Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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"I find it hardly surprising our counterterrorist network was not tipped off in advance."

Alan Merger, the National Security Adviser, removed his glasses and idly wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. "My end struck out too," he said, backing up Brogan. "Analysis of our eavesdropping monitoring systems failed to reveal any hint of a potential cruise-liner hijacking and abduction of two foreign leaders."

"By sending George Pitt to meet with President Hasan, I sentenced an old friend to death," the President said regretfully.

"Not your fault," Merger consoled him.

The President angrily pounded the desk with one fist. "The Senator, Hala Kamil, De Lorenzo and Hasan. I can't believe they're all gone."

"We don't know that for sure," said Merger.

The President stared at him. "You can't hide a cruise liner and all the people on board, Alan. Even a dumb politician like me knows that."

"There is still a chance '

"Chance, hell. It was a suicide mission plain and simple. All those poor people were probably locked up while the ship was scuttled. The terrorists never meant to escape. They went down too."

"All the facts aren't in yet," Merger argued.

"Just what do we know?" demanded the President.

"Our experts are already in Punta del Este working with the Uruguayan security people," explained Brogan. "So far, we only have preliminary conclusions. First, the hijacking has been tied to an Arab group. Two witnesses came forward who were in a passing launch when they saw the Lady Flamborough taking on cargo from a landing barge. They heard crewmen on both vessels speaking Arabic. The landing barge has not been found and is assumed to be scuttled somewhere in the harbor."

"any idea on the cargo?" asked Merger.

"All the witnesses could recall seeing were some drums," answered Brogan. "Second, a phony report was given to the Harbor Master's office from the cruise liner saying its main generator had broken down, and the vessel would only run navigation lights until repairs were carried out.

Then, as soon as it became dark, the unlit ship pulled up its anchor and slipped out of the harbor, colliding with a private yacht carrying important South American businessmen and diplomats. The only fumble in an otherwise flawless execution. Then it disappeared."

"Hardly a slop job," said Merger, "unlike the botched second assassination attempt on Hala Kaniil."

"A different group entirely," Brogan added.

Dale Nichols spoke up for the first time in the meeting. "Which you linked directly to Akhmad Yazid."

"Yes, the assassins were not very careful. Egyptian passports were found on tke bodies. One, the leader, we identified as a mullah and fanatical follower of Yazid."

"Do you think Yazid's responsible for the hijacking?"

"He certainly had the motive," answered Brogan. "With President Hasan out of the way, he has a clear shot at taking over the Egyptian government."

"The same goes for President De Lorenzo, Topiltzin and Mexico," Nichols stated flatly.

"An interesting theory," said Merger.

"What can we do besides send a few CIA terrorist investigators to Uruguay?" asked the President. "What are our options in helping with the search for the Lady Flamborough?"

"To answer the first part of your question," said Brogan, "very little.

The investigation is in good hands. Uruguayan police and security intelligence chiefs were trained here and in Britain. They know the score and are most cooperative in working with our experts." He paused and avoided the President's eyes. "As to the second, again, very little. The Navy Department has no ships patrolling the ocean off South America. The nearest vessel to the area is a nuclear sub on a training exercise off Antarctica. Our Latin friends are doing fine without us.

Over eighty military and commercial aircraft and at least fourteen ships from Argentina, Brazil and Uruguay have been combing the sea off Punta del Este since dawn."

"And they haven't found a clue to the Lady Flamborough's fate," said the President. What little optimism he had before was rapidly eroding into despondency.

"They will," said Merger tersely.

"Wreckage and bodies most certainly will Turn up," said Brogan candidly.

"No ship that size can vanish without leaving some trace behind."

"Has the story broken in the press yet?" asked the President.

"I was informed it came over the wire services an hour ago," Nichols answered.

The President folded his hands and clenched them tightly.

"Holy hell will cut loose in Congress when they find out one of their members is a victim of a terrorist act. No telling what kind of revenge they'll demand."

"The purpose of the Senator's mission alone is enough to cause a major scandal if it leaks out," said Nichols.

"Swinge that terrorists can murder international leaders and diplomats, with an army of innocent victims thrown in, and get off with a few years in prison," mused the President. "But if we play their gwne and go after them with guns blasting, we're branded immoral, blood-thirsty avengers. The news media get on our case and Congress demands investigations."

"It hurts being the good guys," said Brogan. He was beginning to sound tired.

Nichols stood up and stretched. "I don't think we have to worry.

Nothing was put down on paper or recorded on tape. And only the men in this room know why Senator Pitt flew down to Punta del Este to confer with President Hasan."

"Dale's right," said Merger. "We can come up with any number of excuses to explain away his mission."

The President unclasped his hands and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "George Pitt hasn't been dead a day and already we're trying to cover our asses."

"That problem is minor compared to the political disasters we're facing in Egypt and Mexico," said Nichols. "With Hasan and De Lorenzo dead too, Egypt will go the way of Iran and be irretrievably lost for sure, Then with Mexico – – ." He hesitated. "We'll have a time bomb ready to go off along our own border."

"As my Chief of Staff and closest adviser, what measures do you suggest we take?"

Nichols's stomach was attacked by a cramp and his heartbeat quickened.

The President and the two intelligence advisers seemed to be studying his eyes. He wondered if the stress that was twisting his guts came from being put on the spot or the thought of a looming foreign catastrophe.

"I propose we wait for proof the Lady Flamborough and everybody on her lies on the bottom of the ocean.

"And if no evidence is forthcoming?" asked the President. "Do we go on waiting until Egypt and Mexico, their leaders missing and presumed dead, arr taken over by Topiltzin and

Akhmad Yazid, a pair of crazed megalomaniacs? What then?

What course of action is left to stop them before it's too late?"

"Short of assassination, none." Nichols's hand nervously massaged his aching stomach. "We can only prepare for the worst."

"Which is . . . ?"

"We write off Egypt," Nichols said gravely, "and invade Mexico."

A heavy rain soaked Uruguay's capital city of Montevideo as the small jet dropped from the clouds and lined up on the runway. Soon after touchdown it swung away from the commercial terminal and rolled onto a taxi strip toward a cluster of hangars flanked by rows of fighter jets.

A Ford sedan with military markings appeared and led the pilot to a parking area reserved for visiting VIP aircraft.

Colonel Rojas stood inside a hangar office and peered out a water-streaked window. As the aircraft rolled closer he could see the letters NUMA across the aquamarine color scheme running down the fuselage. The sound of the engines died away, and a minute later three men climbed out. They quickly piled into the Ford to escape the deluge and were driven inside the hangar where Rojas waited.

The Colonel stepped to the office door and studied them as they were ushered across the vast concrete floor by a young lieutenant who was his aide.

The short one with a curly jungle of black hair and a battleship chest strutted with an easy vigor. His hands and arms might have been grafted from a bear. His eyes scowled, but his lips showed white, even teeth in a satirical smile.

The slim man with the horn-rinnned glasses, narrow hips and shoulders looked like an accountant who had come to audit the company ledgers. He carried a briefcase and two books under one arm. He also wore a smile, but it seemed more mischievous than plain humorous. Rojas pegged him as a pleasant sort, easily amused yet highly competent.

The tall man who brought up the rear had black wavy hair and heavy eyebrows, his face craggy and tanned. There was an air of indifference about him as though he would have enjoyed a prison sentence with the same expectation as a Tahitian holiday. Rojas was not fooled. The man's penetrating eyes gave him away. While the other two gazed around the hangar as they walked, this man fixed Rojas with a burning stare like the sun through twill magnifying glasses.

Rojas stepped forward and saluted. "Welcome to Uruguay, gentlemen.

Colonel Jose Rojas at your service." Then he addressed himself to the tall man, speaking in perfect English with a slight trace of cockney he'd picked up from the British. "I've looked forward to meeting you since our phone conversation, Mr. Pitt."

Pitt stepped between his friends and shook Rojas's hand. "Thank you for taking the time to see us." He turned and introduced the man with the glasses. "This is Rudi Gunn and the criminal type on my right is Al Giordino."

Rojas gave a slight bow of the head and idly tapped his swagger stick against a neatly pressed pants leg. "Please forgive the Spartan surroundings, but an army of world journalists have invaded our country like the plague since the hijacking. I thought it more convenient to confer away from the horde."

"A sound idea," Pitt agreed. "Would you care to relax a bit after your long flight and dine at our Air Force officers' club?"

"Thank you for the invitation, Colonel," said Pitt graciously, "but if you don't mind, we'd like to get to it."

"Then, if you'll step this way, I'll brief you on our search operations."

Inside the office Ro as introduced Captain Ignacio Flores, who had coordinated the air/sea hunt. Then he motioned the three Americans to gather around a large table covered with nautical charts and satellite-imagery photos.

Before he launched the briefing, Rojas looked at Pitt solemnly. "I am sorry to hear your father was a passenger on board the ship. When we spoke on thephone you didn't mention your relationship."

"You're well informed," said Pitt.

"I've been in hourly communication with your President's security adviser."

"You'll be happy to know that the intelligence people in Washington who briefed me on the situation praised your efficiency."

Rojas's official bearing crumbled. He had not expected such a compliment. He began to loosen up. "I regret I can't give you encouraging news. No new evidence has turned up since you departed the United States. I can, however, offer you a drink of our fine Uruguayan brandy."

"Sounds good to me," Giordino said without hesitation. "Especially on a rainy day."

Rojas nodded to his aide. "Lieutenant, if you will do us the honors."

Then the Colonel leaned over the table and pieced together several enlarged black-and-white satellite images until he had a mosaic of the waters stretching three hundred kilometers off the coast. "I take it you're all familiar with satellite imagery?"

Rudi Gunn nodded. "NUMA currently has three satellite oceanography programs in progress to study currents, eddys, surface winds and sea ice."

"But none are focusing on this section of the South Atlantic," said Rojas. "Most geographic information systems are aimed north."

"Yes, you're quite right." Gunn adjusted his glasses and examined the photo blowups on the table. "I see you've used the Earth Resources Tech Satellite."

"Yes, the Landsat."

"And you used a powerful graphic system to show ships at sea. "

"We had a piece of luck," Rojas continued. "The polar orbit of the satellite takes it over the sea off Uruguay only once every sixteen days. It arrived at a most opportune time.

"The Landsat's primary use is for geological survey," said Gunn. "The cameras are usually shut down when it orbits over the oceans to conserve energy. How did you get the images?"

"Immediately after the search was ordered," explained Rojas, "our meteorological defense section was alerted to provide weather forecasts for the patrol boats and aircraft. One of the meteorologists had an inspiration and checked the Landsat's orbit and found it would pass over the search area. He sent an urgent request to your government to Turn it on. The cameras were engaged with an hour to spare and the signals sent to a receiving station in Buenos Aires."

"Could a target the size of the Lady Flamborough show up on a Landsat image?" asked Giordino.

"You won't see detail like you would in a high-resolution photo from a defense intelligence satellite," replied Pitt, "but she should be as visible as a pinprick."

"You described her perfectly," said Rojas. "See for yourselves."

He set a large magnified viewing lens with an interior light over a tiny section of the satellite photo mosaic. Then he stood back.

Pitt was the first to look. "I can make out two, no, three vessels."

"We have identified all three."

Rojas turned and nodded to Captain Flores, who began to read aloud from a sheet of paper, struggling with his English as if reciting in front of a class. "The largest ship is a Chilean ore carrier, the Cabo Gallegos, bound from Punta Arenas to Dakar with a load of coal."

"The northbound vessel, just coming into view on the bottom edge of the image?" asked Pitt.

"Yes," Flores agreed. "That is the Cabo Gallegos. The one opposite on the top is southbound. She's of Mexican registry. A container ship, the General Bravo, carrying supplies and oil-drilling equipment to San Pablo."

"Where's San Pablo?" asked Giordino.

"A small port city on the tip of Argentina," replied Rojas. "There was an oil strike there last year."

"The vessel between them and closer toward shore is the Lady Flamborough. " Flores spoke the cruise liner's name as if he were giving a eulogy.

Rojas's aide appeared with the bottle of brandy and five glasses. The Colonel raised his and said, "Saludos."

"Salute," the Americans acknowledged.

Pitt took a large sip that he swore later incinerated his tonsils and resumed his study of the tiny dot for several seconds before giving up the viewing glass to Gunn. "I can't make out her heading."

"After sneaking out of Punta del Este she sailed due east without a course change."

"You've been in contact with the other ships?"

Flores nodded. "Neither one reported seeing her."

"What time did the satellite pass over?"

"The exact time was 03: 10 hours."

"The imagery was infrared."

'Yes .

"The guy who thought of using the Landsat ought to get a medal," said Giordino as he took his Turn at the viewer.

"A promotion is already in channels," Rojas said, smiling.

Pitt looked at the Colonel. "What time did your aerial reconnaissance get off the ground?"

"Our aircraft began searching at first light. By noon we had received and analyzed the Landsat imagery. We then could calculate the speed and course of the Lady Flamborough and direct our ships and planes to an interception point."

"But they found an empty sea."

"Quite right."

"No wreckage?"

Captain Flores spoke up. "Our patrol boats did run on several pieces of debris."

"Was it identified?"

"Some was pulled on board and examined but quickly discarded. It appeared to have come from a cargo ship rather than a luxury cruise liner."

"What sort of debris?"

Flores checked through a briefcase and removed a thin file. "I have a short inventory received from the Captain of the search vessel. He lists one worn overstaffed chair; two faded life-jackets, at least fifteen years old, with operation instructions stenciled in almost illegible Spanish; several unmarked wooden crates; a bunk mattress; food containers; three newspapers, one from Veracmz, Mexico, the other two from Recife, Brazil '

"Dates?" Pitt interrupted.

Flores looked questioningly at Pitt for a moment and then he averted his gaze. "The Captain did not give them."

"An oversight that will be corrected," said Rojas sternly, immediately picking up on Pitts thoughts.

"If it isn't already too late," Flores came back uneasily. "You must admit, Colonel, the debris appears to be trash, not ship's wreckage."

"Could you plot the coordinates of the ships as they're shown on the satellite photo?" asked Pitt.

Hores nodded and began plotting the positions on to a nautical chart.

"Another brandy, gentlemen?" Rojas offered.

"It's quite vibrant," said Gunn, holding out his glass to the lieutenant. "I detect a very slight coffee flavor."

Rojas smiled. "I can see you're a connoisseur, Mr. Gunn. Quite right.

My uncle distills it on his coffee plantation."

"Too sweet," said Giordino. "Reminds me of licorice .

"It also contains anisette." Rojas turned to Pitt. "And you Mr. Pitt.

How do you taste it?"

Pitt held up the glass and studied it under the light. "I'd say about two hundred proof."

North Americans never ceased to amaze Rojas. All business one moment, complete jesters the next. He often wondered how they built such a superpower.

Then Pitt laughed his infectious laugh. "Only kidding. Tell your uncle if he ever exports it to the U.S., I'll be the first in line to distribute it."

Flores threw down his dividers and tapped a penciled box on the chart.

"They were here at 03:10 yesterday morning."

Everyone moved back to the table and hovered over the chart.

"All three were on converging courses all right," observed Gunn. He took a small calculator from his pocket and began punching its buttons.

"If I make a rough estimate of speeds, say about thirty knots for the Lady Flamborough, eighteen for the Cabo Gallegos, and twenty-two for the General Bravo . . ." his voice trailed off as he made notations on the edge of the chart. After several moments he stood back and tapped the figures with a pencil. "Not surprising the Chilean coal carrier didn't make visual contact. She would have crossed the cruise liner's bow a good sixty-four kilometers to the east."

Pitt stared thoughtfully at the lines across the chart. "The Mexican container ship, on the other hand, looks as if she missed the Lady Flamborough by no more than three or four kilometers."

"Not surprising," said Rojas, "when you consider the cruise liner was running without lights."

Pitt looked at Flores. "Do you'recall the phase of the moon, Captain?"

"Yes, between new moon and first quarter, a crescent."

Giordino shook his head. "Not bright enough if the bridge watch wasn't looking in the right direction."

"I assume you launched the search from this point," said Pitt.

Flores nodded. "Yes, the aircraft flew grids two hundred miles to the east, north and south."

"And found no sign of her."

"Only the container ship and the ore carrier."

"She might have doubled back and then cut north or south," suggested Gunn.

"We thought of that, too," said Flores. "The aircraft cleared all western approaches toward land when they returned for fuel and went out again."

"Considering the facts," said Gunn ominously, "I fear the only place the Lady Flamborough could have gone is down."

"Take her last position, Rudi, and figure how far she might have sailed before the search planes arrived."

Rojas stared at Pitt with interest. "May I ask what you intend to do?

Further search would be useless. The entire surface where she vanished has been swept."

Pitt seemed to stare through Rojas as though the Colonel were transparent. "Like the man just said, 'The only place she could have gone is down." And that's precisely where we're going to look."

"How can I be of service?"

"The Sounder, a NUMA deep-water research ship, should arrive in the general search area sometime this evening. We'd be grateful if you could spare a helicopter to shuttle us out to her. "

Rojas nodded. "I will arrange to have one standing by."

Then he added, "You realize you n-light as well be hunting one particular fish in ten thousand square kilometers of sea. It could take you a lifetime."

"No," said Pitt confidently. "Twenty hours on the outside."

Rojas was a pragmatic man. Wishful thinking was foreign to him. He looked at Giordino and Gunn, expecting to see skepticism mirrored in their eyes. Instead, he saw only complete agreement.

"Surely, you can't believe such a fanciful time schedule?" he asked.

Giordino held up a hand and casually studied his fingernails. "If experience is any judge," he replied placidly, "Dirk has overestimated."

Exactly fourteen hours and forty-two minutes after the Uruguayan army helicopter set them on the landing pad of the Sounder, they found a shipwreck matching the Lady Flamborough's dimensions in 1,020 meters of water.

On the discovery pass the target showed up as a tiny dark speck on a flat plain below the continental slope. As the Sounder moved in closer, the sonar operator decreased the recording range until the shadowy image of a ship became a discernible shape.

The Sounder did not carry the five-million-dollar viewing system Pitt and Giordino had enjoyed on the Polar Explorer. No color video cameras were mounted on the trailing sonar sensor. The mission of her oceanographic scientists was purely to map large sections of the sea bottom. Her electronic gear was designed for distance and not closeup detail of manmade sunken objects.

"Same configuration all right," said Gunn. "Pretty vague. Could be my imagination but she appears to have a sweptback funnel on her stern superstructure. Her sides look high and straight. She's sitting upright, no more than a ten-degree list."

Giordino held back. "We'll have to get cameras on her to make a positive ID."

Pitt said nothing. He kept watching the sonar recording long after the target slipped behind the Sounder's stern. any hope of finding his father alive was draining away. He felt as though he was staring at a coffin as dirt was being thrown on the lid.

"Nice going, pal," Giordino said to him. "You laid us right on the dime."

"How did you know where to look?" asked Frank Stewart, skipper of the Sounder.

"I gambled the Lady Flamborough didn't change her heading after crossing the inside path of the General Bravo," Pitt explained. "And since she wasn't spotted by search aircraft beyond the outside course of the Cabo Gallegos, I decided the best place to concentrate our search was on a track extending east from her last-known heading as shown by the Landsat."

"In short, a narrow corridor running between the General Bravo and the Cabo Gallegos, " said Giordino.

"that about sums it up," Pitt acknowledged.

Gunn looked at him. "I'm sorry it's not an occasion to celebrate. "

"Do you want to send down an ROV?"* asked Stewart.

"We can save time," answered Pitt, "by skipping a remote camera survey and going direct to a manned probe. Also, the submersible's manipulator arms may be useful if we need to lift anything from the wreck."

"The crew can have the Deep Rover ready to descend in half an hour,"

said Stewart. "You going to act as operator?"

Pitt nodded. "I'll take her down."

"At a thousand meters, you'll be right at the edge of its depth rating."

"Not to worry," said Rudi Gunn. "The Deep Rover has a four-to-one safety factor at that depth."

"I'd sooner go over Niagara Falls in a Volkswagen," said the Captain,

"than go down a thousand meters in a plastic bubble."

Stewart, narrow-shouldered, with slicked-down burnt-toast-brown hair, looked like a small-town feed-store merchant and scoutmaster. A seasoned seaman, he could swim but was leery of the deep and refused to learn to dive. He catered to the scientists' requests and whims concerning their oceanographic projects as in any business/client relation 'Remote Operated Vehicle; tetherrd, underwater viewing system.

ship. But the ship operation was his domain, and any aca demic type who played Long John Silver with his crew was cut off at the knees in short order.

"That plastic bubble," said Pitt, "is an acrylic sphere over twelve centimeters thick."

"I'm happy to sit on deck in the sunshine and wave goodbye to anyone who takes the plunge in that contraption," Stewart muttered as he walked through the door.

"I like him," said Giordino moodily. "Utterly lacking in savoir faire, but I like him."

"You two have something in common," Pitt said, grinning.

Gunn froze an image of the wreck on videotape from the sonar recording and studied it thoughtfully. He slid his glasses over his forehead and refocused his eyes. "The hull looks intact. No sign of breakup. Why in hell did she sink?"

"Better yet," mused Giordino, "why no flotsam?"

Pitt stared at the blurred image too. "Remember the Cyclops? She was lost without a trace too."

"How can we forget her?" Giordino groaned. "We still carry the scars."

Gunn looked up at him. "In all fairness, you can't compare a poorly laden ship built around the turn of the century with a modern cruise liner carrying a thousand built-in safety features.

"No storm put her down there," said Pitt.

"Maybe a rogue wave?"

"Or maybe some sand kicker blew her bottom out," said Giordino.

"We'll know soon enough," Pitt said quietly. "In another two hours we'll be sitting on her main deck."

The Deep Rover looked like she'd be more at home orbiting space than cruising the depths of the ocean. She had a shape only a Martian could love. The 240-centimeter sphere was divided by a large O-ring and sat on rectangular pods that held the 120-volt batteries. All sorts of strange appendages sprouted from behind the sphere: thrusters and motors, oxygen cylinders, carbon dioxide removal canisters, docking mechanism, camera systems, scanning sonar unit. But it was the manipulators that extended in the front that would have made any self-respecting robot green with envy. Simply de bed, Vaey were mechanical arms and hands with a canny way of doing everything flesh and bone could do, and then some. A sensory feedback system made it possible to control the hand and arm movements to within thousandths of a centimeter, while force feedback allowed the hands to delicately hold a cup and saucer or grab and lift an iron stove.

Pitt and Giordino patiently circled the Deep Rover while she was fussed over by a pair of engineers. She sat on a cradle inside a cavernous chamber called the "moon pool." The platform holding her cradle was part of the Sounder's hull and could be lowered twenty feet into the sea.

One of the engineers finally nodded. "She's ready when you are."

Pitt slapped Giordino on the back. "After you."

"Okay, i'll handle the manipulators and cameras," he said jovially. "You drive, only mind the rush-hour traffic."

"You tell him," yelled Stewart from an overhead balcony, his voice echoing inside the chamber. "Bring it back in one piece and I'll give you a great big kiss."

"Me too?" Giordino yelled back, going along with the joke.

"You too. ',

"Can I take out my dentures?"

"Take out anything you want."

"You call that an incentive?" Pitt said dryly. He was grateful to the Captain for trying to take his mind off what they might find. "I may make a beeline for Africa rather than come back here."

"You'll need an extra truckload of oxygen," said Stewart.

Gunn walked up, oblivious to the good-natured exchange, a pair of earphones clamped to his head with the cable dangling at his leg.

He tried to keep his instructions businesslike, but compassion crept into his voice. "I'll be monitoring your audio locator beacon and communications. Soon as you see bottom, make a

three-hundred-and-sixty-degree sweep until your sonar picks out the wreck. Then give me your heading. I expect you to keep me informed every step of the way."

Pitt shook Gunn's hand. "We'll stay in touch."

Gunn stared up at his old friend bleakly. "You sure you wouldn't rather stay topside and let me go down?"

"I've got to see for myself."

"Good luck," Gunn murmured, and then he quickly turned away and mounted a ladder leading from the moon pool.

Pitt and Giordino settled into the side-by-side, aircraftstyle armchairs. The engineers swung the top half of the sphere closed against the watertight O-ring and tightened the clamps.

Giordino began going through the predive checklist. "Power?"

"Power on," affirmed Pitt.

"Raho?"

"Are we coming in, Rudi?"

Loud and clear," Gunn answered.

"Oxygen "Twenty-one-point-five percent."

When they finished, Giordino said, "Ready when you are, Sounder."

"You're cleared for takeoff, Deep Rover," Stewart replied in his usual ironic tone. "Bring back a lobster for dinner."

Two divers stood by in full gear as the platform was slowly lowered into the sea. The water surged around the Deep Rover and soon enveloped the sphere. Pitt looked up into the shimmering lights of the moon pool and saw the wavering figures leaning over the balconies. The entire company of oceanographers and crew turned out for the dive, hovering around Gunn and listening to the reports from the sub. Pitt felt like a fish on display in an aquarium.

When they were fully submerged, the divers moved in and unhitched the submersible from its cradle. One of them held up a hand and gave an

"Okay" sign. Pitt smiled and answered with a "Thumbs up," and then pointed ahead.

The handgrips on the end of the amirests guided the manipulators, while the armrests themselves controlled the four sters. Pitt took a Deep breath and controled the rover as if he were a helicopter pilot. A slight pressure on his elbows and she rose off the cradle. Then he pushed his arms forward and the horizontal stablizers eased her ahead.

Pitt moved the little craft off the platform about thirty meters and stopped to assess his compass bearing. Then he engaged the vertical thrusters and began the descent.

Down, down the Deep Rover fell through the dimensionless void, the darkening water burying her in its depths. The vibrant blue-green of the surface soon turned to a soft gray. A small, one-meter blue shark swam effortlessly toward the sub,

circled once and, finding nothing inviting, continued its lonely journey into the fluid haze.