“I don’t get this,” he said. “I would have thought they’d use every minute to mine what they could. You hear anything on the hydrophones?” “Nope,” Joe said.
“You sure?”
“I’ve had these headphones on so long, I think they’ve melded with my brain,” Joe said. “But nothing’s going on out there except a few fish swimming around and mating.” “You can actually hear them mating?” Kurt asked.
“Just the groovy music in the background,” Joe said, “but I know what they’re doing.” Too much time sitting alone, listening to the sounds of the sea, had obviously warped his friend’s brain. He rubbed his eyes and blinked repeatedly. Too much time, he thought.
“They’re not coming,” he said. “Turn on the lights.” “You sure?”
“At this point they’d barely have time to mine anything before they’d have to move out,” he said. “So much for my big idea.” Joe started with the running lights and the low-level dash illumination.
Once their eyes adjusted to the presence of the minor lights, Joe flicked on the main exterior lights, and the area right around them lit up in the familiar yellow-green.
“Nothing’s changed,” Kurt said, half expecting the tower of magnetic rock to have disappeared out from under their noses. It still loomed in the distance like a monolith.
Kurt looked to the right, gazing at the dark shadow of the Liberty ship they’d sidled up to. A gaping wound below the waterline seemed to have been the fatal blow to this particular vessel. For a second he wondered if it had gone down in World War II like the ships he’d seen in Truk. Couldn’t have been that old, there was only a modicum of sea growth on the ship. No more than a couple years’ worth, if that.
He looked the other way out across the seafloor to where the next-closest wrecks lay. The first was a small plane, or at least what had once been a twin-engine Cessna. He remembered what Katarina had said about the triple-tailed Constellation being made of aluminum, a nonferrous metal that would not be affected by magnetism. It lay out on the very fringe of the area, but the remnants of this plane were in close. Why? he thought.
He looked at another of the sunken vessels that lay beyond the wrecked aircraft. It was a trawler, maybe 90 feet in length. Standard multinet fishing boat. He couldn’t see it clearly from where they were, but he remembered gliding over it at one point in the initial survey. And, now that he thought about it, that trawler also wore little in the way of growth, even less than the Liberty vessel they’d parked next to.
He wondered if the magnetism was affecting the rate of growth. Some ships of the day used low-level electric charges to inhibit algae growth on their hulls. Maybe this was a similar effect.
He turned back to the ship that loomed beside them, his eyes focusing on the gaping wound in its side. And then it hit him.
“I’m an idiot,” Kurt said suddenly. “I’m an absolute idiot.” “What are you talking about?” Joe asked.
“How could we be so stupid?” Kurt mumbled, still lost in his own thoughts.
“Well, we’ve had a lot of practice,” Joe said.
“You know what else we’ve had a lot of practice doing?” Kurt said. “Hauling ships up from the depths. And also sending them to the bottom.” He turned, trying to look back at Joe. “How many ships have you scuttled as part of the reef-building program?” “At least fifty,” Joe said, “if you count all of the past ten years.” “I’ve been there half the time,” Kurt said. “And how do we sink them?” “We set charges below the waterline,” Joe said. “Blow holes in them. How else?” “Look at the damage on this ship,” he said.
The Barracuda already had its main lights on, but Joe activated a secondary light that was directional. He aimed it at the hole in the Liberty ship’s side. It left no doubt.
“The steel plates are blown outward,” Joe said.
“Someone scuttled this ship,” Kurt said.
“It could have been an internal explosion,” Joe said. “You never know what she was carrying. Besides, that’s a much bigger hole than any of us would have made.” “That’s because you want the ship to settle slowly and securely, landing bottom down so it can form a nice reef. But if you were trying to sink something quickly and not have anyone see it, this might be the way.” Kurt powered up the impeller, and the Barracuda lifted off the seafloor. He guided them across the mouth of this Devil’s Gate toward the trawler. There they found the same type of damage. A large outward blast had sunk the ship. A third freighter was the same.
“None of these ships have more than a year’s sea growth on them,” Kurt said. “The only thing that did was that Constellation out there. This place hasn’t been collecting ships for ages. These all went down at the same time.” “How could we not have seen this?” Joe asked.
“We were too busy with the scientists,” Kurt said. “Everyone was obsessing over that tower of rock, and, aside from Katarina, no one did more than a cursory examination of these ships.” As they settled in front of the gaping wound in the third ship, Kurt racked his tired brain to put it together. “This whole thing is a hoax.” “Sure seems that way,” Joe added. “But why? What’s the point? Who could even pull such a thing off?” Kurt guessed they both knew the answer to that last question but not the reasons behind it.
He went over the events in his mind again, desperately looking for a connection. He felt something ominous approaching, like a storm he couldn’t outrun. There seemed little of value anyone could get out of such a hoax.
If the same people who’d attacked the Kinjara Maru were in on this, how did it help them? It didn’t get them any materials. It couldn’t really bring them any more money. In fact, it had to have cost a small fortune to set up the hoax to begin with.
“Some terrorist groups are big on publicity,” he said.
“There are more effective ways to get it than this,” Joe said.
He was right. So far, aside from a few low-level reporters, Kurt hadn’t seen any great flood of interest.
In fact, after the initial announcement, few in the outside world seemed to care what they’d found. The only people who’d shown up in droves and stuck around were the experts in magnetism and superconduction.
Kurt gasped as he realized the truth. “The scientists,” he said. “That’s what they’re after.” It took the briefest instant for Joe to agree.
Apparently, the group that needed more of everything had included know-how on their shopping list. If Kurt was right, they’d baited a trap to bring experts from all over the world here. He only hoped they hadn’t snapped it shut yet.
Kurt grabbed the controls and gunned the throttle. As soon as they were moving again, he angled the nose of the Barracuda upward, and they began accelerating and climbing toward the gray light filtering in from above. They had to get to the surface and send a message to the Argo.
The science teams needed to be warned.
33
SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER, shortly after Kurt and Joe had first settled in on the seafloor beside the Liberty ship, Katarina Luskaya was packing her suitcase under the watchful eye of Major Sergei Komarov.
With everything that had happened, the high command had decided to abandon the mission for now.
“You became romantically involved with the American,” he said, sounding as if he disapproved.
“Not as involved as I would have liked,” she said brashly.
“This is not what we sent you here for,” he reminded her.
She’d almost forgotten that, so much had gone on. “He was in charge of the dive area,” she said. “I thought it would be better if he took a liking to me. That’s what I see in all the old movies, you know.” The major eyed her suspiciously and then smiled just a bit, a slight crease appearing in his permanent five o’clock shadow. “That is a good answer,” he said. “Whether it is true or not, you are learning.” She offered a sheepish grin in return and went back to packing as a knock at the door sounded. The major wasn’t so bad. More like a big brother than Big B
rother.
He went to answer the door, putting one hand inside his jacket where his Makarov pistol rested.
OUTSIDE IN THE HALLWAY, two men stood at the door. A short man with dark hair held what looked like a small monocular, his taller partner held what looked like a length of pipe, though it had frost on its curved top and some type of heavy electrical battery pack on one side.
The shorter man placed the monocular on the peephole in the door. “Movement,” he said, looking into the scope. “It’s the male. Three seconds.” He stepped away from the door, and the man with the pipe moved in, holding one end of it against the door chest-high.
“Yes,” the deep Russian voice of Major Komarov said through the door. “What is it?”
“Now,” the shorter man said.
The pipe man pressed a button. A split second of buzzing and then a sudden thud, and splinters frayed out around the end of the pipe where it was pressed against the door. It was a mini rail gun powered by superconducting magnets and carrying a two-pound sharpened metal spike as a projectile. At the press of a button it instantly accelerated the spike to 100 miles per hour, more than enough to fire it through the door and the Russian major.
The pipe man stepped back and delivered a kick to the door. The jamb snapped, and what remained of the door swung open.
KATARINA LUSKAYA HEARD an odd sound and looked up. Slivers of wood were flying through the room. The major stumbled backward, clutching his stomach, a short spearlike piece of metal sticking out from his abdomen. Blood soaked his white shirt. He hit the ground without a word.
Katarina reacted slowly at first, but then she moved with all the speed in her body. She lunged toward the major as she heard the door being kicked in. Landing beside him, she grabbed for the weapon in his coat. She pulled it from its holster, thumbed desperately for the safety, and turned toward the door.
A boot slammed into her face, snapping her head to the side, before she could fire. She tumbled, lost her grip on the pistol, and felt someone on top of her an instant later.
Already stunned from the blow, she struggled only an instant before a rag soaked with chloroform was pressed to her face. She felt her hands go numb, and then nothing but darkness.
34
AS THE BARRACUDA raced for the surface, Kurt could hardly contain the anger he felt at being so foolish. He’d jumped to conclusions early on, assuming he and the Argo were the targets of these madmen even though in hindsight it was obvious that they held little real value.
He and Joe had to get a call off. They had to reach the surface so the shortwave radio could be used to contact the Argo thirty miles away in the harbor at Santa Maria.
He thought of the dead French scientists, wondered why they hadn’t been taken, and then remembered that it seemed as if they’d put up a hell of a struggle. He guessed all of the scientists would face the same choice, fight or surrender. Most would give in; some would die.
He wondered what would happen to Katarina. He hoped she and her “chaperone” from the State were already at the airport and boarding a plane.
“Forty feet,” Joe called out.
Kurt eased back on the throttle just a tad. Crashing the surface at full speed was a good way to catch air, and possibly even flip the sub.
He leveled out and they broke the surface.
“Make the call,” he said.
He didn’t have to give the order. He could hear Joe flipping the switches and the sound of the surface antenna extending.
“Argo, this is Barracuda,” Joe said. “Please come in. We have an urgent transmission to complete.” While both of them waited, Kurt held the Barracuda steady. She was designed to fly underwater, but she rode less well on the surface.
“Argo, this is Barracuda.” The next voice they heard was Captain Haynes’s, which was a surprise in and of itself, although Kurt could understand him waiting up all night worrying about the dangerous operation Kurt and Joe believed they were attempting.
“Joe, this is the captain,” Haynes said. “Listen, there’s a problem here. We’ve tried to—” A sharp crack rang out, and the cockpit canopy was suddenly covered with dimples and pits. A shadow crossed toward them from the left. Another crack sounded, and Kurt realized it was a shotgun blast. This time, he saw a gaping hole appear in the left wing.
He gunned the engine and turned hard to the right.
Looking over, he saw a powerboat bearing down on them.
It looked like it was about to cut them in half. He had no choice. He pushed the nose down, and they went under. Water poured in through tiny holes in the canopy. The boat crossed over them, passing with a roar and a loud bang that jerked the Barracuda sideways.
Kurt looked to the right, seeing that the winglet that acted as a rudder had been torn off the right side. He felt water pooling at his feet, and noticed how sluggish the sleek little sub had already become.
He pulled back on the stick, and the Barracuda turned upward, breaking the surface and skipping across a wave before coming back down.
“Be quick,” he said to Joe.
“Captain, are you there?” Joe said.
He could see the speedboat turning back toward them on a wide curve to the right. Out beyond it he saw another powerboat racing in to join the fight. He didn’t know what they were going to do to escape, but he knew they had to finish the call. He heard Joe keying the mike, but there was no feedback, no static.
“Argo, this is Barracuda,” Joe said. “The scientists are the target. Repeat, the scientists are the target.” Kurt heard a click as Joe let go of the transmit switch. They waited.
“No answer,” Joe said.
Kurt turned his head, ready to order Joe to try again, when he saw the tail end of the Barracuda. The high-frequency antenna was gone. The sheet metal looked as if it had been chewed up by the prop of the passing boat.
“I got nothing,” Joe said.
The powerboats were racing toward them again, in a staggered formation. The Barracuda had no hope of outrunning them. And the only other radio on board was the underwater transceiver, which had a max range of about a mile.
“Use the speed tape,” Kurt said. “Plug over these holes.” As Kurt angled away from the approaching boats and slammed the throttle to the firewall, Joe thrashed around in his seat.
In a moment he’d retrieved the tape from a small compartment and was ripping short lengths from the roll and trying to seal up the holes in the canopy caused by the pellets from the shotgun blast.
“Here they come,” Kurt said.
“You know this won’t hold at depth,” Joe said.
“I’ll try to stay near the surface,” Kurt said.
He heard the ripping and slapping of the speed tape, the roar of the approaching boats, and the muted boom of another shotgun blast. This time, the spray of pellets missed, splashing a foamy hole in the wave beside them.
“Dive,” Joe said.
Kurt pushed the nose down. The water swirled over the canopy, and the Barracuda tucked in underneath the waves, leveling off at ten feet. Plenty of water was still seeping in, but it wasn’t spraying like before, and Joe continued to peel and slap on the tape.
As soon as he was finished, he grabbed what looked like a tube of toothpaste but was actually an epoxy resin hardener. Ammonia-like fumes filled the cockpit as Joe smeared the resin all over the tape. The hardener would react with other resins in the speed tape and harden the patches in under a minute.
Eight feet under, Kurt watched as one wake and then another flashed across the top of them. He immediately turned left, a direction the Barracuda seemed to favor after the damage they’d suffered.
“You see any other holes?” Joe asked.
Kurt looked around. The patches and smeared resin made it look like someone had sprayed graffiti over half the cockpit. The fumes had his head pounding and eyes burning already. But the water was no longer pouring in. And as the patches hardened it would almost cease.
“Good work, Joe,” he said.
>
“Not my most aesthetically pleasing job,” Joe said, “but it’s not meant to be patched while submerging under fire.” “Looks like art to me,” Kurt said, straining to see past the mess and locate the powerboats he knew had to be approaching.
“In a future life I’m going to work on a NASCAR pit crew,” Joe said.
“Let’s just work on extending our current lives a little bit,” Kurt said. “Can you think of any way to contact the Argo?” Silence reigned as both of them racked their brains. Kurt certainly couldn’t.
“The data link,” Joe said. “We can e-mail them.” “E-mail?”
“Not exactly, but we can send them a data message. It goes up to a satellite and then comes down. As long as someone sees the telemetry equipment go on, they’ll get it.” Kurt wondered how likely that was, picturing the screens on the telemetry unit coming on and no one there to see them. Certainly there was no reason for anyone to be monitoring them right now.
“Anything else?”
“Either that or we paddle all the way back to Santa Maria and use semaphores,” Joe said.
“That’s what I thought,” Kurt said. “Key up the telemetry system, let me know when you’re ready.” “We’ll need thirty seconds on the surface for the satellite to lock.” “I don’t think we’ll have that long,” Kurt said. As if to prove the point, he saw one of the wakes coming back toward them, not racing this time but rather matching their speed and then paralleling their course. The second wake did the same on the other side and to the rear.
Kurt turned hard to the left, back toward the undersea graveyard. The boats followed.
“They can see us, Kemo Sabe,” Joe said.
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