Текст книги "Polar Shift"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

7

Gamay Morgan-Trout carefully lowered the Van Dorn sampler over the port rail of the NOAA survey ship and watched the nine-liter plastic cylinder sink beneath the foam-flecked waves. She played out the thin connecting cable as the sampler plunged hundreds of feet to the ocean bottom.

After the bottle filled with water and automatically sealed, she began to winch it back on board with the help of her husband. Paul Trout hauled the dripping bottle the last few feet from the water, detached the sampler from the cable and held it to the light, as if he were testing the color of a fine glass of wine.

Trout had a twinkle in his hazel eyes. "This is absurd," he said.

"What's absurd?"

"Consider what we're doing."

Still puzzled, Gamay said, "Okay, we've just tossed a fancy bottle over the side and hauled it up filled with seawater."

"Thank you for making my point. Look around at this ship. The Benjamin Franklinis loaded with cutting-edge research gear. We've got stuff like specialized echo sounders, multibeam and side-scan sonar and the latest in computer hardware and software. But we're no different from the ancient mariners who smeared wax on their sounding lead to check out the composition of the ocean bottom."

Gamay smiled. "And now we're about to collect plankton using an old-fashioned fisherman's net. I draw the line when it comes to transport. No rowboat. How's the Zodiac coming?"

"Ready to go," Trout said. He read the surface of the sea with an experienced eye. "Wind's freshening. Could get choppy. We'll have to stay sharp." He pronounced it "shaap," betraying his New England roots.

Gamay glanced at the whitecaps starting to dot the grayish blue water. "We might not be able to go out again for days if we wait."

"My thoughts exactly." He handed her the Van Dorn sampler. "I'll meet you at the Zodiac davit."

Gamay delivered the sampler to the wet lab. The water sample would be analyzed for trace metals and organisms. She went to her cabin, pulled a hooded, foul-weather suit on over her jeans, Icelandic wool sweater and chamois shirt, and tucked her long, dark red hair under a multicolored "Friends of the Hunley"baseball cap. Slipping into her personal flotation device, she went out to the stern deck.

Trout was waiting next to the davits that held the twenty-three-foot-long, rigid inflatable boat. He was dressed impeccably as usual. Under a full suit of yellow commercial-grade, foul-weather gear, he wore designer jeans specially tailored to fit his six-foot-eight frame and a navy sweater made of cashmere wool. One of the colorful bow ties to which Trout was addicted adorned the button-down collar of his Brooks Brothers oxford-weave blue shirt. As a counterpoint to his casual elegance, he wore scuffed work boots, a holdover from his days at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, where functional footwear was de rigueur. He wore a navy wool cap to protect his head.

The Trouts climbed aboard the rigid inflatable boat and the Zodiac was lowered into the sea. Paul started the Volvo Penta diesel inboard/outboard engine as Gamay cast off the tether line. They stood side by side at the steering console with legs braced in a charioteer's pose, knees bent to absorb the shock of the flat-bottomed hull slapping the waves.

The rugged inflatable craft planed over the seas like a playful dolphin. Trout steered toward a Day-Glo orange sphere that was bobbing in the water about a quarter mile from the ship. They had set the buoy earlier in the day to provide a reference point for the phytoplankton survey.

It was not the most hospitable work environment. Glowering clouds were moving in from the east, and the horizon line was barely visible where gray sea met gray water. The easterly wind had come up a few knots. The thick cloud layer blocking the sunlight was starting to spit light rain.

But as they prepared for the survey, Paul and Gamay wore that particular expression of bliss people born to the sea have when they are in their natural element. Paul had climbed aboard a fishing boat with his fisherman father as soon as he could walk. He had fished commercially out of the Cape Cod village of Woods Hole until he went off to college.

Gamay was unfazed by the gloomy weather, although her background was somewhat different from Trout's. Born in Racine, Wisconsin, she had spent many of her younger years sailing the sometimes cantankerous waters of the Great Lakes with her father, a successful developer and yachtsman.

"You must admit this is a lot more fun than wallpapering," Paul said as he maneuvered the boat closer to the buoy.

Gamay was readying the survey gear. "This is more fun than almost anythingI can think of," she said, ignoring the cold spray that splashed her face.

"Glad you qualified your statement with 'almost,' " Paul said with a leer.

Gamay gave him a sour look that didn't match the amusement in her eyes. "Pay attention to what you're doing or you'll fall overboard."

The Trouts hadn't expected to be back to sea so soon. After wrapping up their last mission with the Special Assignments Team, they had planned to catch some R amp; R. Trout had once observed that Camay's relaxation technique must have been learned from a French Foreign Legion drillmaster. A fitness and exercise nut, she was only home a few hours before embarking on an Olympic-level running, hiking and biking schedule.

Even that wasn't enough. Gamay had a habit of making a top priority of whatever happened to come into her mind at a given moment. Trout knew he was in trouble when, after a day together cruising through the Virginia countryside in their Humvee, she eye-balled the living-room wallpaper of the Georgetown town house they were constantly remodeling. He had nodded with learned patience as Gamay ticked off the remodeling projects she had piled on their plate.

The remodeling frenzy lasted only a day. Gamay was slapping wallpaper on a wall with typical ferocity when Hank Aubrey, a colleague from Scripps Institute of Oceanography, called and asked if she and Paul would like to take part in an ocean eddy survey off the mid-Atlantic coast aboard the Benjamin Franklin.

Aubrey didn't have to twist their arms. Working with Austin and the Special Assignments Team was a dream job that took them on adventures to exotic parts of the world. But sometimes they yearned for the pure research of their college years.

"Ocean eddies?" Trout had said after they accepted the invitation. "I've read about them in the oceanographic science journals. Big, slow-moving swirls of cold or warm water that are sometimes hundreds of miles across."

Gamay nodded. "According to Hank, there's a lot of new interest in the phenomenon. The whorls can hamper offshore drilling operations and affect weather. On the good side, they can churn up marine microorganisms from the ocean floor to the surface and cause an explosion up the food chain. I'll be studying the flow of nutrients and the impact on commercial fishing and whale populations. You can look into the geological components."

Noting the growing excitement in his wife's voice, Paul said, "I love it when you talk dirty."

Gamay puffed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. "We scientist types are a bit odd when it comes to the things that turn us on."

"What about the wallpapering?" Paul teased.

"We'll hiresomeone to finish it."

Paul tossed the wallpaper brush into a bucket. "Finestkind, cap," he said, using a phrase from his fishing days.

The Trouts worked together with the precision of a fine Swiss watch. Their teamwork was a quality former NUMA director James Sandecker recognized when he hired them for the Special Assignments Team. Both were now in their mid-thirties. From outward appearances, they were an unlikely couple.

Paul was the more serious of the two. He seemed constantly in deep thought, an impression that was heightened by his habit of speaking with his head lowered, eyes peering up as if over glasses.

He seemed to reach deep inside himself before saying anything of importance. His seriousness was tempered by a sly sense of humor. Gamay was more open and vivacious than her husband. A tall, slender woman who moved with the grace of a fashion model, she had a flashing smile with a slight gap between her upper front teeth, and, while not gorgeous or overly sexy, was appealing to most men. They had met at Scripps, where he was studying for his doctorate in deep-ocean geology, and Gamay was switching her field of interest from nautical archaeology to marine biology.

A few hours after receiving the call, they were packed and boarding the Benjamin Franklin.The Franklinhad a highly trained crew of twenty, plus ten scientists from various universities and government agencies. Its primary mission was to conduct a hydrographic survey along the Atlantic Coast and the Gulf of Mexico.

On a typical trip, the ship made thousands of precise depth measurements to create a picture of the ocean bottom and any wrecks or other obstructions that happened to be present. The information was used to update nautical maps for NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Aubrey had greeted them at the top of the gangway and welcomed them aboard the ship. Aubrey was a slightly built man whose flighty energy, sharply pointed nose and nonstop chatter made him resemble an English sparrow. He led them to their cabin. After dropping off their bags, they headed to the mess hall. They settled at a table, and Aubrey brought them cups of tea.

"Damn, it's great to see you," he said. "I'm really pleased you could join our project. How long has it been since we've seen each other, three years?"

"More like five," Gamay said.

"Ouch. Much too long, in any case," he said. "We'll make up for it on this trip. The ship's due to leave in a couple of hours. I often think of you working at NUMA. It must be fascinating," Aubrey said in a voice tinged with envy. "My work on big swirling masses of water pales by comparison with your adventures."

"Not at all, Hank," Gamay said. "Paul and I would kill for the opportunity to do pure science. And from what we've read, your research affects a great many people."

Aubrey brightened. "I suppose you're right. There will be a formal scientific orientation session tomorrow. What do you know about the phenomenon of ocean eddies?"

"Not a lot," Gamay said. "Mostly, that the swirls are a largely unexplored scientific area."

"Absolutely right. That's why this survey is a matter of great importance." He plucked a napkin from its holder and produced a ballpoint pen from his pocket in a gesture the Trouts had seen on a dozen other occasions.

"You'll get to see the satellite images, but this will show you what we're dealing with. We're headed to a site close to the Gulf Stream, about two hundred miles out. This swirl is a hundred miles across, located east of New Jersey, on the edge of the Gulf Stream." He drew an irregular circle on the napkin.

"Looks like a fried egg," Trout said.

Trout liked to kid Aubrey about his penchant for working out scientific problems on restaurant napkins, even suggesting once that he compile them in a textbook.

"Artistic license," Aubrey said. "It gives you an idea of what we're dealing with. Ocean eddies are basically giant, slow-moving whirlpools, sometimes hundreds of miles across. They seem to be cast off by ocean currents. Some rotate clockwise. Others move counterclockwise. They can transport ocean heat or cold, and move nutrients from the bottom of the ocean to the top, affecting weather and creating an explosion of marine life up the food chain, depending."

"I've read somewhere about fishing trawlers working the edges of these things," Trout said.

"Humans aren't the only predators that have discovered the biological implications of eddies." Aubrey sketched out a few more pictures on the napkin and held it up.

"Now it looks like a fried egg being attacked by giant fish," Trout said.

"Actually, as anyone with eyes can see, these are whales. They've been known to feed along the edges of eddies. There are a couple of teams trying to track whales to their feeding grounds."

"Using whales to find whorls," Trout observed.

Aubrey grimaced at the wordplay. "There are better ways to find these puppies than tagging sperm whales. Thermal expansion causes the water inside an eddy to create a bump in the ocean that can be traced by satellite."

"What causes ocean currents to shed these eddies?" Trout said.

"That's one of the things we hope to learn on this expedition. You two are ideally suited for the project. Gamay can apply her biological expertise to the question, and we're hoping you can come up with some of the computer models you're so good at."

"Thanks for inviting us aboard. We'll do our best," Gamay said.

"I know you will. This goes beyond pure science. These big swirls can be real weathermakers. A stalled ocean eddy off the California coast can produce cold temperatures and rain in L.A. Similarly, in the Atlantic an eddy spinning off the Gulf Stream can produce thick fog."

"Not much we can do about the weather," Trout said.

"That's true, but knowing what to expect will allow us to adapt to it. The ocean eddy survey could be vital to the nation's economy. The safety of commercial shipping and the flow of petroleum, coal, steel, cars, grain and computerized cargo depend on accurate weather forecasting."

"Which is why NOAA is so interested in what we're doing," Trout said.

Aubrey nodded. "That reminds me, I've got to talk to the captain about our schedule." He rose from his seat and pumped their hands. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to be working with you guys again. We're having a get-to-know-each-other party tonight." He slid the napkin across the table to Trout. "There will be a quiz on this material in the morning, wise guy."

Luckily for Trout, Aubrey was only joking about the quiz, although the orientation was comprehensive. And by the time the survey ship dropped anchor, both Trouts had become well versed in ocean eddy science. From the vantage point of the ship's deck, the sea in the vicinity of the swirl looked no different from any other part of the ocean, but satellites and computer models had shown it to be moving at approximately three miles per hour.

Trout had done some computer graphics of the ocean bottom in the vicinity of the swirl, and Gamay concentrated on the biological applications. The phytoplankton survey was a vital piece of her research, which was why she was so anxious to get it out of the way.

With the Zodiac rocking in the troughs between waves, they lowered a Neuston net over the side. The net had a rectangular, tubular frame, and the ten-foot cloth net itself was long and tapering, which allowed it to sample large volumes of water. They let out the line so that the net floated partially out of the water. Then they made several tows straight out in a radius from the marker buoys, keeping an eye on the white-hulled NOAA ship to maintain their bearings. The results were good. The net was bringing in solid samples of plankton.

Trout had put the motor at idle and was helping Camay make a last haul when they looked up at the same time at a strange rushing sound. They exchanged puzzled glances and stared off at the ship. Nothing seemed amiss. People were visible, moving about on the deck.

Gamay had noticed a flickering sparkle on the surface of the sea as if the sun were a fluorescent bulb on its last legs. "Look at the sky," Gamay said.

Trout glanced up and his jaw dropped down to his knees. The clouds seemed to be enveloped in a canopy of silver fire that pulsated in brilliant bursts of radiance. He gazed, awestruck, at the heavenly display, and responded with a very unscientific observation.

"Wow!" he said.

The noise they had heard repeated itself, only it was louder this time. It seemed to be coming from the open sea away from the NOAA ship. Trout wiped the drizzle out of his eyes and pointed at the ocean.

"Something's happening at about two o'clock, maybe an eighth of a mile away," he said.

A roughly circular patch of ocean was going dark as if a cloud were casting a shadow.

"What is it?" Gamay said.

"I don't know," Trout said. "But it's getting bigger."

The dark patch was expanding, forming a circle of puckering, wrinkled water. One hundred feet in diameter. Then two hundred feet. And rapidly growing. A glittering band of white appeared at the edge of the dark circle and rapidly developed into a low wall of spume. A low moan rose from the depths as if the sea were crying out in pain.

Then the center of the darkness dropped suddenly and a massive wound appeared in the ocean. It was quickly expanding in size, and would reach them within seconds.

Trout's hand instinctively reached for the throttle just as invisible fingers of current reached out from the widening gyre and began to pull them back toward the yawning black void.

8

The great gaping cavity that had opened in the sea was visible only for an instant before it disappeared behind a mounding circle of foam. Tatters of spume flew off the top of the sudsy crest. An intense, briny odor saturated the air as if the Zodiac were suddenly in the midst of a huge school of fish.

The NOAA ship was moving toward the Zodiac. People lined the rail. They were pointing and waving their hands.

The boat was on the verge of extricating itself from the sticky currents when a big sea broke over the blunt bow and they lost headway. Trout's jaw tightened. He cranked the throttle up as far as it would go and pointed the bow away from the cauldron. The motor revved to near-valve-popping levels. The boat lurched as if it had been given shock treatment. The Zodiac gained a yard or two before being snatched again by the powerful tentacles of current that were generated around the huge whirl.

A rumble issued from the bowels of the sea, the sound so over-powering that it drowned out the desperate roar of the straining motor. The air was filled with a great vibration as if hundreds of pipe organs were set on low end. Thick, milky mist issued from the hole in the water. Making the scene even more unreal was the laser show overhead. The dancing lights had changed in color from silver to blue and purple.

The boat scudded into a tightening spiral as it was dragged into the encircling belt of foam. There was no chance of escape. The Zodiac was lifted to the top of the roiling ridge of white water, now around six feet high, where it was buffeted and rocked with such violence that Gamay was almost thrown into the sea.

Trout released the wheel and lunged for Gamay. His strong fingers caught the fabric of her foul-weather jacket and he pulled her back into the boat. It was no longer safe to stand. They dropped to their hands and knees and grabbed onto a safety line attached to one of the inflatable-hull tubes.

The Zodiac was fully in the grip of the moving ridge of gleaming white water. As if the constant pitching and yawing weren't enough, the boat spun like a drunken ballet dancer.

The punishment continued as the boat was carried along the roiling ridge of foam. On one side was the sea. On the other, a great whirling funnel whose black walls sloped at a forty-five-degree angle. The sides of the whirlpool looked as hard as glass.

The boat teetered dangerously at the top of the foaming wall and then slid into the great whirling funnel of black water. The fierce current whipping around the wall of the whirlpool surpassed the pull of gravity. The boat's descent ended about twenty feet below the shiny rim of froth. Caught by the centrifugal force like the ball in a spinning roulette wheel, the boat began to go round and round the funnel.

The Zodiac hung at a forty-five-degree angle, its flat bottom parallel to the slanting surface, with the port side lower than starboard. The bow pointed forward as if the boat were still moving under its own power.

The Trouts twisted their bodies around so that their boots were wedged under the downhill pontoon. They looked down into the whirlpool. It was at least a mile in diameter. The funnel slanted sharply, and the bottom was hidden behind the swirling clouds of thick mist that rose from the churning water. Light passing through the mist had created a rainbow that arced over the maelstrom as if nature was trying to moderate its raw display of power with delicate beauty.

Without a stationary reference point, it was impossible to determine how fast they were moving or how many times the Zodiac had made the circle. But after several minutes had passed, the rim seemed higher. It became painfully obvious that the boat was descending even as it was hurled forward.

Trying to reorient herself, Gamay glanced up at the circle of sky wheeling far above. She saw movement at the rim of the whirlpool and pointed with her free hand.

Trout wiped the water out of his eyes. "Oh hell," he said. "It's the Franklin."

The vessel was at the edge of the gyre, its stern protruding into thin air from the ridge of foam. The ship disappeared after a moment. Seconds later, it returned to view, only to disappear again.

The Trouts forgot about their own misfortune. From the ship's peekaboo performance, it was apparent that the Franklinhad been caught in the swirling currents generated by the vortex and was being drawn into the funnel.

The ship oscillated back and forth in a deadly game of tug-of-war as the propellers came out of the water and the vessel lost way. The ship would tilt, the propellers would catch and the vessel would rise up and over again in a bucksaw motion that went on for several minutes. Then the entire length of the vessel was drawn over the lip and into the cauldron. The ship's bow was higher than the stern. It hung there as if stuck by glue.

"Go, baby, go … !" Trout yelled.

Gamay gave him a quick glance, even smiling briefly at the unusual display of emotion, before she, too, joined in the cheering.

The smooth water behind the ship boiled as if someone had turned the burner on high. The engines were doing their work. The propellers biting into the slanting sides of the funnel, the ship inched its way painfully toward the rim again, settled back, shot upward at an angle, was buried by the foam, then gave a mighty surge that carried it over the lip.

This time, the ship disappeared for good. The Trouts cheered, but their celebration was tempered by their own sense of loneliness and impotence against an unstoppable force of nature.

"Any ideas about how weget out of here?" Gamay shouted.

"Maybe the whirlpool will end on its own."

Gamay glanced down. In the few minutes they had watched the ship struggle, the boat had dropped at least another twenty feet.

"I don't think so."

The water had lost its India ink cast, and the slick black sides had picked up a brownish tinge from the mud being scooped up from the bottom. Hundreds of dead or dying fish whirled in a great circle like confetti caught in a windstorm. The damp air was thick with the smell of brine, fish and bottom muck.

"Look at the debris," Paul said. "It's rising from the bottom."

Wreckage was being churned up from the floor of the sea in the same way a tornado picks up objects and lifts them in the air. There were splintered wooden cartons, plywood, hatch covers, scraps of ventilators, even a damaged lifeboat. Much of the material sank back into the vortex, where it was regurgitated and destroyed with the same effect as if it were at the bottom of Niagara Falls.

Gamay noticed that some pieces, mostly small, were heading up toward the rim. "What if we jump into the water?" she said. "Maybe we'd be light enough to rise to the top like that stuff."

"No guarantee we'd ascend. More likely, we'd get sucked farther into the whirlpool, to be ground up like hamburger. Remember that the first rule of the sea is to stick with your boat-if possible."

"Maybe that's not such a great idea. We've dropped lower."

It was true. The boat had slipped farther into the whirlpool.

A cylindrical object was working its way up the side of the whirlpool. Then several more followed.

"What's that?" Trout said.

Gamay wiped away the moisture from her eyes and looked again, at a point twenty feet ahead and slightly below the Zodiac. Before becoming a marine biologist, she had been a nautical archaeologist, and immediately recognized the tapered ceramic forms with their greenish gray painted surfaces.

"They're amphorae," she said. "And they're moving upward."

Trout read his wife's mind. "We'll only have one chance to go for it."

"Our weight may change the dynamics, and there will only be one chance to go for it.

"Do we have a choice?"

The three ancient wine vessels were maddeningly close. Trout pulled himself up to the steering console and pressed the starter button. The engine caught. The boat moved ahead at its crazy angle, and he had to compensate with its tendency to fishtail by creative handling of the wheel. He wanted to get above the amphorae to block their way.

The first amphora in the group started to drift across the bow. In another second, it would be out of reach. Trout gunned the motor, and the boat passed just above the moving object.

"Get ready," Trout yelled. The leap would have to be perfectly timed. "It will be slippery, and it's going to roll. Make sure you grab on to the handles and wrap your arms and legs around it."

Gamay nodded and climbed onto the bow. "What about you?" she said.

"I'll catch a ride on the next one."

"It's going to be hard to keep the boat steady." She knew that without someone to keep the boat under control, Trout's leap would be even more hazardous.

"I'll figure it out."

"Like hell, you will. I'm not going."

Damned stubborn woman. "This is your only chance. Someone's got to finish that damned wallpapering. Please."

Gamay gave him a hard stare, then shook her head and crawled farther out onto the bow. She bunched her legs under her and was preparing to make the leap.

"Stop!" Trout shouted.

She turned and glared at him. "Make up your mind."

Trout had seen what Gamay hadn't. The whirlpool's glassy sides above them were clear of debris. The wreckage that had been kicked up by the churning seemed to have reached an invisible barrier beyond which it failed to rise. The debris was moving back down into the funnel as quickly as it had risen.

"Look," he yelled. "That sea trash is being pulled down again."

It took Gamay only a few seconds to see that he was right. The amphorae were as high as they were going to go. Trout stretched his hand out and pulled her back into the boat. They held on to the safety lines, unable to do anything more than watch helplessly as their boat descended farther into the abyss.