by K D McNiven
He shrugged. “Best I can give you at the present. I suppose it’s possible a vertical shift erupted on the ocean floor. Of course, a study would have to be done to make an accurate assessment of what might be occurring in that area. Tectonic activity is not uncommon throughout the region, nor underwater volcanos for that matter. Some of the volcanos can build up and form mountains called seamounts which can breach the surface, though most seamounts are located in the Pacific Ocean not the Atlantic,” he said. “That aside, wave erosion generally breaks down the volcanic formations within a short time and they usually float away in the current.”
“I could possibly buy into the concept it was a seamount, in fact, Ryn said as much while we were exploring it. But it doesn’t explain why there were planes and ships intertwined within the lava structure that made up the gigantic seamount?” said Decker. “It’s as if an extreme magnetic pull has saturated that sector. Not to mention, we were nearly sucked into a vortex.”
“Um…I’m scratching my head on this one,” Harry replied. “As I said, a study would have to be done in that general region to make any determination.”
“With the violent reception we dealt with, I can’t imagine many people would be too excited to do a study on it,” Carson said, humor etched on his face. Though in the back of his mind, he was quite serious.
“Don’t suppose you’d want to pursue the project?” Harry asked, looking at Decker with inquisitive eyes.
“I’d need more equipment and manpower to successfully take on an assignment like that,” Decker replied. “Let me think on it.”
“Let me know. I can set you up with the equipment—man-power is on you.”
As they were leaving, Carson stared at Decker.
Decker started to laugh. “Okay, Carson, spit it out.”
“I’ve always known you were crazy, Hayden but you must have gone over the edge to even consider researching the place after what we went through,” he said. “We barely made it out alive. Or have you forgotten already?”
“I haven’t forgotten. But it intrigues me.”
“I should have known the moment Harry dangled the challenge in front of your face, you’d be the first to jump on it.”
“Haven’t agreed to anything, Carson. Chill.”
Carson opened his mouth to argue the point further, but his sensibilities told him to let it drop. If Decker decided to do an in-depth analysis of the area, nothing short of death would stop him.
Back at the docks, they each went their own way. Decker steered the BMW in the direction of their apartment to see Callie and fill her in on what they had uncovered, which presently, didn’t add up to anything more than what they already had. As he drove, he continued to spot a black sedan following a couple of car lengths behind. Curious, he turned off Brickell Avenue onto SW Thirteenth street, then minutes later, turned left onto SW First Avenue to resolve whether he was being followed.
No sooner had he whipped the car down SW First Avenue, he saw the sedan turn in behind him. Not his imagination he concluded and increased his speed. He turned down another side street, intentionally keeping out of the heavy traffic areas, the black car trailing close behind. Why anyone would be following him was beyond his comprehension, nevertheless, it had become evident they were.
After rounding the corner, Decker pushed the gas pedal nearly to the floor, the BMW’s rear end squirreled, followed by the shriek of tires as he cranked the steering wheel hard left. The motor roared as he shifted down and continued to accelerate, weaving in and out of traffic. When he neared the business district, he knew he’d have to battle traffic congestion. In order to avoid a collision, he began looking for another route in hopes of shaking the sedan.
Irritated, he took a sharp right, blasting through a yellow light, and veered off into an access alley. Speeding through the constricted passage, he passed a line of garbage cans, so cramped he missed scraping the sides of his car by mere inches. When he closed in on an intersection, he was forced to slam on his brakes to circumvent colliding with a garbage truck that had pulled forward, blocking the exit. He noted the sedan entering into the narrow lane behind him. Throwing the BMW into reverse, he drove the pedal to the floor. Gray smoke curled around his vehicle as he sped backward towards the sedan. He saw them slam on their brakes, and like Decker, threw the sedan into reverse to move out of the way, but not soon enough. Decker rammed into their front bumper, his head whipping backward and then forward. With an abrupt whoosh, the airbags burst, smashing him in the face. He released his belt, dug through his pocket and pulled out his knife. Quickly, he sliced through the airbag and jumped out of the vehicle. Two men dressed in black, complete with black sunglasses, scrambled out of the car and took off. Their opened doors, blocking the way, Decker leaped onto the hood of their vehicle, sprinted over the top, and jumped off the trunk onto the pavement after them.
He chased them for a distance, but soon gave up and hurried back toward his car. Intent on discovering their identities, he slid inside the sedan and rummaging through the glove compartment. Nothing. As he slid out, he noticed a badge had apparently slipped off one of the men’s belts in their haste. Central Intelligence Agency? Curiosity pricked him. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he would be tailed by government officials.
The truck that had blocked the entrance had now pulled away. Decker hopped back in his BMW and headed back out onto the street, hearing glass fragment falling from the taillights and clinking against the cement access road.
It was clear whoever they were would also know where he was staying. Taking those perturbing thoughts into consideration, Decker would have to watch his back.
Once home, he found Callie on the veranda over tea. She smiled. “Did you find anything out?”
He dropped onto the chair opposite her. “Crazy, but I’m being followed by the U.S. government.”
“What?”
“They followed me on my way home. Unfortunately, we have a smashed car out of the deal. I tried to chase them down, on foot no less, but they got away.”
“Why would the government be following after you? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Question of the day.”
“What are you planning to do?”
He sat in silence turning the details over in his head, then answered, “Not sure. Maybe contact Dean McDermott and see if he knows why they would be interested in me.”
“Do you think it’s serious enough to contact him?”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t know, but there has to be some reason the government has decided to insert themselves into our lives. Who better than Dean to collect intelligence? However, I may hold off for a time and see where all of this leads.”
Dean headed a tactical force unit out of California. He and Decker had spent several years together in the army and had become good friends over the years. Decker decided to go to college to become an archeologist, while Dean decided he wanted a career in the military. With all of Dean’s connections with the higher-ups, Decker was sure Dean would be able to come up with something—something more than he had right now, which was zilch.
“A black sedan is parked along the curb. Looks similar to the one that followed me earlier, except it’s dent-free, unlike ours.”
Callie turned her head to look out. “This is incredible, Decker. Do you think it
has something to do with your checking in with the NWAC? You weren’t being followed before that.”
Decker shrugged. “Search me. But I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I thought we’d have a couple of days to kick back and take it easy.”
“Seems the way our life always pans out.”
“You wanting a more sedentary lifestyle?”
“Heck no!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
“Glad to hear because Harry at the NWAC said he’d front us the equipment if we’d like to go back and research the triangle area.” He studied her face to see if she showed any opposition to th
eir returning. After all, he had almost lost his life.
“Are you seriously considering it?”
“My curiosity has gotten the better of me,” he told her, a glint of boyish adventure sparkling in his eyes. “I’m stumped on this.”
“Do you think you should try and contact Dax Drake? His ship is better equipped for research than the Jade II. Also, it’s much more seaworthy, and after our last bout, I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth, Callie. “We’re like two peas in a pod.”
“Our pod seems to be expanding,” she laughed, considering merging their crew with Dax’s. “I trust whatever decision you make, Decker. We’ve made it through every kind of situation. I’m not going to start doubting you now.”
“We’ve got plenty of time to make decisions.”
Callie peeked through the curtains. “Our government friends are still hanging around. I’m sure they have their binoculars on us.”
“Let them,” Decker said. “I’m going to contact Dax Drake and see if he’s available in the next few weeks. “I believe we’ll need help on this one.”
Chapter 5
⁂
New Orleans
Dax Drake’s head popped up from beneath the brown water of the Mississippi River in New Orleans along with his diving partner, Ottomar Benedikt. He removed his weight belt, flipped up his goggles and climbed inside the zodiac, shrugging off his air tank. He took a moment to jot down some information in his logbook, while Ottomar pulled himself over the inflated side.
Dax moved aft to engage the motor. He tugged on the pull cord; it sputtered then died. With a bit more muscle behind it, he yanked hard until the engine kicked in. Next, he turned the handle and banked a sharp turn eastward back toward the salvage ship Shark Eater. As they closed the distance he grinned, catching sight of the ship’s bow painted in the image of a shark. Jagged white teeth, blood dripping off the sharp tips, and fierce looking, slanted eyes.
Ottomar pulled off his face mask and shook the water from his blondish-brown hair, much like a wet dog.
Dax crinkled his nose and curled back his lip. “Hey, mate!”
Ottomar laughed, and replied in his heavy German accent, “Not like you’re dry, Dax.” His hazel eyes conveyed amusement. “Are we going back down today? It’s getting late.”
“Yup, before the tug spills oil,” Dax replied. “We’ll bring the Shark Eater around and start prepping for the salvage.”
The Shark Eater rocked offshore like a bobber on a fishing line, the ship his pride and joy. He’d snapped it up before she found her way to the scrapyards, and over the years he had invested every penny he earned to make it seaworthy. In addition to restoring her into a salvage ship, he also equipped her to be used as a research vessel. She had served him proud so far and had generated a rewarding business in return.
Once the zodiac was lifted out of the water and placed into a holding stall mid-deck, Dax made his way in lithe strides to the stern diving platform, bare-footed, wetsuit dangling around his waist. He stowed his diving equipment, and headed for the pilot house, looking for Captain Manny, nodding at several crew members who were at their stations hard at work.
When he entered the bridge, he found the Captain and Linus Hinrick, their hydrographer, who had been studying the sonar logs for the past few days, getting the layout of the sunken rig. They were aware there was a distinct possibility oil could leak out of the tug from a large hole punched through the underbelly.
“Well, don’t you both look serious?” Dax said in his Australian accent.
Linus was bent over, studying the sonar on the monitor. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, gazing at Dax through red-rimmed glasses, which nearly matched his curly mop of copper hair. “You’d be twenty leagues under the sea if we weren’t, Dax,” he said lightheartedly.
“How’d it go today?” Manny asked, referring to the dive.
“The tug doesn’t appear to be losing oil. At least not right now. We need to bring her up as soon as possible though. I’m having Chase prepare the airbags as we speak. How’s our weather holding?” he answered in his Australian accent.
“Looks good through today,” Linus said. “Current is staying steady. So, unless the wind decides to dance, I think you’re good to bring the tug to surface.”
“The oil-spill crew arrived this morning and have been busy pumping the fuel out. She was carrying twenty thousand gallons. It would have been catastrophic had it emptied out in the Mississippi.”
“Indeed,” agreed Captain Manny, his calloused hand rubbing his white-bearded chin.
“By my analysis,” Linus interrupted, “it appears we should be able to secure the straps under the hull of the tug and surface her without her leaning starboard. We definitely don’t want her going belly up.”
“Several of the crew are suiting up as we speak,” Dax said. “We’ll work through the night. The pumping crew should be close to finishing up.”
A jingling sound echoed in the room, and Manny noticed Dax’s cell phone he’d left in the pilot house going off. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Dax. “It has rung a couple of times while you were diving.”
Dax looked at the screen and his brows hiked with surprise. “Decker Hayden. Haven’t heard from him in weeks.”
Dax and the Haydens had gone on an underwater exploration below the Turks and Caicos Islands for a sunken ship several months back. It had turned out to be more than any of them had bargained for, but certainly the adventure of a lifetime. They had made out rather well financially when it was all over. Not that the Haydens needed it, they were independently wealthy, Dax mused. Dax had received a tidy sum of money from several artifacts they had brought up from the depths, as well as a couple of articles he had written regarding the Spanish galleon that had met its demise in the 1539 hurricane.
Curious as to why Decker was trying to contact him, he punched went to his contacts list, found Decker’s number and called.
“Dax, good to hear your voice,” Decker said.
“Back at you, mate. What’s up?”
“I have a proposal to make. You bogged down right now?”
“Yup. Salvaging a tug—went down in the Mississippi River offshore of New Orleans,” Dax said. “We should be wrapping it up by tomorrow or the next day— assuming everything goes well.”
“Will you be heading back to Miami?”
“Planning on it. What’s going on?”
“Give me a call when you’re back. It’s a long story,” Decker told him. “I’ll head over to the docks to meet up with you.”
“Got it, mate. Looking forward to catching up.”
Dax was more than a little curious about the phone call. Decker seemed a bit cryptic. Whatever the case, Dax would be ecstatic to go on another quest with him—assuming that was his proposal. He had learned a great deal from the Haydens on their last project, dangerous as it had been.
For the present, Dax put the call aside and set back to work. It would take hours to surface the tug, even days if anything went wrong, and Chase and Ottomar were already out by the dive platform awaiting instruction. As he walked toward the dive area, he pulled his wet suit up and fitted his arms through the sleeves. The team prepared to lower the airbags by the side crane and they would be used as a means to surface the tug. Once the okay had been given that the oil had been successfully drained, they would ease down the equipment, and dive to secure the heavy cables attached to the crane.
Several more men and women donned in wetsuits wandered out at the same time to prepare their gear. Dax was thankful to have qualified divers available to work alongside his usual team. It would take several hands to accomplish their task, and Dax only used the most experienced, certified divers, knowing it was no place for amateurs.
He slicked his long, black hair back with his hands, securing it with a band and slipped on the wetsuit hood. They would use the dive platform at the stern of Shark Eater and enter the murky water from th
ere.
“Ottomar, we’re buddies on the dive today,” Dax said. “Everyone else is paired up. The equipment has been gone over thoroughly, so we’re just waiting for our cue.”
Within a half hour, the call came in to inform them the pumping of fuel had ceased. The threat of spillage had ended, much to everyone’s relief.
They would use the crane and cables to hoist the tug off the bottom just enough to secure straps under the hull fore and aft which would enable the crane to lift it from the muddy depths. At which point, they’d tether the tug to a barge assisting the Shark Eater, and take it to a mooring nearby where it could be inspected.
As they spent time below the dark waters of the Mississippi earlier in the day, Dax noted a fissure in the hull which was quite large—located at the end of the propeller shaft tunnel, close to the engine room. It was apparent the damage had come from the inside. Wood had blown outward in a shotgun pattern and was scattered along the muddy bottom.
Dax had also discovered fragments of metal inside the ruptured bilge as well as shards outside the bilge suggesting the possibility of an explosion. With the twists of deformed metal, Dax wondered if a pipe bomb could have been planted inside the tug. He had collected the fragments and stuffed them into sealed containers which he refloated to the surface and handed off to the authorities no more than two hours later.
The forensic unit had rushed in, suggesting foul play. Five of the crew had lost their lives and had since been pulled out of the wreckage and taken to the morgue for autopsies. Investigators were waiting for the tug to be brought up so they could collect further evidence, pointing to a specific conclusion.
The team worked diligently, maneuvering the large straps near the bow and stern, and secured the cables. After they had accomplished fortifying the tug, they pumped air into the balloons secured to the straps anchored to the Shark Eater’s deck. Once the straps reached the surface, they would attach the cables to the cranes on the barge and ease it upward to a place where they could pump out the excess water.