Fire Ice nf-3 Page 21

  "Tell them about the ship sounds we heard before that," one of the submariners said.

  "Sorry, I forgot about that. It was a while before we surfaced. The bunk room was as quiet as a grave. Some of the guys in the bunks said they could hear the sound of ship engines through the bulkheads. We all put our ears up to the hull and listened. It was true."

  "You were in an area of heavy ship traffic?"

  "That's what we figured. Eventually, the noise died out. Several hours later, we came up next to a surface ship. It must have been waiting for us. They hustled us onto the ship and into another bunk room. That was our home sweet home for three days."

  "They kept you there all that time?" Gunn said.

  "Hell, no! Early the next morning, we were assembled on the deck. Guys with guns kept us covered, and the big sub was nowhere to be seen. Pulaski was there. He gave us that creepy smile of his. 'Good morning, gentlemen,' " Kreisman imitated Pulaski's accent. " 'In return for this delightful cruise, we are going to ask that you do a little job for us.' He said we would be salvaging material from an old ship. Pulaski and another thug were going with us. So we piled into the NR-1 alongside the ship, which was acting as our tender, and down we went."

  "How deep?"

  "Four hundred feet plus. No big deal for the NR-1. We noticed the water buoyancy was different. We needed less ballast to bring us down. The sea bottom was mud for the most part, sloping before it abruptly dropped off into the deep. The wreck sat on the bank of an underwater canyon or valley that ran at right angles to the cliff face."

  "Was there a name on the ship's hull?"

  "None that we could see. The vessel was covered with seaweed and barnacles. The bow was more up-and-down than raked, like those pictures you see of the Titanic." He used his hand to demonstrate.

  "What was its position on the bottom?"

  "The ship sat on the slope, leaning over at a sharp angle. It looked as if a good shove would tip it over. We saw a big hole in the starboard side."

  "Could you see inside the hole?"

  "It was filled in with rubble. We only stayed there a minute. They were more interested in the other side. They had fitted out the manipulator arm with a cutting torch. We touched down on the slanting deck. It was pretty dicey putting the sub down at an angle. We had the feeling the ship could roll over at any time. Then they told us to cut a hole in the superstructure."

  "Not in the hold?" Austin said with surprise. "That's where the cargo would be."

  "You'd think so, but we weren't in a position to argue. We made an opening around ten by ten feet. It wasn't too hard – the metal was old and rusted. We had to be careful, though. It was like a surgical operation. One nudge and the ship would drop off into the deep; we were all aware of that. We could see the old bunks and mattresses. Pulaski and his buddy got real agitated. They started to jabber over some diagrams of the wreck that they had with them."

  "In Russian."

  "Sounded like it. Apparently, they'd had us cut through the wrong spot. We tried two more times before they found what they wanted. It was a fairly big cabin filled with metal boxes the size of those old steamer trunks you see in antique shops."

  "How many boxes?"

  "About a dozen, jumbled every which way. Pulaski told us to grab them with the NR-1's manipulator arm. We had a tough time moving them. They were obviously heavy and strained the manipulator to capacity. We pulled the boxes to the opening and called the surface ship and told them to lower some lines with hooks on the ends of them. We attached the lines, stood off and let the ship winch the stuff up with its superior lifting power."

  Austin, who had been trained in deepwater salvage, nodded. "Exactly the way I would have handled it."

  "Captain Logan's idea." Kreisman smirked with embarrassment. "We were like the British soldiers in that movie, Bridge on the River Kwai. We really got into it. Professional pride, I guess."

  "Don't feel bad. They probably would have killed you if you hadn't done the job."

  "That's what the captain said. We worked round-the-clock shifts. There were a few of the hitches you'd expect with a job that complicated, but we got all the stuff they wanted off the ship."

  "Did you see what was in the steamer trunks?"

  "That was a funny thing. They shoved us around the corner, but we could hear them prying the boxes open with a crowbar. They sounded pretty excited. Then there was this silence, and next we heard them yelling. It sounded like an argument. Then Pulaski appeared and started shouting at us in Russian, like whatever happened was our fault. He looked real angry, but I think he was a little scared." Kreisman glanced around the room and got nods of agreement from the other crewmen.

  "No indication what the dustup was all about?"

  He shook his head. "They put us below, and when they brought us on deck again it was night. The monster sub was back. There was a ship nearby, too. We couldn't see in the dark, but it sounded like a big one. They loaded us aboard the sub, except for the captain and pilot-same first-class accommodations. We traveled underwater, a shorter time than before. When we were allowed out, we were in a place as big as an airplane hangar."

  "That would be the sub pen. What happened to the NR-1?"

  "We don't know. It was still tied up alongside the salvage vessel when we left. The captain and pilot are okay, I hope," he said with consternation. "Why would they keep us prisoner and let them go?"

  "They may have further work for the NR-1 or simply want hostages. What happened next?"

  "They put us in yet another bunk room. A real dump. We were there a couple of days. Bored as hell. The only excitement was what sounded like a big explosion from somewhere below."

  "They were sealing the entrance to the sub pen."

  "Why would they do that?"

  "The base had been discovered, and they wanted to make sure no one would find the evidence. The big sub used in the hijack had served its purpose. I wouldn't be surprised if they planned to plug the surface entrance later. Maybe with you inside. What was the guard situation?"

  "Same bunch who kept an eye on us on the salvage ship. Military types with automatic weapons. They gave us black bread and water, and locked us in. Next thing we know, these guys with the funny hats and the baggy pants showed up. The first guards were Girl Scouts compared to this gang. They beat up a couple of the guys just for chuckles, dragged us outside and herded us into that big field. You know the rest."

  Austin looked around the room. "Any questions?"

  "Did you get a glimpse of your GPS position when you were on the NR-1?" Gunn asked.

  "They kept us away from the positioning gauges, then turned them off later so we couldn't see."

  "Damn shame," Gunn said.

  Laughter rippled around the room.

  "Are we missing a joke?" Gunn said.

  A slim blond-haired crewman in his midtwenties stood and identified himself as Seaman Ted McCormack. He passed a sheet of paper toward the table. "These are the GPS coordinates for the wreck."

  "How can you be sure?" Gunn said, reading the figures.

  McCormack held out his arm and displayed what looked like an overgrown digital wristwatch. "My wife gave this to me. We got married just before I shipped out. She's got a chart back home so when I called her she could mark exactly where I was."

  "We used to kid Mac about being on a short leash," Kreisman said. "Not anymore."

  "When we were hijacked, I slid this thing up my arm and kept it covered under my sleeve," McCormack said. "They never frisked us. Figured we were harmless, I guess."

  The ProTek GPS watch was a miracle of miniaturization, said by its manufacturer to be the world's smallest GPS device. It could give the wearer his position anywhere on the planet within a few yards.

  Austin grinned. "Let's hear it for love." He looked around the room. "Now, to quote the immortal words of Porky Pig, 'That's all, folks.' Thanks for your help. And bon voyage."

  The NR-1 crew rose to their feet as one and stampeded out of the c
onference room like thirsty steers who'd smelled water. Austin turned to the NUMA team.

  Paul flipped open his laptop computer and connected it to the modem that would allow files to be projected on a large screen at one end of the room. Gamay stood next to the projection screen with a laser pointer. Paul tapped a few keys, and a map of the kidney-shaped Black Sea and the surrounding land appeared.

  "Welcome to the Black Sea, one of the most fascinating bodies of water in the world," Gamay said, outlining the shores with the bright red dot. "It's roughly six hundred thirty miles from east to west and three hundred thirty from north to south. It's only one hundred forty-four miles here at the 'waist,' where the Crimea sticks out. Despite its relatively small size, it's got a big bad reputation. The Greeks called it Axenos, which means 'inhospitable.' The medieval Turks were less diplomatic. They named it Karadenez. The 'Sea of Death.' "

  "Catchy," Zavala said. "It has a certain poetic quality."

  "I can definitely see the chamber of commerce using that in a New York Times ad," Austin agreed.

  Gamay rolled her eyes. "Are you two ever serious?"

  "We try not to be," Austin said. "Sorry to interrupt, teacher. Please go on."

  "Thank you. Despite the bad press, the Black Sea gets a lot of visitors. Jason came this way in the original Argo to look for the Golden Fleece. The sea has been an important trade route and fishing ground for thousands of years. During the Ice Age, it was a big freshwater lake. Then around 6000 B.C., a natural land dam broke and the waters of the Mediterranean burst through. The sea level rose hundreds of feet."

  “Noah's flood," Austin said.

  "Some people think so. The people who lived around the lake fled for their lives." Gamay smiled. "I can't say whether they did it on an ark. The salt water effectively smothered the lake. River nutrients pouring into the sea have only made the situation worse." She signaled to Paul, who projected a profile of the sea onto the screen.

  "This gives you an idea of the incredible depth. A continental shelf that's probably the remnant of the old shoreline runs around the perimeter. It's the widest off the Ukraine, then it plunges down for seven thousand feet. The thin layer near the top is rich with life. But below the five-hundred-fifty-foot mark, there is no oxygen and the sea is lifeless. It's the biggest body of dead water in the world. Even worse, the depths are loaded with hydrogen sulfide. One breath of the stuff can kill you. If that mass of poison ever rose to the surface, it would release a cloud that would kill every living thing in and around the sea."

  "The Turks weren't kidding about the sea of death," Zavala said.

  Paul projected a map that had a dotted line running around the inner edge of the sea. "Kreisman said the ship was found around the four-hundred-foot level. That would put it at the edge of the continental shelf. Any deeper and ship wouldn't be there. Wooden vessels are perfectly preserved in the depths, because there is no oxygen to sustain wood-boring worms, but the chemicals eat away at metal."

  "The ship would have been reduced to its basic molecules," Austin said.

  "That's right. That gorge he talked about is probably an extended riverbed. The continental shelf is smooth and gradually dips seaward, pretty much like the ensign's description. The decay from all those organisms has formed pockets of methane gas. Presumably, a diver could be insulated from that type of thing, but there might still be some danger in diving in a poisonous environment."

  Gunn had been absorbing the discussion. He rose from his seat and borrowed the laser pointer.

  "Let's see what we've got. The NR-1 was hijacked here." He ran the red dot from the Aegean through the Bosporus. "This is where they heard sounds of ship traffic." He moved the pointer along the edge of the continental shelf. "Here's our mystery ship, according to the GPS."

  Using his cursor, Paul drew an X at the location Gunn indicated.

  "Someone went to a great deal of trouble to salvage that ship," Austin said. "Maybe it holds the key to unraveling this whole mess."

  Gunn turned to the captain. "How soon can we haul anchor and get moving?"

  Atwood had kept silent throughout the ensign's presentation and the NUMA team's discussion. He smiled and said, "You people have been so engrossed in the Black Sea, you didn't notice me calling the bridge. We're on our way. Should be on-site in the morning."

  The faint vibration of the engines came through the deck under their feet. Gunn got up. "I'm going to hit the sack. Tomorrow could be a long day." Austin got directions to his cabin, then told Joe that he'd catch up with him later. When Austin was alone, he sat at the table and stared at the lines and squiggles of the Black Sea map projected on the screen as if they were letters of an unknown language whose secret could be unlocked by a Rosetta Stone. His eye fastened on the X that marked the position of the mystery ship.

  He sorted through the events that had brought him to this place on a NUMA vessel in pursuit of what? He felt like someone making his way through a snake pit, trying to pick out the nonpoisonous snakes from the vipers. He snapped off the lights and left the conference room. As he made his way to his cabin, he had a depressing thought. Maybe they were all poisonous.

  20

  THE GRAY DAWN light streaming through the cabin porthole woke Austin up. He glanced over at Zavala, who was in the next bunk, no doubt lost in a dreamworld of red Corvettes and beautiful blond statisticians. He envied his partner's ability to drop off to sleep, snooze soundly through the night and wake up fresh and ready for action. Austin's own slumber had been fitful, disturbed by churning thoughts, as if his brain were searching for answers hidden in the maze of his subconscious.

  Levering himself out of bed, Austin went over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He dressed quickly, pulling on jeans, a heavy sweatshirt and a windbreaker, and stepped out of the cabin. A cool morning breeze from off the water smacked him in the face and blew away the lingering shreds of sleep. The sun's eyebrow was starting to peek over the eastern horizon, its soft rays bathing the clouds in a reddish gold light.

  With the Argo steaming at fifteen knots, Austin hung over the railing and stared out at the opaque surface of the sea, listening to the soothing hiss of the waves against the hull. Seabirds skimmed the foam like windblown confetti. It was hard to believe that a few hundred feet below was the most lifeless place on the planet. The Black Sea was a big puddle of dead water, but Austin knew that an abyss with far more reason to be feared was the remorseless evil that lurked in the depths of the human mind. Austin shivered, not entirely from the cold, and headed back into the ship.

  As he stepped through the door into the warmth of the mess hall, the mouth-watering bouquet of coffee, fried eggs and bacon provided an antidote for his morbid mood, and his spirits improved. Except for the blue sea visible through the windows, the ship's dining area could have been a smaII-town breakfast hangout where the locals have coffee mugs with their names on them. Sleepy-eyed crew members coming off the night watch occupied a few tables.

  Austin grabbed a coffee to go. On his way to the bridge, he encountered the Trouts, who had come down for break- fast earlier and taken a tour of the ship. Together they climbed up to the wheelhouse, where the wraparound windows gave a wide view of the bow and deck.

  Rudi Gunn, an early riser going back to his navy days, stood near a bank of instruments and monitors, talking to Captain Atwood. He smiled broadly when he saw his colleagues. "Good morning, everyone. I was about to go looking for you. The captain was going over his plans for the wreck site."

  "Looking forward to hearing them," Austin said. "How soon will we be on-site?"

  Atwood pointed to a circular gray screen with white concentric circles etched into the glass. Specks of gray indicated the GPS readings from an antenna that picked up information from the network of twenty-four satellites orbiting the earth at a height of eleven thousand miles. A digital readout next to the screen displayed current latitude and longitude. The system could place the ship within thirty to forty-five feet of its target.r />
  "We should be on-site in about fifteen minutes if the navigational coordinates from the sub sailor's Dick Tracy wrist-watch are on the mark."

  "You weren't joking when you said we'd be there first thing this morning," Austin said.

  "The Argo may look like a workhorse, but she's got racing genes in her blood."

  "What are your plans for the initial survey?"

  "We'll map out the general area with side-scan sonar using our new UUV, then take a closer look. The crew is down on the deck getting things ready." The Unmanned Untethered Vehicle, or UUV, was one of the hottest developments in undersea exploration.

  Paul asked to see a chart. The captain pushed aside a blue curtain that divided the wheelhouse from the smaller chart room. A map of the Black Sea was spread out on the table. "We're here," Atwood said, putting his finger on a spot off the western shore of the Black Sea.

  Trout's tall form bent over the chart. "We're over the edge of a shallow underwater shelf that wraps around the shoreline past Romania and the Danube delta, the Bosporus and around to Crimea in the north." He turned to his wife. "Gamay can fill us in on the biological and archaeological angles."

  Gamay took over. "The shelf Paul talked about is an incredibly productive fishery. It's home to salmon, beluga sturgeon, turbot. You'll find dolphins here and bonito, although the stocks are down. Some say the Turks have over- fished the sea, but they say it's European Union pollution coming from the Danube. What's not in dispute is the fact that below a fluctuating depth of around four hundred fifty feet, there is no life. Ninety percent of the sea is sterile. With the fish population down, huge red tides and jellyfish infestations have come in. People are concerned enough to actually start doing something."

  "That's how NUMA came to be involved," Captain Atwood said. "We were collecting information for a joint Russian-Turkish project."