Frozen Fire

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  And Dennis would bring the energy industry to its knees.

  In the privacy of her quarters, Marie knew her triumph was justified, if perhaps insensitive at that particular moment. She and her team had overcome some of the greatest obstacles humans and technology had ever faced to design this operation and bring it to full functionality. Extraordinary-distances, extreme pressure, frigid temperatures, and fast and often unpredictable currents had been but a few of the challenges they’d faced and surmounted. Her team had prevailed, although the sea had not given way easily.

  Feeling the heady rhythm of superiority pulse through her, Marie tapped a few keys on the small laptop on the table in front of her. Instantly,the screen became her window to the outside world as she brought up real-time video footage of the mining operation as captured by cameras mounted outside the habitat’s pods.

  The sight never failed to leave her both awed and humbled.

  Throughout the years it had taken to build the habitat and then the mining operation, the sea had continually asserted its presence. A never-ending swirl of sea “snow,” minute bits of skeletal remains, decayed matter, and other jetsam, drifted, now and always, through swaths of brightness cast by powerful spotlights mounted on the habitat’s superstructure. Myriad bizarrely configured fish, octopi, the occasional curious shark or whale, and other fantastic, less recognizable sea creatures emerged from the impenetrable shadows that hugged the edges of the light to swim or drift among the struts, tanks, and machinery that comprised the submarine seascape.

  Bizarre deep-water coral and sponges had already encased some of the pillars, which now appeared to be the spires of an undersea cathedral. Sea worms wound sinuously, ethereally among them. Tiny insectlike crustaceans moved through the water in dizzying, seemingly mechanized bursts of minute motion, in sharp contrast to the balletic glide of squid and the delicate wanderings of starfish along the seafloor. It was a view that could hypnotize her, and sometimes Marie thought it was as though the sea had given its approval to the intrusive, alien structure, and had bestowed an unearthly elegance on such a high-tech, industrial vista.

  She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and let quiet triumph wash over her. Never in her career had a project been such a challenge, never had one given her such a sense of personal pride. This was the crowning achievement of her career, of her life. Nothing could possibly surpass it.

  Their success—her success—tomorrow would have effects that would ripple across the world and across time.

  The team she and Dennis had put together, the team they had nurtured, would introduce to the world a new fossil fuel: methane hydrate. Retrieving the precious crystals would not irreparably destroy massive amounts of the earth’s surface. When the methane hydrate was burned to generate power, its only byproducts would be carbon dioxide and water. The crystals needed no belching, polluting refineries to become usable. Handled properly, the crystals could be transported easily and safely, with no risk of befouling coastlines in the event of an accident.

  Whenever Dennis decided to announce it, news of the discovery of hundreds of millions of cubic meters of methane hydrate crystals beneath the Caribbean seafloor would enliven the world’s financial markets; the news that the cache was already being mined would stun them. But only for a few seconds. Someone, somewhere—Wall Street, London, Hong Kong, Dubai—would realize that the balance of world power was about to shift. Then the trading frenzy would begin.

  Announcing the mining operation was an enormous risk. Going public would put the Taino installation into the crosshairs of the petroleum industry, the natural gas, coal, and hydroelectric power industries, and the nuclear power industry, all of which would be waiting for, hoping for, and possibly plotting its failure. Atlantis would become the newest target for terrorism.

  Even without the potential for human-generated danger, Atlantis was still at risk because Nature itself could rebel.

  Atlantis lay in the deepest part of the Caribbean Sea, near a fault line between two tectonic plates. The area was well known for its seismic activity—earthquakes and volcanic eruptions were familiar events in the region. Taino itself was a volcanic island.

  Marie took the knowledge in stride. The potential effects of an earthquake of a magnitude 7 on the Richter scale had been used as a mea sure against the amount of torsion and shaking the rig and habitat could withstand. The compartmentalized design enabled damaged sections to be sealed off and jettisoned so as to minimize any damage to the remaining structure. The huge struts of the drilling platform were tethered to the seafloor, yet allowed for significant flexibility in the event of unusually strong currents, even the sucking pressures of a tsunami. The harvesting and transfer installation was braced against collapse. Every conceivable scenario had been considered, every vulnerability addressed. The result was a masterpiece of materials, design, and construction.

  A pop-up message from one of her team brought Marie’s attention back to the images on the screens in front of her. As she read the message, she erupted into unrestrained laughter.

  The final in situ tests of the liberation and extraction procedures had been completed and the results were being analyzed.

  Barring any last-minute problems, her team would begin changing the course of the world’s history in just a few hours.

  CHAPTER

  13

  9:00 P.M., Saturday, October 25, off the eastern coast of Taino

  Cyn and her friends and the entire crew of the Floating Dutchman lounged on the deck as the boat rocked easily in the soft swells of the calm, dark sea. No one was admiring the far-flung stardust that lit up the night sky or commenting on the occasional splashes that punctuated the heavy, humid silence. They were all too busy watching a patch of ocean just a few miles off their starboard side, which had been lit to an obscene brightness by Taino’s search-and-rescue teams. The mood on the party boat was an odd mixture of patience and frustration; there were more people than there were binoculars and they had to take turns watching the flurry of activity-going on within that distant blur of light.

  Though the captain had dropped the sails a good distance from the fray, the clipper had plenty of company. There were several military ships loitering nearby, and a ragtag fleet of small pleasure craft, commercial fishing boats. Even a few yachts—probably chartered by the networks—bobbed and weaved through the water.

  “Can’t we get any closer?” Cyn demanded with a petulance that her camera crew in Gainesville would have recognized as dangerous. The captain of the clipper, the delectably Dutch and sun-streaked Günter, however, shook his head slowly, then shrugged.

  First Matt, then Sam, now this joker. What the hell is it with rule-bound men?

  “Why not? Other boats are,” she insisted.

  “Because I’m the captain and I said so,” he said easily in heavily accented English.

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  The look he gave her was cool and unfazed. “We tried, and we’ll try again tomorrow, like I said. But for now, we’re staying here. I don’t want to get any closer in the dark. Why don’t all of you ladies just relax and drink?”

  He straightened from where he was leaning against the railing and walked toward the bow, shaking his head at his first mate and muttering something unintelligible. Then Cyn saw the captain roll his eyes and anger burned through her.

  “Take us closer,” she snapped. “We deserve to see what’s going on.”

  He turned to face her again. “You think that if you like. But getting closer is not going to happen. Instead, I suggest you do what you came here to do. Get drunk. Go skinny-dipping. Enjoy the weather. That is what you’re paying for, not to see body parts in the water and get jet fuel all over the hull of my boat,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared below deck.

  “He’s got a point, Cyn,” Stephanie said quietly as she passed the binoculars to her neighbor.

  Cyn looked at her oldest friend with something close to shock. “Oh? And what�
��s that? And, by the way, when did you become such a wimp?”

  “I’m not a wimp,” Stephanie shot back. “For heaven’s sake, Cyn, people died over there. I mean, okay, I’m human and I’m curious like everyone else, but I really don’t need to see anything close up. Do you?”

  “Yeah, I do. I don’t want to see headless torsos floating by,” Cyn replied, mostly to see Stephanie cringe, “but I’d like to see what they’re doing.”

  “They’re pulling pieces of bodies and an airplane out of the water. If you need to watch that, you have a pretty weird sense of fun,” Stephanie snapped. “Now, would you just drop it? We’re not going over there, okay? We’re on vacation. I’m on vacation. I want to have fun, not play the faithful assistant in your CSI: Caribbean fantasy. Can’t you just turn it off for once?”

  Cyn gave her oldest friend a smug look. “Okay, fine. Let’s do what the captain says. Let’s have fun. In fact, let’s go for a moonlit skinny-dip.”

  Without another word, she stood up, stripped off the few articles of clothing she was wearing, swung her legs over the railing, and launched herself from the side of the boat in a graceful arc.

  The water was relatively warm; nevertheless the shock of it bit through her. By the time she’d surfaced and caught her breath, the shouting from on deck had begun. Ignoring the voices, some angry, some clearly concerned, Cyn struck out in an easy crawl toward the lights.

  She knew she wouldn’t make it very far before the captain launched the small inflatable that they’d been towing and chased after her.

  Indeed, only a few minutes elapsed before it passed a few feet from her, manned by Günter himself and another crew member who looked as if he’d rather not be there. The craft swung around to block her passage. Cyn stopped swimming and met the captain’s furious gaze.

  “Get the hell in this boat,” he ordered after he cut the engine.

  “I feel like having a swim, just like you suggested.” She turned onto her back, figuring the sight of her pale body against the dark water might distract him or at least diffuse his anger. “Why don’t you join me?”

  “Get in this boat,” he repeated coldly, his accent growing stronger.

  “Hey, I’m the customer, remember? And I feel like taking a moonlight swim,” she said, willing her teeth not to chatter.

  “Lady, you get in this boat or I’ll leave you here.”

  She smiled at him. “You can’t do that.”

  “Very well. I’ll come in there and I’ll get you aboard any way I have to. You understand that?”

  The temperature of the water and the sheer fury on his face finally cooled her own temper, and the sheer ridiculousness of her actions began to seep into her brain. Without any further arguing, but without showing any sign of repentance, Cyn swam the few feet to the small boat. She was instantly and roughly hauled over the side.

  The inflatable’s sharp-edged seams scraped her everywhere. Once in the boat, she pulled herself to a sitting position on the cold, wet rubber floor and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth during the brief, breezy trip back to the boat.

  No one on the clipper said anything as she climbed aboard. Only a few made eye contact and that only briefly. She went straight below deck to the cabin she shared with Stephanie. Other than nipping to the small head for a quick shower, she stayed in her room, dressed and ready to go back. She just didn’t have the nerve. But it wasn’t until Stephanie entered the room bearing the clothes Cyn had left scattered on the deck that Cyn began feeling guilty. Stephanie’s overpowering silence was throbbing with anger.

  “Thanks,” Cyn said quietly, taking the neatly folded clothes from her friend’s hands.

  “That was some stunt.”

  “Yeah. Sorry,” Cyn mumbled.

  She received a quiet snort in response.

  “It was stupid, okay? I said I’m sorry,” Cyn said again, unable to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

  “Günter just said that he’s taking us back to port when the sun comes up,” Stephanie snapped, finally looking at her.

  “He can’t do that,” Cyn protested. “We paid for—”

  “Yeah. We paid for the trip, Cyn. All of us, not just you. But you and your damned stupid ideas ruined the trip for everyone. And he can do whatever he wants to. He’s the captain of this boat, and we all signed statements that we would respect his command and defer to his judgment regarding safety issues blah, blah, blah. So now we’re all going back to port because of you. You and your damned story.” Stephanie stopped and sucked in a deep breath. “We’ve been planning this trip for months, Cyn. None of us have any more vacation time left this year. But did you think of any of that before you went off and ruined it for the rest of us? Of course not. You just wanted the big show. Great performance. I hope you’re happy.”

  Stephanie never got mad at her, no matter what she did. It was one of the things that Cyn liked best about her.

  It took her a minute to find her voice. “Steph—”

  Her oldest friend turned away and reached for the backpack on her bunk. “I don’t want to hear it, okay? All I want to do is go to sleep, if you don’t mind. And I’d like to spend my one night on the Caribbean in peace, so could you just leave? Go up on deck and talk to someone else. Maybe throw yourself overboard again just for fun, and see if anyone comes after you this time. Or, gee, you could apologize to everyone else and try to convince Günter that you’ll behave yourself from now on. There’s a thought, if your stupid ego can handle some adult behavior, Cynthia.”

  Feeling uncomfortable and in the wrong for perhaps the first time in her life, Cyn left the cabin without another word. Two of the other passengers—she wasn’t entirely sure if she could still call them her friends—passed her in the narrow corridor. They didn’t speak or make eye contact.

  She walked up the short flight of steps to the deck, which was mostly empty. The only person she could see was the captain, leaning against the railing in the bow. She took her time making her way over to him.

  “I want to apologize,” she said awkwardly, coming to a stop a few feet behind him.

  He spared her a cold glance before looking back to the dark horizon. “Start whenever you’re ready.”

  Jerk. She shifted on her feet. “I shouldn’t have done that and I’m sorry.”

  “That’s the best you can come up with?”

  She clenched her teeth against the annoyance that she knew no one else would consider justified under the circumstances. “I shouldn’t have bugged you to get closer to the crash site, I shouldn’t have challenged you, and I shouldn’t have gone into the water.”

  “That’s right.”

  A pause built that seemed to last forever.

  “Anything else?”

  She took a breath. “Stephanie said that you’re talking about heading back to port tomorrow.”

  “I wasn’t talking about it. I said that’s what we’re doing.”

  “Don’t.”

  He turned to look at her, finally. His eyes were hard and his face tight. “What?”

  Heat flooded her face. “Don’t do that. I mean, please don’t,” she said, almost choking on the unfamiliar taste of humiliation. “I’m the one who fucked up. You shouldn’t punish everyone because of it. It’s their vacation, too.”

  “Nice of you to remember that.” He turned away again. “Unfortunately for them, my order stands.”

  If I were going to marry Sam—which I’m not—I’d be entitled to a last hurrah. So that would make this just a vacation fling. With a purpose.

  Flipping her still-damp hair over her shoulder, Cyn took a step closer to the captain and leaned a tentative hip against the rail. “Look, I know you’re furious. That’s obvious. But isn’t there anything I can do to make up for what I did earlier? I’ve apologized, but that apparently isn’t worth much to you. I don’t want to ruin this trip for everyone. It means a lot to them to be here, so tell me what I need to do. There has to be something I can do to make you realize th
at I’m sincerely sorry.”

  “Or maybe something I could do to let you earn my forgiveness?” he asked, unimpressed.

  “Maybe,” she said after a moment, not liking the prickle that raced up her spine or the look in his eyes. There was a sudden ruthlessness there and it wasn’t the sexy kind. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

  He glanced around the deck, then tilted his head toward the stern. “There’s a nice breeze tonight. Maybe I could tie you to a long rope and throw you overboard, then unfurl the sails and take you for a ride through the wake. Hmm? Maybe naked, too, since you like that so much.”

  She didn’t let herself recoil and instead sent him a look as chilling as his words. “Sounds like a blast, but how about we keep the activities within the Geneva Convention?” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  He turned to face her again; his expression had changed slightly. It hadn’t exactly softened but it wasn’t as harsh as it had been.

  “What are you really offering me, Cynthia? Not an apology. What then? Money? Or sex?” he asked bluntly.

  “Which one would help the situation?” she asked, holding his gaze for a few heartbeats.

  His laugh was short and unamused. “I don’t need any more money, and I get offered sex all the time. By women with better bodies and less attitude than you.”

  Now that we’ve got that out of the way. She smiled and, pushing any thought of Sam and his proposal from her conscience, reached up casually to brush her hair from her face, making the movement as sensual and inviting as she could.

  “I’m glad to hear that you don’t need the money. As for the sex, well, judging by the looks you’ve been giving me all day, I’d say you don’t think my body is too bad,” she said, feeling every bit as brazen as her words.

  Günter deliberately let his gaze slide down the front of her with disdain that was palpable. “No, not too bad.”