by Rob Sangster
“They need their jobs. Since they don’t know what Molly just told me, most of them would back him against strangers.”
“Do any of them have guns?”
“Not supposed to, but a lot do because they got pissed at the Russians waving AK-47s and shotguns at them all the time.”
“Okay. Grab that Russian’s gun and lead us to Command Central.”
“That’s where Barbas spends most of his time,” Randy said, “which means you’re going after him right now.”
Jack nodded and went down the ladder ahead of Molly and Randy.
At the bottom, Randy pointed down a long passageway with a door at the end. “That’s Command Central where this passageway intersects with another one in a T. Barbas usually has a couple of guards on duty.”
They sprinted down the passageway, stopping just before entering the intersection. Because of the racket coming from the main deck it was hard to be sure, but Jack didn’t hear any talking or movements in the other passageway. All three of them stepped forward, ready to fire. There were no guards in sight.
“Barbas has to know we started that fire, so he sent his guards down there after us.” At least that part of the plan had worked.
Just then, Gano and Drake showed up at one end of the T. Drake aimed his RPG at them and shouted, “Hit the deck.”
They dropped. Down the passageway in the opposite direction, four armed guards were coming through the door. The one in the lead must have recognized the RPG tube because he spun and rammed into the man behind them. All four hurled themselves back out the door just as Drake’s grenade ripped out the door and part of the sidewall.
“Take that, party-crashers,” Gano shouted.
Three men appeared behind Gano. Jack raised his Walther.
“Don’t shoot,” Molly cried. “Those are my townies.”
The men, shocked by the RPG explosion, turned and bolted.
“Randy, we’re going into Command Central. Stand your ground. Keep anyone from coming in after us.”
Randy stuck out his jaw and raised a clenched fist to show he was ready.
Drake approached Molly. “I’ll carry your RPG for you.” He reached for the sling on her shoulder. Molly grabbed the strap and looked at Jack.
“Molly, give that to Randy,” he said. “He may need it. Steve, make sure your Sig Sauer is ready.” He turned to Gano. “In a minute, you’re going to show Steve how ‘slap shot’ works.”
Gano’s eyes filled with understanding. “Got it,” he said.
“This isn’t complicated,” Jack said. “We go in there and stop whatever anyone is doing—whatever it takes. Everyone set?” No replies. Of course they weren’t set for what was on the other side of that door. Neither was he. A few seconds from now, he could be dead. The only way he could keep his body from rebelling was to cut his survival instincts out of the circuit.
Drake crowded forward, gun raised. Gano moved in next to him. “Okay Gano, slap shot now,” Jack said and stepped quickly to the side.
Gano’s left hand slapped hard on the outside of Drake’s extended right wrist. Then his right hand swept in from the opposite direction and swatted the barrel of Drake’s Sig Sauer. The opposing forces sent the Sig Sauer cartwheeling across the passageway.
“What the hell!” Drake shouted as Gano scooped up the gun.
Gano had demonstrated “slap shot” for Jack a while back as a desperation way to disarm an enemy. It often broke the victim’s trigger finger. Good thing it hadn’t this time. He needed Drake’s help. What he didn’t need was Drake storming into Command Central and killing everyone inside.
“Calm down, Steve. Barbas killed your crew so you wanted to walk in there and blow him away with the RPG. I understand, but that’s not why we’re here.”
Drake’s narrowed eyes and clenched teeth admitted the truth. There had been no point trying to talk sense into him. He would have lied, just like he did about the sub’s torpedoes. Drake would still try to strike at Barbas when he got a chance, but it wasn’t going to be now.
Jack grabbed the lever on the vault-like steel door and twisted.
Chapter 40
July 30
7:15 p.m.
Chaos platform
HE COULDN’T MOVE it. There was only one other way. “We have to make them want to open up.”
“There may be armed guards inside,” Molly cautioned.
“Don’t think so. Barbas has to let some of his Greek technicians in, but he wouldn’t let guards see what goes on. He rapped hard on the door with his gun butt. “You inside,” he shouted, “get this door open, or we’ll fire RPGs through the wall. Open up in three seconds, or you’re toast.”
Almost immediately, the lever swung sharply counterclockwise, and the door was jerked open. A bald, middle-aged man, obviously a technician rather than a guard, jumped back and dropped to his knees, his hands raised. Behind rimless glasses, his eyes were filled with panic. Jack stepped into the artificial chill of Command Central.
The bald man scrambled out of his way and backed to a stool in the corner.
In addition to the techie, only Barbas and Renatus were in the room, both seated at a console. LCD screens lining two walls were alive with graphs reporting temperatures, volumes, pressures, and visuals from the seabed and below. Renatus was touching different sensors on the screens and then working a keyboard in front of him. Barbas, next to him, leaned forward, following closely. Neither looked around.
Suddenly, Renatus leaned back. Both hands dropped to his sides. “Done,” he said in his whispery voice. Barbas slapped Renatus on the back. Renatus coughed and looked over his shoulder at Jack, face impassive. When Barbas turned, he looked annoyed, not alarmed.
Jack didn’t like that. Why wasn’t Barbas troubled by their guns?
“Coming back without my invitation was a bad mistake, Jack. I wanted to be at the Frog to give you the welcome you deserve, but it was more important to be here. I’ll take care of you later.”
Barbas settled back, arms crossed, scanned the monitors, and said, “If you thought you could stop our full-scale extraction of methane, that train, as you Americans say, has left the station. You just saw Renatus lock in the sequence that’s heating the methane hydrate in what we call reservoir number one. It is now irreversible. As soon as the critical temperature is reached, the methane hydrate will destabilize. He has already initiated that sequence for three other much larger reservoirs. Very soon, we’ll start harvesting a massive volume of methane.”
He shifted his gaze to the Glock Gano was pointing at him. “Mr. LeMoyne, put away your weapon. It’s useless. I know the fire on deck was a diversion to draw my guards away from here. That was clever, but they’ll be back with reinforcements.”
Renatus also turned to Gano. “As long as I guide the heating process in each reservoir, I expect this extraction to be successful. If I don’t supply ongoing guidance, one or more will overheat, and destabilization will escalate out of control. If there is a problem of any kind, I’m the only one who might find a solution. So shooting me wouldn’t stop anything, but could be the last thing you ever do.”
Jack noticed, as he had before, that Renatus had no mannerisms, no “tells,” no wasted motions. His voice was faint, as though conserving energy.
Gano flicked a glance at Jack, then nodded and stowed the gun under his belt. Jack knew he’d put it where he could pull it out fast with a cross-draw.
“That’s better,” Barbas said. “Jack, I see you brought playmates. Molly McCoy, I’m disappointed you’re here. I had better things in mind for you.” He pointed to Drake standing just inside the door. “And you are?”
“Steve Drake, you murdering scumbag.”
Barbas straightened in recognition. “Dr. Steven Drake. You’re the bastard whose submarine destroyed my mining opera
tion. Were you on board?”
“Of course, Strider too, and for damned good reason. That hydrothermal vent is one of the most important sites in human history, and you’re about to destroy it.”
“I may or may not, but I will send my Ha-52 back to finish sinking your ship Challenger.”
“What?” Drake exclaimed.
Barbas looked pleased he’d delivered bad news. “As soon as I found out what you’d done, I sent a chopper with orders to obliterate you and your ship. My pilot blew the crap out of your main cabin, antennas, and everything else on deck. Before he could finish it off, another ship showed up from over the horizon. He came back here to wait until there are no witnesses. If your ship is still afloat when he goes back, he’ll finish it off. You’ll be along so my men can toss your sorry ass out on the oil slick.”
Jack caught Drake’s deep breath of relief. His crew might be alive, at least for now.
“Don’t feel left out, Jack. What I’m going to do to Drake is nothing compared to what I have in mind for you . . . and Debra.”
Drake’s chopping motion was back, his fingers straight and hard as an ax blade. That wasn’t a nervous tic. It was a threat.
“You son of a bitch,” Jack said. “I can put a bullet between your eyes, and you’re threatening me?”
“You still don’t get it, Jack. There’s nothing you can do to change the history that I’m about to make. My guards will come back. They won’t break in here because I’d wind up dead in a shootout, but if you kill me, nothing will keep them out. And you don’t dare harm Renatus because you have no idea how to control the process. Shooting up the control room would solve nothing. All you can do now is wait.” He looked pleased with himself.
Clashing with Barbas was pointless and would take his mind off solving the real problem. He looked at Drake. “Lock that door.”
The real power lay with the programs that controlled the bank of uncaring computers and, therefore, with Renatus. Somehow, Jack had to make him see reason.
“Renatus, every one of your experiments has failed. You can’t justify doing this full-scale now.”
“Scientific advances have a price,” Renatus said coldly. “The damage so far was acceptable compared to potential rewards, and I’ve developed new techniques from what you call failures. I think I’ve solved the problem.” He scanned the data flashing past in front of him. “This is a big day for me. In a very short time I will prove I can capture enough cleaner energy to reverse global warming.”
“I’ll bet you made that pitch to Barbas in the beginning,” Jack said, “but you kept a secret from him—the real reason this platform exists.”
“What are you talking about?” Barbas asked.
“Renatus played you like a bouzouki to get Chaos positioned above this hydrothermal vent. You think Moebius Syndrome is incurable. Renatus disagrees. He’s doing everything he can to find a cure before the disease kills him.” He turned to Renatus. “From the symptoms I see, you’re already on death row. Your experiments with the life forms at this hydrothermal vent are your only chance for a reprieve. If Barbas destroys this HTV, you’re a dead man. And if he shuts Chaos down because he’s run out of money, you’re a dead man. The way you see it, your survival depends on his success no matter what the risk to the rest of the world.”
Renatus didn’t flinch. “There’s more to it than that, because—” He shrugged as if thinking, why not tell him? “I have a daughter.”
“You?” Barbas’s eyes filled with contempt. “You’re a eunuch.”
“Nine years ago I formed a joint venture with the most intelligent woman I could find. We created a child. The odds were against her inheriting Moebius, but she did.”
Ah, another piece of the puzzle. The existence of a daughter explained the chalkboard and the equations in a child’s handwriting Jack had seen on Ironbound. And Renatus had been trying to create that perfect orchid for his daughter. That’s why he’d named it Esperanza, the Spanish word for hope.
Renatus continued. “My genetic experiments have proven that the form of Moebius we have can be cured by a new type of tissue I’m metamorphosing from life forms around this HTV. My daughter is a genius, but her disease is more advanced than mine. If I don’t complete my work, she’ll die a terrible death.”
Jack was impressed by the incredible efforts Renatus had made for his daughter. He thought about how Katie’s death had motivated him and felt a tiny bond of understanding. Then he noticed a thin string of drool running from one corner of Renatus’s mouth, another sign of advancing Moebius. Renatus caught his eye, wiped his mouth hard, and turned away. He realized that he’d seriously misread Renatus by believing he would act like a rational scientist. In fact, he was so driven by fear that he was unpredictable.
Barbas stared at Renatus with disdain, clearly caring nothing about the fate of Renatus’s daughter.
“Sad story,” Barbas said, “but what matters is the big picture. When all four deposits are flowing methane, I’ll tell the public that dependence on coal and oil is over. I’ll be an international hero.”
“You’re no hero,” Jack said. “You’re taking insane risks only to save your company.”
“And to become the richest man in history,” Barbas said. “Don’t forget that.”
Jack looked at Renatus. “There has to be a better way to get this methane.”
“This is the better way. I’m heating the methane hydrate at greater depth using higher temperatures through a wider matrix of source points. This should avoid the unfortunate results of my earlier attempts. As a scientist, I’d rather wait and measure the effects on the first reservoir, but Barbas has directed me to go forward with all four in a short sequence.”
“Don’t call yourself a scientist,” Drake rasped from near the door. “You’re a madman. Undersea volcanoes all around the Pacific are in natural balance. If you knock over that giant HTV, geysers of methane and carbon dioxide could erupt in hundreds of other places. The last time something like that happened, it produced global warming, drought, and drove ninety-five percent of marine life and most land life into extinction.”
“No way,” Gano said.
“You could set off earthquakes that unlock the tectonic plate running from California to British Columbia,” Drake said. “The ocean floor would rupture. The result would be a tsunami moving at more than six hundred miles an hour, destroying the entire west coast of North America. Or it could go west and wipe out mega-cities from Tokyo to Shanghai.”
Molly gasped.
“Renatus,” Jack said, “stop heating that first reservoir before it gets out of control.”
“You weren’t listening. That process is irreversible. In fact, it’s already one-half a degree hotter than required to start destabilization.”
“Renatus,” the bald technician said timidly, emerging a step from his corner, “sensors in the northwest quadrant of Matrix One have stopped reporting. And look at the intermediate range Alpha-wave readings. That means—”
“I know what that means, Christos,” Renatus replied. He waved the techie back into his corner.
“I don’t care what stopped recording,” Barbas interrupted. “Is methane flowing up to the platform or not?”
Renatus nodded. “More than I projected.”
“I knew it would work.” Barbas slapped his palm on the console and then frowned at Renatus. “For God’s sake, why so grim?”
“My calculations said it was eighty-six percent certain there would be no earthquake around the first reservoir, but one has started in the northwest quadrant. The tsunami it produces will be larger than the previous one.”
Jack flashed on images of his office on Pier 9 being ripped off its foundations and swept into a tidal wave raging down the Bay toward San Jose. The nightmare had started. This was what he’d come to prevent, and he’d failed
. He was filled with rage and hopelessness.
“Screw your calculations,” Barbas snarled. “Will it interfere with getting methane into our tanks?”
“If its epicenter is more than two miles from our drilling templates on the seabed, they might survive. Most of the displaced seawater will be driven on a very deep horizontal plane, passing far below this platform.”
“So Chaos will be okay,” Barbas asserted, as if saying it would make it so.
Renatus hesitated. Then, looking at the screens rather than at Barbas, he said, “The odds are nine to one that there will be a methane burp. Without the sensors in the relevant area, I can’t compute its magnitude. Given extensive destabilization, the burp could be substantial.”
To Jack, Renatus sounded like an economist calmly evaluating the downside risk of an investment, but in the real world, a methane burp had killed Katie.
“Where would it come up?” Gano asked.
“I can’t predict that,” Renatus admitted.
“If it is under us,” Gano said, “would it sink this floating death trap?”
All eyes were on Renatus.
“Reduced seawater density would cause the platform to sink deeper. If it sank enough for the cargo deck to fill, the platform could not recover. There are so many variables and so little time, it’s not worth trying to calculate. The greater risk is that a burp would strike unevenly, resulting in different stresses on different sections of the platform. That might tear the platform apart.”
“You people are all nuts,” Drake shouted. “Get this platform underway. Thrusters, DP motors, whatever it takes. Get away from here.”
“Shut up,” Barbas shouted back. “I’ll have you—”
“Gentlemen, please stop shouting.” Christos was waving a very large gun he held in his small right hand.
“Wow,” Gano said coolly, “didn’t see that coming. Been watching Barbas like a barn owl. Never figured the little fella would make a play. And that’s a magazine-fed .50 caliber Desert Eagle he’s got. Israeli military brass call it the Dezzy.”