Deep Fathom (26 page)

“Yes, sir.”

Grimacing, David shoved aside his concerns about Kirkland. Right now he had work to finish. He swept the sub around on a wingtip, aligning its trajectory into the proper approach. He checked the sub's clock. He had been underwater for almost six hours. After he surfaced, the
Perseus
would be checked over and reoutfitted for the day's third dive. An alternate Navy pilot would take the submersible down to the work site on the seabed floor. Then, in another seven hours, it would be David's shift all over again.

But the two pilots were not the only ones with tough schedules. Since the arrival of the research team and barges from Maui, the entire crew had been working around the clock. Aided by the researcher's submersible and robots, the sea base's support framework had already been bolted to the bottom. Starting this afternoon, the three-tiered living units and labs would be sunk to the bottom and assembled. Barring any mishaps, David expected the entire base to be established within the next forty-eight hours and manned soon afterward.

He had been ordered to get this base up in four days, and he would not disappoint, even if it meant cracking the whip. In fact, earlier in the day, when the research team's leader, a geophysicist named Ferdinand Cortez, objected to the strenuous pace, David encouraged him to call Washington. It had given David great pleasure to see the Mexican browbeaten by Nicolas Ruzickov over the satellite phone. Even from a step away David had heard Ruzickov screaming at the scientist. Afterward, though tensions remained acute, no one questioned his orders nor his schedule again.

He was in sole control of this operation, and he would not let anyone or anything delay its completion—not the embarrassing loss of Taiwan, nor the mysterious disappearance of Jack Kirkland. He would not fail.

Ahead, out of the gloom, the submerged docking bay appeared. David angled the sub with deft skill, gliding her skids onto the submerged platform. He settled the sub between the self-locking clamps. As he released the controls,
the sub's wings retracted and two C-clamps snugged against the vessel's ceramic sides. “Locked and loaded,” he called topside.

“Locked and loaded,” the technician acknowledged. “Pulling you up.”

Through the
Perseus
's hydrophones, David heard the whine of the hydraulics as the captured submersible was drawn to the surface. Around him the seas grew brighter until, at last, he surfaced. Saltwater sluiced over the nose cone and small waves crashed against the sub's side, but the vessel did not move. And after a few seconds even the waves were no threat. The
Perseus
and its pilot were hauled up out of the ocean and craned onto the stern deck of the
Maggie Chouest
.

As soon as the platform settled to the deck, the sub's five-man maintenance crew swarmed over the vessel. The nose cone's O-ring was unscrewed and the glass bubble dropped open. David slid like a beaching seal onto the deck. One of the crewmen offered him a hand. After six hours on his belly in the cramped space, his limbs were un-trustworthy.

Once on his feet, David unzipped his wet suit and stretched the kinks from his muscles. Behind him the maintenance crew was already at work: checking seals, blowing the carbon dioxide scavengers, piping fresh oxygen into the two flank tanks. They reminded David of an Indy 500 pit crew. Fast, efficient, and coordinated.

David turned his back on them and found Cortez aiming his way across the deck. Groaning, David straightened. Right now all he wanted was a hot shower and his bunk. He did not want to deal with the geophysicist. He set his face to a hard scowl as the man stopped before him. “What is it, Professor?”

From the dark circles under his eyes, the man had slept little. Even his clothes, khakis and a flannel shirt, were wrinkled and worn. “A request, Commander.”

“What?”

“On this next dive, I was wondering if Lieutenant Brentley
could take a few moments and scout closer to the crystalline formation. From the video feed of the previous dives, we've spotted some scratches on its surface. They appear too regular to be natural. We think its some form of writing.”

David shook his head. “Any such investigation will have to wait. My first priority is to get that base built and manned. After that, you and your scientists can begin your own investigation.”

“But it would only take a few—”

“My orders stand,
Professor
.” David spat out the last word as if it were an insult. “Stay clear of the crystal until the station is built. That pillar radiates a strong magnetic signature, creating glitches and communication problems. I will not risk the
Perseus
just to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Though the researcher backed down, David spotted the contempt in the man's eyes. He did not care. The Mexican was under his command. He would do what he was told.

Across the deck, near the aft hatch, one of David's subordinates was on guard. He stalked up to the man. “Where's Lieutenant Rolfe?”

“In your cabin, sir.”

David nodded and ducked through the hatch. He climbed two flights up to the ship's flag deck. He had commandeered this level's cabins for his men. Ahead he saw his room's door was ajar. Another of his men patrolled the passageway. He nodded and pushed into his cabin.

Inside, Rolfe stood up.

David closed the door and began stripping off his wet suit. “So what happened to Kirkland? Did you lose his ship?”

“No, sir.” Rolfe cleared his throat. “We've been monitoring the location of the
Deep Fathom
continually. It still circles the Kwajalein Atoll.”

“So then what went wrong?”

“Earlier this morning, Lieutenant Jeffreys got suspicious about why the ship was remaining in the area for so long. So he did a little checking and found Jack Kirkland's name on a
Quantas passenger list leaving the atoll.”

David kicked out of his wet suit and stood naked. “Dammit! When did he leave?”

“Two days ago. From the itinerary, it appears he traveled to Okinawa.”

David scowled. What was the bastard doing in Okinawa? He stalked to his cabin's bathroom and twisted on the shower nozzle. “Do we know exactly where he went?”

“No, sir. He had reservations at the local Sheraton, but he never showed up. However, he did book a round-trip ticket. He's due back in two days.”

David's face darkened.
Two more days
. He had been looking forward to completing this little side objective much sooner. Still, he was impressed by his own team's resourcefulness. Kirkland would not escape him. As busy as he was here, he could wait out another two days.

“Very good, Mr. Rolfe. But I want to know as soon as we have confirmation that Kirkland's back on his boat.”

“Yes, sir.”

David tested the shower. The small bathroom was filling with steam.

“Sir, we have another problem.” The lieutenant's voice was pained.

“What is it?”

“I don't know if we have two days to wait. According to Handel, the transmitting signal has been deteriorating. He estimates a day or two until we lose contact.”

David swung around, angry. “I told Handel to make sure the bomb remained functioning for at least two weeks.”

“He knows, sir. He believes one of the bomb's electrical circuits may be faulty. He says that Chink crap is not reliable.”

David stood there, almost shaking in frustration. Refusing to admit defeat, he pondered other options and angles. He knew no plan was as foolproof as on paper. Improvisation was the key to a mission's final success. As he thought about it, a new strategy formed. “Fine. Then if Kirkland's not back in time, we blow his ship anyway.”

“Sir?”

“Destroying his boat and killing his crew will be only our first steps in bringing Kirkland down.” As David stood in the steamy bathroom, he warmed to his new plan.

Slowly torturing Jack Kirkland did have its appeal.

“Anyone for dinner?” Karen asked, stretching her neck. Her eyes were blurry from studying the computer screens. “I can't take any more of this.”

To her left, the tall American sat crouched over his terminal. He seemed not to have heard her. “Gabriel, let's move on to symbols Forty A and B.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kirkland.”

On the far side of the American, Miyuki remained lost in her own work, busily scanning in the final few pages from the notebook. Processing the data had turned out to be a slow and tedious chore. It had become necessary for the computer to compare each glyph to the set already catalogued.

Karen glanced at Jack's workstation. Two figures appeared on his screen: one from his notebook and one from their own collection of glyphs.

The American's notebook contained only a handwritten copy of the pillar's inscription, drawn by the historian aboard his boat. This led to a certain level of ambiguity at times. Like now. Were the two figures the same glyph, Karen wondered, or were the subtle differences just minor discrepancies on the part of the transcriber?

During this process, Gabriel had learned to compare over two hundred loci sites on each corresponding glyph. As long as there was at least a ninety percent match, it was decided that the two symbols were the same. A match ranking less than fifty percent was considered unique enough to be classified as a new symbol. This resulted in a gray zone between fifty and ninety. And so far, there were three hundred paired symbols falling into this category. Each of these required visual inspection by the trio of humans.

“Figures Forty A and Forty B,”
Gabriel explained,
“are a match at fifty-two percent. Will we classify A as the same or different from B?”

Jack leaned closer to the screen. “It's like that old children's puzzle. What's different between these two pictures?”

Miyuki piped in as she finished the last scan and leaned back, “The first figure has an eye drawn on it, the other doesn't.”

Jack nodded. “And the first figure is holding up two balls, the other only one.” He glanced at Karen.

Again she was struck at what a brilliant blue the man's eyes were. They had to be contact lenses. No one had eyes
that
blue. “The rest looks the same,” she said, clearing her throat.

Jack asked, “So what's the verdict, folks? Are they different enough from one another to be two separate symbols?”

Karen shifted closer to the monitor, brushing her shoulder against Jack's. He did not move away. Instead he bowed his head beside hers, both concentrating on the screen. “I'm gonna dismiss the eyes as being insignificant,” Karen said. “But not the differences in the number of items in the figure's raised hand. I think this discrepancy is significant enough to be unique. Over the past few days, we've discovered other symbols with counting icons built into them: the number of legs on a starfish, the number of fish in a pelican's mouth. I think this is one of those counting icons. Though similar to one another, they are ultimately unique.”

Jack nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Gabriel, please
classify Figure Forty A and Figure Forty B as separate icons.”

“Done. Shall we proceed to Figures 41A and 41B?”

Karen groaned. “I don't know about the both of you, but I'm starved and my eyes are aching. How about a couple hours rest break?”

“I guess I could use a little dinner myself,” Jack said. “All I've eaten for the past twenty-four hours has been airplane food.”

As Jack stretched, Karen tried not to notice the breadth of his shoulders or the way his neck muscles corded up. “I know a restaurant only a few blocks away. They serve the best Thai food around.”

“Sounds good. The spicier the better.”

“It's tongue-blistering. Guaranteed.”

“Just the way I like it.”

Standing, Miyuki shooed them. “You two go on by yourselves. There's something I'd like to try with Gabriel.”

“Are you sure?” Karen asked.

Miyuki nodded, but her eyes traveled up the tall man as he stood. Once Jack's back was fully turned, she winked at Karen. “I'm sure,” she said to Karen with a small smile.

Karen blushed. Was her attraction to Jack so obvious? She scolded Miyuki with a consternated expression, but this only widened her friend's smile.

“Besides, I just had Thai food,” Miyuki said louder. “But I know how many months it's been for you.”

The double meaning was not lost on Karen. Her blush darkened. She glared at her friend as Jack called from the doorway, “Is there anything you'd like us to bring back for you, Miyuki?”

“Oh, I'm fine. I'm not the hungry one here, but you'd better get something into Karen right away.”

“Will do!” Then he was out the door.

Karen playfully swatted at Miyuki. “You are so wicked.”