Ragnarok (43 page)

As a NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigation Service) Special Agent currently tasked with investigating recently reported acts of ocean dumping over the coral reefs, Miller was technically hard at work. There were only three other people in the world that knew he wasn’t—the Director of the NCIS, the Deputy Director, and the Executive Assistant Director for Combating Terrorism—his bosses. He had balked at the assignment when it landed on his desk. His skills were better suited to tracking down Navy criminals on the lamb or tracking down sea-faring terrorists. As a former Navy SEAL, now Special Agent, his skills seemed a gross overkill in the battle against glorified litter-bugs. It wasn’t until he arrived on site that he realized the true nature of his assignment—a vacation.

He was scheduled to spend two weeks in the NOAA’s (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) Aquarius, an underwater research station—the world’s
only
underwater research station. He was required to patrol the reefs surrounding laboratory twice daily, searching for signs of recent polluting, and if possible, apprehend the culprits in the act. As a SCUBA enthusiast and lover of all things ocean, he looked forward to each and every “patrol”.

Because Miller was an extreme work-a-holic, the NOAA assignment was the only way his superiors could get him to take his first real break in five years. It wasn’t that Miller was performing poorly; quite the opposite, they simply believed that no engine could run forever without a respite. In truth, their actions were selfish. Were Miller to burn out, the loss would be significant to the organization. Not only was he a consummate investigator, but his time with the SEALS made him a man of action as well. The NCIS had plenty of both, but rarely in the same package.

With his first week of forced vacation over and his second week just beginning, he was feeling pretty good. The laboratory was cramped, but he had traveled by submarine several times as a SEAL and had no problems with claustrophobia. The lab was well-stocked with every deep-sea movie and novel available. The lab’s full refrigerator, air conditioning, microwave, shower and high tech computer system, complete with video games, not to mention unlimited time to swim or even spearfish, made this place Miller’s dream come true. Of course, he’s spent the last few days lazing about, watching movies, playing games and reading books. He suspected the “ocean dumping” investigation was just a clever cover story for his vacation and had taken a break from his scheduled Scuba patrols. There was plenty of time left to dive, he just needed some couch potato time first.

The facility was a forty-three foot long, nine-foot in diameter, 80-ton cylindrical steel chamber separated into two different compartments, each with its own air pressure system and life support. There were living quarters for sleeping and eating, and labs for work. At the far end, off the lab, was a wet porch with an open moon pool for entering the ocean. Miller had all of this to himself, plus—and this was the best part—not a peep from the outside world for three days.

It’s not that he didn’t like people. It’s just that people liked to talk, and after his first day aboard had decided the break would be good for him. Quiet was bliss. Years of pent up tension he hadn’t realized he carried began to melt away. So when the NOAA staff stopped checking in on their laboratory, he didn’t think twice about why. Instead, he allowed himself to undergo an emotional re-adjustment.  He went over years of cases, of killers caught, of terrorists exposed, and the few who slipped away. Then he moved further back, to the SEALs, and the event that etched a long scar into his leg and left a little girl dead. The tragedy ended his career with the SEALs, but down there, fifty feet beneath the surface of the ocean, he thought he might finally make peace with his past.

After he finished the movie.

Finished relieving himself, Miller hustled back to his seat without washing his hands. Why bother? Urine was sterile. More important, no one was here to judge him. He’d let his appearance slide over the past week, as well. His black hair was uncombed, his face unshaven. Being half-Jewish and half-Italian, Miller’s week’s worth of facial hair was damn near a beard now.

The chair beneath him groaned as he leaned back and propped his legs up on a work desk. With the remote back in his hand, he waited, held his breath and listened.

Silence.

Wonderful silence.

No worried NAOO voices. No traffic. No cell phone calls. He thought about telling the Director that the time off had convinced him to retire. Sure, he was only thirty-nine, but life without responsibility was fun. He held out the remote, positioned his thumb over the play button and—

Thunk
!

The noise wasn’t loud, but was so unexpected that Miller flinched, lost his balance and toppled over. He struck his head hard on the metal floor.

“Son of a bitch!”

He lay there for a moment, wondering exactly how he’d ended up on the floor, and then felt the back of his head. One area, the size of an apple, was swollen, pulsing with pain, but there was no blood. He wouldn’t need stitches, which was good because he couldn’t get them here. In fact, if there was any kind of emergency, he was pretty much screwed. A nine-mile boat ride, and a fifty-foot dive, did not make for an easy 911 rescue.

He was on his own.

With a sigh, he rolled his head to the side and caught his reflection in the polished stainless steel base of a workbench. He grunted at the sight of himself. He flashed what he thought was a winning smile, sharpening the fine spread of crow’s feet around his blue eyes, but his current disheveled appearance hid his good looks. He hadn’t seen himself look this bad since just after...

He pushed the images from his mind, still not fully prepared to deal with his past—not with a movie to finish, and a mysterious noise needing investigating.

He sat up. Pain surged through his head twice, following the rhythm of his heartbeat, and then faded away. When he stood, the pain rose up again, but only momentarily. Shuffling over to the fridge to grab an icepack, he passed by the small bedroom containing six bunks, three on each side, with a large viewing portal between them. He stopped suddenly, his eyes focusing on the glass portal.

Something wasn’t right.

It was a fish, not an uncommon sight, but something was odd about this one. Its movements were all wrong. He squeezed between the beds to get a better look.

Thunk
!

The fish was back, this time smacking hard against the window.

Miller blinked a couple times.  The fish, a black grouper, wasn’t moving on its own. The ocean’s currents were pushing it up against the hull.

Well, that’s damn annoying.

He was about to head back to the fridge when something else flitted by the window. It looked like a large piece of fish food. This time, Miller focused on the water beyond the dead fish. There were other fish out there—scores of them—and they zipped through the water in a miniature feeding frenzy. The fish, normally concealed by the reef that Aquarius had been built to study, had come out of hiding, drawn by what looked like a Jolly Green Giant-sized handful of TetraMin. Most of the fish snatched up the flakes with gaping mouths, then spit the reddish stuff back out. If they were smart, anyway. Many fish, dumb enough to swallow the ‘fish’ food, floated belly up. Poisoned.

Not seeing any large green legs in the vicinity, Miller searched his mind for answers and came up with only one—some jerks were
actually
dumping waste on top of the research station. Not only were they polluting and killing wildlife, they were also ruining his vacation.
Why couldn’t you have waited just a few more days
? He was as pissed at these polluters as he was the terrorists he helped track, and a piece of his mind was just the beginning of what he was going to give them.

Miller ran to the wet porch and hastily pulled on a full tank of air, dive fins and a mask. In these tropical waters, he didn’t need a wet suit, plus he was already dressed only in shorts—another perk of solitary living on board the Aquarius.

He slid into the water and took in the scene around him. The flakes were falling everywhere. Fish, thousands of them, were either eating eagerly, twitching in violent death throws, or already dead. A few small, white-tip sharks picked off the twitchers in the distance. The sharks didn’t pose much of a threat, but he would have to watch out for tigers and bulls. All this action could draw their attention, which meant he could easily be mistaken for one of the twitchers—not that tiger sharks cared. He could be a car and they’d still take a bite.

He kicked out from under the Aquarius cylinder and looked up. What he saw made no sense.

The normally blue surface of the ocean...

...was red.

4

Miller scanned the fuchsia waves above, looking for some sign of dumping—a thicker plume of material, for example, or better yet, a ship’s hull. When he found what he was looking for, he intended to rise from the depths like the Kraken and bring a world of hurt to the people responsible. But he could see nothing to direct his anger towards, just an endless sea of red. Visibility had been cut in half, not just by the fog falling from above, but because much of the sun’s light was being blocked by the maroon film covering the ocean’s surface.

Miller looked down. The normally sandy brown seabed was coated in the ruddy ash; the coral reef had been buried. Dying fish thrashed about, sending plumes of the foreign substance upward like dust.

How had he missed this? It couldn’t have just started. There was too much. He hadn’t been outside
Aquarius
for days, but had he really not bothered to look out one of the portals?

A ladyfish struck his side, its silver body twitching as the last of its neurons fired. He took the fish by the tail and pulled it closer; its body went rigid, giving way to death. Pulling its mouth open, he peered inside. Red sludge lined the dark cave, thick as paint. He checked the gills and found the same phenomenon.

His eyes darted back to the snowy scene of death surrounding him. Some fish and the sharks in the distance had taken to eating the recently dead instead of chasing after the poisonous flakes. Perhaps they would survive?  He hoped so. A massive die-off in the Florida Keys would have a profound effect on the surrounding ecosystems, not to mention the many migratory species that passed through. A pod of blue whales had recently been spotted heading north. The red cloud, which looked like krill, would be absolutely irresistible to the 100-foot giants.

A fluttering piece of red material, about the size of a cornflake, caught his eye. He reached out and caught it in his palm, then grasped it between two fingers. It was surprisingly firm. He squeezed and it broke apart. He rubbed his fingers together, releasing a blood-like cloud as the material dissolved.

He took a deep breath from his regulator, tasting the metallic flavored air, and let it out slowly, releasing a cascade of bubbles, which fled to the surface. His eyes followed them. He knew the answer to this mystery lay up there. The more he saw, however, the less he wanted to know what was happening.

But he had no choice.

He kicked hard, pumping his muscles, an action that ate up the air in his tank more quickly than would a leisurely swim. He checked the pressure gauge—still plenty of air remaining. This would most likely be a short dive, so he could take the risk. Besides, the wet porch was only fifty feet below and he could free dive that if he had to. Holding your breath for long periods of time is a handy talent to have as a SEAL, and one he had worked on over the years. The skill had yet to save his life, but he had a feeling it would, eventually.

As he neared the surface, the material grew dense, which meant it was definitely coming from above and not being pushed into the area by ocean currents. The material had to be coming from a boat, or a plane, or... Well, he didn’t want to consider the last possibility, and wouldn’t, until he confirmed it with his own eyes.

Through the haze he found the umbilical cord that connected Aquarius to its Life Support Buoy, or LSB. The LSB supplied power and provided wireless communications and telemetry to the station and held air compressors, as well. It also made for a convenient viewing platform. While standing on top of the LSB, which was shaped like a super-sized, yellow chess piece, Miller would be able to see from horizon to horizon. If someone was dumping this garbage, he’d spot them.

Approaching the buoy, Miller kicked harder, building speed so he could launch himself onto the platform. As he broke the surface, clumps of wet slime slid from his back and arms. A glob clung to his hair, but he paid it no attention. What he was seeing distracted him from doing anything else. He didn’t stand, remove his goggles or take out his regulator. He simply gaped.

The world was red. As far as he could see, a crust, like refrigerated pudding, coated the surface of the ocean. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen, yet crimson flakes fell like snow from a sky that looked more purple than blue.

Heart beating hard, he stood up and looked in every direction. He spotted a sailboat off to the north, its sail limp as wilted lettuce, but nothing else caught his eye.

Miller tentatively held out a hand and caught another flake. Its surface felt rough and porous to his touch, like a petrified snowflake. Curious, he removed his regulator and placed the flake on his tongue. The flavor of blood struck him immediately. He gagged and spit several times, then took a deep, shaky breath.  The air did no good. He felt winded, as though he’d just run a sprint.

He took another breath. His chest began to ache. He grew lightheaded.

He took a third, deeper breath—

—and fell to his knees.

Was it poison? Could these flakes kill so quickly?

Spots danced in his vision as he realized the truth.

He was suffocating.

Drowning in the open air like a fish.

He shoved the regulator back into his mouth and breathed deeply, this time relishing the metallic tasting air. He continued taking deep breaths until his head cleared and he felt relatively normal again. It wasn’t until then that he let his mind fill in the blanks.