pontoons, a quizzical look fell over Summer's face.

  "Dirk, hold it there for a second," she said quietly, focusing on the

  monitor.

  "What is it?" he asked while neutralizing the position of the ROV.

  "Look at the pontoons. Do you notice anything different?"

  Dirk studied the monitor for a moment, then shook his head.

  "The pair at the end of the hangar were cabled directly to the deck,"

  Summer said. "But these two have a platform under each of them."

  He looked at the images and his brow furrowed. Each of the pontoons

  sat balanced on a square-shaped platform roughly two feet high.

  Dirk eased the ROV around and alongside the base of one of the

  pontoons, then positioned it next to the platform. Spinning the ROV

  around, he applied the thrusters hard for a few seconds to try and blow

  away the encrusted sediment. He repositioned the ROV, then waited for

  the resulting cloud of sediment to subside. Peering through the murk,

  they could clearly see an exposed section of the platform. It was a

  hardwood crate built from what appeared to be mahogany. Dirk carefully

  studied the entire platform.

  "By God, that's got to be it."

  "Are you sure?" Summer questioned.

  "Well, I can't say what's inside, but the exterior is the same

  construction and dimension as the bomb canister crates that I found

  smashed open on the I-403."

  Dirk surveyed the crate from all angles, then confirmed that a

  matching crate was wedged beneath the second pontoon. Summer made a

  notation on the video files, documenting the exact location in the

  hangar where the crates were found. Pitt observed that each crate

  appeared to be held in place by the force of the pontoon, which was

  securely tied to the hangar deck by a half-dozen thick steel cables

  that crisscrossed the top of each float.

  "Nice eye, Summer. You get a beer for that catch."

  "Make mine a bottle of Martin Ray Chardonnay," she replied with a half

  smile. "I'm just glad we know where they are now."

  "It's going to take someone a little more doing to get these out of

  here."

  "Us too, for that matter," Summer replied glumly.

  The wheels in Dirk's mind were still churning to compute an escape plan

  as he guided the ROV back toward the submersible. He lost

  concentration when Snoopy's bright underwater lights approached and

  shined brilliantly into the submersible's cockpit. Blinded in the

  glare, he instinctively steered the ROV down toward the hangar deck as

  he brought it closer to the Starfish. But as it approached, the ROV

  suddenly hung suspended, failing to move the last few feet to its

  cradle.

  "Dirk, Snoopy's umbilical is caught on something," Summer noticed,

  pointing out the bubble window.

  Dirk followed her guide and could see in the murkiness that the ROV's

  cable had snagged on some sort of debris lying on the hangar deck,

  about twenty feet in front of them.

  "I'm surprised we even made it so far through this obstacle course," he

  replied.

  Reversing direction, he backed up the ROV until the cable straightened

  from its grasp around what looked to be a small engine sitting in a

  tubular frame three feet off the ground.

  "A gas-powered compressor, I bet," he said, noticing a pair of decayed

  hoses connected to one end of the motor.

  "What's with the big handle?" Summer asked, eyeing a large metal tod

  protruding from one side of the block. A round, shovel-type grip was

  attached to the end.

  "It has an old mechanical starter. Kind of like pulling the rope on a

  lawn mower, only pumping the handle cranks the motor over. I saw a

  Swiss-made compressor on a dive boat once that had the same setup-"

  Dirk stared at the handle for a moment, not moving the ROV.

  "You're going to bring Snoopy home?" Summer finally asked.

  "Yes," he replied with a sudden gleam in his eye. "But first he's

  going to help get us out of here."

  On board the Sea Rover, nervous apprehension was creeping over the

  captain and crew. It had been nearly ninety minutes since they last

  communicated with the Starfish and Morgan was anxiously preparing to

  call in an emergency rescue. The Sea Rover was not carrying a backup

  submersible, and the nearest NUMA submersible was at least twelve Hours

  away.

  "Ryan, let's contact the Navy's Deep Submergence Unit. Notify them of

  our situation and request the ETA on a deep-water rescue vehicle,"

  Morgan barked, silently dreading the thought.

  If Dirk and Summer were in real trouble, he knew they had only a matter

  of minutes, not hours. Their chances of rescue would be as slim as a

  dime.

  "Okay, Summer, hold the take-up reel." Dirk had positioned Snoopy near

  the top of the hangar ceiling a few feet past the compressor when he

  gave the command to Summer. She pressed a button on the console that

  stopped an automatic spool from reeling in the ROV's power cable. Dirk

  gently moved the ROV back toward the compressor, watching the cable

  slacken beneath it. Like an anaconda coiling about its prey, he

  carefully manipulated the ROV in a circular motion above the

  compressor, letting the slack cable wrap loosely around the protruding

  handle. After dancing the ROV around and around several times, he

  successfully engineered five loops about the handle, which he tightened

  by drawing the ROV up and away.

  "Okay, activate the take-up spool and I'll pull with Snoopy!" "That

  compressor must weigh three hundred pounds. Even underwater, you'll

  never budge it," Summer replied, wondering if her brother had lost his

  mind.

  "It's not the compressor I'm after, it's the handle."

  Toggling the ROV's controls, he increased the power to Snoopy, now

  pointed in the direction of the submersible. The ROV surged forward

  until its power cord tightened around the metal handle. Its small

  thrusters churning the water, the little ROV fought to move forward but

  could not muster enough force to budge the handle. Then Summer joined

  in, reeling in the other end of the cable with the automatic take-up

  spool until the cord went taut around the base of the handle. Though

  both ends of the handle were now being yanked at, it was the lower end

  snagged by Summer that did the trick. The boxed end of the metal bar

  slid off the sprocketed knuckle that turned the flywheel and the whole

  handle slipped free of the compressor, gliding through the water toward

  the Starfish. Dirk carefully dragged it in a horizontal position, so

  as not to lose his coiled grip, and gently tugged it to the front of

  the submersible.

  "I don't think Ryan is going to appreciate how you're treating his

  ROV," Summer said with feigned concern.

  "I'll buy him a new one if this works."

  "And what exactly is it that you have in mind?" Summer asked, still

  not sure of his intent.

  "Why, just a little bit of leverage, my dear sister. If you'd be so

  kind as to grab my newfound crowbar with the left mechani
cal arm,

  you'll see what I mean."

  Dirk guided the ROV close to the left side of the Starfish, towing the

  handle with it. Summer then activated the controls of the left

  mechanical arm and opened its clawlike hand. Working in unison, they

  brought the two devices together until Summer could securely snatch one

  end of the handle with the vise-strong claw. Dirk then slackened the

  ROV cable and slowly backed Snoopy away, unraveling the cable off the

  free end of the bar. Once clear, he activated the cable spool up and

  returned Snoopy to the Starfish, securing the ROV in its cradle.

  "For a beagle, Snoopy makes for a pretty good retriever," Summer

  remarked.

  "Let's see now if our mechanical arm can make for a good floor jack,"

  Dirk replied.

  His eyes studied a row of battery ampere gauges on the submarine's

  control panel. They had spent more than an hour operating the ROV and

  their power level had been drained to barely thirty percent. Time was

  running short if they were to have any hope of making it back to the

  surface on their own.

  "Let's do this on one try. Purging tanks," he said, pushing a pair of

  buttons that pumped water out of the ballast tank in order to increase

  buoyancy. He then powered up the main thrusters to the submersible.

  Summer had meanwhile brought the mechanical arm around the front of the

  Starfish to its full dexterity and studied the position of the wedged

  propeller. It would have to be lifted and pushed forward slightly for

  them to pry themselves away, but there was little space to work the

  handle in. After leaning the handle against one of the skids and

  shortening her grip, she was able to work eight inches of the metal bar

  under the tip of the fallen propeller.

  "Ready," she said tentatively, wiping a sweaty palm on her pant leg.

  Dirk was also sweating profusely, as the cramped cockpit had grown hot

  once the air-conditioning was shut down to conserve power.

  "Pry us out of here," Dirk said, his hand at the ready on the thruster

  controls. With tense anticipation, Summer gently shifted the controls

  that raised the mechanical arm. Where the hydraulic power of the arm

  was insufficient to lift the arm on its own, the added leverage of the

  metal handle prying against the deck was just enough to budge it.

  Creeping ever so slowly, the propeller blade rose an inch, then two,

  then a few more. Dirk could feel the rear of the submersible tilt off

  the deck slightly from the added buoyancy. When Summer had safely

  jimmied the blade above the height of the front skids, he slammed the

  power controls to maximum reverse thrust.

  There was no immediate blast of power or skyrocketing acceleration by

  the Starfish but rather just a slight jerk as it backed tail first on

  the deck. The submersible slid up and away from the grasp of the

  propeller as the blade slipped down the compressor handle and clanged

  back to the hangar deck just inches in front of the Starfish's

  skids.

  "Nicely done, sis. What do you say we go get some fresh air?" Dirk

  said, adjusting the thrusters to raise the Starfish up and out of I-411's hangar.

  "I'm with you," Summer replied with obvious relief.

  Almost the second they cleared the walls of the hangar deck, the deep

  voice of Ryan blew loudly through communication earphones.

  "Starfish, this is Sea Rover. Do you read, over," came a monotonous

  tone that had obviously been repeating the phrase a thousand times over

  in the last few hours.

  "This is Starfish" Summer responded. "We read you loud and clear. Have

  initiated ascent, please stand by for recovery."

  "Roger, Starfish" Ryan replied in a suddenly excited pitch. "You have

  some folks worried up here. Do you need assistance?"

  "Negative. We just stubbed our toe down here. All is well; we'll be

  topside shortly."

  "Copy that. Standing by for recovery."

  Their ascent time, aided by controlled positive buoyancy, was slightly

  quicker than their descent, and in ten minutes they could make out the

  glowing bright lights of the Sea Rover's moon pool. The faint

  outline of the ship appeared as the submersible drew closer and Dirk

  tweaked the Starfish's thrusters with what little remaining power he

  had to guide them to the center of the glowing ring of beacons. Dirk

  and Summer both let out a silent sigh of relief as they popped through

  the hole in the ship's bottom and bobbed to the surface of the pool.

  Morgan, Ryan, and a half-dozen crew members ringed the moon pool and

  watched intently as the Starfish was plucked from the water by a hoist

  and lowered gently to the deck. Dirk powered down the submersible as

  Summer opened the rear hatch and the two climbed out for a grateful

  breath of fresh air.

  "We were afraid you got lost down there," Morgan smiled, then looked

  quizzically at the compressor handle that was still lodged in the grip

  of the left mechanical arm.

  "That's our walking stick," Summer explained. "We took a walk where we

  ought not to have gone and had a little trouble getting back out."

  "Well," Morgan asked, unable to refrain from the other concern on his

  mind, "what did you find?"

  "Two cartons of eggs waiting to be delivered," Dirk said with a grin.

  The Sea Rover's crew worked feverishly to repair the Starfish's

  mechanical arm and replenish the submersible's drained batteries while

  Dirk, Summer, and Morgan formulated a salvage strategy. Reviewing the

  video footage recorded by Snoopy, they calculated the exact position in

  the sub's hangar where the bomb crates were situated. Studying the

  video closely, they determined that the hangar's bulkhead walls were

  constructed in ten-foot sections.

  "We should be able to cut through the original seams and lift out a

  ten-foot piece of bulkhead alongside the pontoons," Dirk said, tapping

  a frozen video image with a pencil. "The Starfish is eight feet wide,

  so that should give us enough room to maneuver close and remove the

  bombs with the mechanical arms."

  "We're fortunate in that the currents around the wreck are only about 1

  to 2 knots, so we'll be able to work unimpeded by the seas. It will

  still take us a couple of dives, though," Summer added.

  "Ryan can alternate dives with you two," Morgan said. "Why don't you

  grab a few hours' rest while we turn the submersible around and prepare

  for some cutting?"

  "You don't have to ask me twice," Summer yawned in reply. Her sleep

  was short-lived, however, when Dirk woke her three hours later and they

  prepared for another dive. With a fresh set of batteries the Starfish was released again and they made their slow descent to the submarine. The submersible hovered off the side of the hangar facing the blast hole, then slowly moved sideways toward the conning

  tower. At six-foot intervals, measured by the width between the two

  semi-extended mechanical arms, Dirk would push the submersible forward

  and scratch a measuring mark on the encrusted surface with the left

  claw. At the tenth interval, or sixty feet from the torpedo gash, he

  scratched a rough A on the side of the hangar
.

  "This is where we cut," he said to Summer. "Let's see if we can find

  the seams."

  Dragging one of the claws along the surface of the hangar, Dirk thrust

  the submersible sideways, leaving a long scratch along the wall. Moving

  back and closely examining the scarred section, which bled a dirty rust

  and gold, they quickly found an exposed vertical crease, representing

  the seam where two plates of the watertight hangar were welded

  together. As expected, another vertical seam was found ten feet away.

  While the Starfish hovered, Summer scraped away at the seams, using the

  claw like a knife, exposing the weld lines. When she was finished, a

  square outline in the shape of a garage door had been etched on the

  hangar.

  "So much for the easy part," Dirk said. "You ready to cut?" "Pop

  these on and let's get started," Summer replied, handing him a pair of

  welder's protective glasses while donning a pair herself. Taking

  control of both mechanical arms, she reached into a basket mounted on

  the front skid pad and with the right claw retrieved an electrode

  holder, connected via a reinforced line to a 230-amp DC power source

  inside the submersible. With the left claw, she attached an iron oxide

  non exothermic cutting rod into the electrode holder and flicked on the

  power. Unlike a typical underwater cutting rod, which required a

  supply of oxygen to fuel the burn, the iron oxide rods simply required

  a power source to generate a superheated cutting arc. The less

  complicated design was more practical for welding at remote underwater

 

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