Abduction

CHAPTER FIVE

Mark Davidson was dying for a cigarette. His addiction was absolute, although he found giving them up was easy since he did it once a week. His craving was maximum when he was relaxing, working, or anxious, and at the moment, he was very anxious indeed. For him, deep diving operations were always a walk on the wild side; from experience he knew how quickly things could go horribly wrong.

He looked up at the large institutional clock on the wall of the diving van, with its monstrous sweep second hand. Its intimidating presence made the passage of time hard to disregard. It had now been twelve minutes since there had been any contact with the Oceanus. Although Donald had specifically warned that there might be a short communication break, this seemed longer than reasonable, especially since the submersible had not responded to Larry Nelson’s last message. That was when Larry had tried to tell them that the divers were passing through five hundred feet.

Mark’s eyes darted down to the pack of Marlboros he’d casually tossed onto the diving van’s countertop. It was an agony not to reach over, take one out, and light up. Unfortunately, there was a newly instituted prohibition about smoking in the ship’s common areas, and Captain Jameson was a stickler about rules and regulations.

With some difficulty Mark pulled his eyes away from the cigarettes and scanned the van’s interior. Everyone else present seemed calm, which only made Mark feel more tense. Larry Nelson was sitting perfectly still at the diving operations monitoring station along with the sonar operator, Peter Rosenthal. Just beyond them were the two watch standers, who were in front of the diving system’s operating console. Although their eyes were constantly scanning the pressure gauges of the two pressurized DDCs and the diving bell, the rest of their bodies were motionless.

Across from the watch standers was the winch operator. He was perched on a high stool in front of the window looking out on the central well. His hand rested on the gear shift for the winch. Outside, the cable attached to the shackle on top of the diving bell was being played out at the maximum permitted velocity. From a neighboring drum came a second, passive cable that contained the compressed gas line, hot water hose, and communications wires.

At the far end of the van was Captain Jameson, absently sucking on a toothpick. In front of him were the controls that formed an extension of the bridge. Even though the ship’s propellers and thrusters were being controlled by computer to keep it stationary over the well head, Captain Jameson could override the system if the need arose during diving operations.

“God damn it!” Mark spat. He slammed a pencil he’d been unconsciously torturing to the countertop and stood up. “What’s the divers’ depth?”

“Passing through six hundred ten feet, sir,” the winch operator reported.

“Try the Oceanus again!” Mark barked to Larry. He started to pace back and forth. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it was getting worse. He began to lambaste himself for encouraging Perry Bergman to go on the dive. Being personally aware of Dr. Newell’s interest in the seamount and her desire to make purely exploratory dives, he worried that she might try to impress the president to get her way. That might mean she’d pressure Donald to do things he might not normally do, and Mark was aware that Dr. Newell was the only person on the ship who potentially had that kind of influence over the normally strictly-by-the-book ex-naval line officer.

Mark shuddered. It would be a disaster of the first order if the submersible got wedged in a fissure or a crevice where it may have descended to examine a particular geological feature up close. That had almost happened to the submersible Alvin , out of Woods Hole, and the near tragedy had been on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, not that far away from their present location.

“Still no response,” Larry said after several unsuccessful tries to raise the Oceanus on the UQC.

“Any sign of the submersible on side-scan sonar?” Mark demanded from the sonar operator.

“That’s a negative,” Peter said. “And bottom hydrophones have no contact with their tracking beacon. The thermocline they found must be impressive. It’s like they dropped down into the ocean floor.”

Mark stopped his pacing and looked back at the clock. “How long has it been since that tremor?” he asked.

“That was more than a tremor,” Larry said. “Tad Messenger measured it four point four on the Richter scale.”

“I’m not surprised-it knocked over that pile of pipe on the deck,” Mark said. “And as much as we felt it up here, it would have been a hell of a lot worse on the bottom. How long ago was it?”

Larry looked down at his log. “It’s been almost four minutes. You don’t think that has anything to do with our not hearing from the Oceanus, do you?”

Mark was reluctant to answer. He was not superstitious, yet he hated to voice his worries, as if articulating them made them that much more possible. But he was concerned that the 4.4 earthquake may have caused a rock slide that trapped the Oceanus. Such a catastrophe surely wasn’t out of the question if Donald had indeed descended into a narrow depression at Suzanne’s insistence.

“Let me talk to the divers,” Mark said. He walked over to Larry and took the mike. While he pondered what he wanted to say, he glanced up at the monitor where he could see the tops of the heads and the foreshortened bodies of the three men.

“Shit, man!” Michael moaned. “You just kicked me in the balls!” His voice came out as a series of squeaks and squeals that would have been mostly unintelligible to normal humans. The distortion was a function of the helium he was breathing in place of nitrogen.

At the equivalent pressure of 980 feet of seawater, nitrogen acted as an anesthetic. Replacing the nitrogen with helium solved the problem but caused marked changes in voice. The divers were used to it. Although they sounded like Walt Disney’s Donald Duck, they could understand each other perfectly.

“Then get your balls out of my way,” Richard said. “I’m having trouble getting these freaking fins on.”

All three divers were wedged up inside the diving bell, whose pressure hull was a sphere a mere eight feet in diameter. Crammed in with them were all their diving equipment, many hundreds of feet of looped hose, and all the necessary instrumentation.

“Get out of the way, he says,” Michael jeered. “What do you want me to do, step outside?”

A speaker crackled to life. It was mounted at the very apex of the sphere next to a tiny camcorder fitted with a fish-eye lens. Although the divers knew they were being constantly observed, they were totally indifferent to the surveillance.

“Let me have your attention, men!” Mark commanded. In contrast to the divers’, his voice sounded relatively normal. “This is the operations commander.”

“Holy crap!” Richard complained as he eyed the swim fin that was giving him the problem. “No wonder I can’t get this freaking thing on. It ain’t mine. It’s yours, Donaghue.” Without warning Richard clobbered Michael over the head with the flipper. Michael was troubled by the blow only because it knocked off his prized Red Sox cap. The cap tumbled down into the trunk, coming to a rest on the sealed hatch.

“Hey, nobody move!” Michael said. “Mazzola, get my hat for me! I don’t want it to get wet.” Michael was already fully outfitted for the dive in his neoprene dry suit complete with the buoyancy control vest and weights. The ability to bend over, as would be required to retrieve the hat, was out of the question.

“Gentlemen!” Mark’s voice was louder and more insistent.

“Screw you,” Louis said. “I might be bell diver, but I’m not your slave.”

“Hey, listen up, you animals!” Larry’s voice yelled from the tiny speaker. The sound reverberated around the cramped sphere at a level just shy of pain. “Mr. Davidson wants a word with you, so shut up!”

Richard shoved the flipper and its mate into Michael’s hands, then looked up at the camera. “All right already,” he said. “We’re listening.”

“Stand by for a moment,” Larry’s voice said. “We didn’t realize the helium unscrambler wasn’t on line.”

“So let me have my fins,” Richard said to Michael in the interim.

“You mean the ones I have on aren’t mine?”

“Duh!” Richard voiced mockingly. “Since you’re holding yours in your hands they can’t be on your feet, birdbrain!”

Michael squatted awkwardly, clutching his fins under his arm, and stripped those from his feet. Richard snatched them away disdainfully. Then the two divers clumsily bumped into each other as they struggled to slip on their respective flippers at the same time.

“Okay, men,” Larry’s voice said. “We’re on line with the scrambler so stop screwing around and listen up! Here’s Mr. Davidson.”

The diver’s didn’t bother to look up. They slouched against the sides of the PTC and assumed bored expressions.

“We haven’t been able to raise the Oceanus on the UQC or track it on sonar,” Mark’s voice said. “We’re anxious for you to make visual contact. If you don’t see them when you arrive at the well head, let us know and we’ll give you further instructions. Understand?”

“That’s affirmative,” Richard said. “Now can we get back to getting ready to dive?”

“That’s affirmative,” Mark said.

Richard and Michael stirred, and by giving each other an iota of leeway they managed to get their flippers on their feet. Michael even tried to reach his hat while Richard proceeded to don his buoyancy vest and weight belt, but it was beyond his grasp, as he’d feared.

Five minutes later the winch operator’s voice told them they were passing through nine hundred feet. With that announcement the descent slowed appreciably. While Richard and Michael tried to stay out of the way, Louis readied the hoses. As the bell diver it fell to him to handle the lines.

“Powering the exterior lights,” Larry announced.

Richard and Michael twisted themselves enough to glance out the two tiny view ports opposite each other. Louis was too busy to look out either of the two remaining windows.

“I see bottom,” Richard said.

“Me, too,” Michael said.

With a single main hoisting cable the diving bell was rotating slowly, although its rotation was restricted by the life-support lines. The bell would rotate in one direction for several revolutions and then turn and go the other way. As the bell settled down to the 980-foot mark and stopped, the rotation slowed to a stop as well, but not before each diver had been afforded a 360-degree view.

Since the bell was suspended fourteen feet above the rock face at one of the higher sections of the seamount’s summit, the divers could see a relatively wide area bounded by the illumination of the exterior halogen lights. Their view was somewhat restricted only to the west, where it was blocked by a ridge of rock. To Richard and Michael the ridge appeared like a series of connected columns whose crest was slightly higher than their line of sight. But even that formation was at the periphery of the sphere of light.

“Do you see the sub?” Richard asked Michael.

“Nope,” Michael said. “But I can see the bits and the tools by the well head. They’re all stacked up nice and neat.”

Richard leaned away from the view port and tilted his face up toward the camcorder.

“That’s a negative on the Oceanus,” he said. “But she’s been here.”

“That means there will be a change in the dive plan,” Larry’s voice answered. “Mr. Davidson wants red and green divers to proceed due west. Can you make out a scarp in that direction?”

“What the hell is a scarp?” Richard asked.

“It’s a wall or cliff,” Mark’s voice cut in.

“Yeah, I guess,” Richard said. He looked back out at the columnar ridge.

“Mr. Davidson wants you to proceed over the ridge,” Larry said. “How high is the ridge in relation to the bell?”

“About even,” Richard said.

“All right, swim over the ridge and see if you can make visual contact with the submersible. Mr. Davidson thinks there might be a crevice. And watch the temperature. Apparently there’s quite a gradient in the area.”

“Got it,” Richard said.

“Remember,” Larry added, “you’re limited to a one-fifty deep excursion dive. Don’t rise more than ten feet above the bell. We don’t want any bends to muck things up. Understood?”

“Got it,” Richard repeated. Larry’s admonitions were the standard for a saturation dive.

“ Bell diver,” Larry said, “the breathing mixture is to stay at one and a half percent oxygen and ninety-eight and a half percent helium. Do you copy?”

“I copy,” Louis said.

“One last thing,” Larry said. “Red and green diver, I don’t want any of you macho bums taking any chances, so be careful!”

“Check!” Richard said. He gave a thumbs-up sign for the camcorder’s benefit while making a scornful face at Michael and saying: “Telling us to be careful down here is like telling your kid to be careful before sending him out to play in the middle of the interstate.”

Michael nodded but he wasn’t listening. This part of the dive was serious. He was all business while attaching his umbilical and other paraphernalia. When he was ready Louis handed him his full face mask cradled in a bright orange fiberglass helmet. Michael held it under his arm to wait for Richard. Despite his extensive experience he always got butterflies just before entering the water.

Richard quickly followed suit with his equipment. Then he took two underwater lights, tested both, and handed one to Michael. When he was ready he nodded to Michael, and they both put on their helmets at the same time.

The first thing they checked after Louis opened the manifold was the gas flow. Next was the hot water, a necessary adjunct since the outside water temperature was only thirty-six degrees; it was difficult for a diver to work if he was cold. Finally they tested the communications and their sensor lines. When all was in order, Louis informed topside and asked for permission for the divers to enter the water.

“Permission granted,” Larry’s voice responded. “Open the hatch!”

With some difficulty and a lot of grunts Louis squeezed his bulky frame down into the trunk of the bell.

“My hat!” Michael yelled, although his voice was muffled by the sound of his escaping breathing gas.

Louis grasped the baseball hat and handed it up to Michael. Michael gingerly hung it on one of the many protuberances in the bell. He treated it as his most valuable possession. What he didn’t admit was that he considered it his lucky charm.

Louis undogged the pressure hatch and, with some difficulty, raised it. He secured it against the wall. Below, the luminous aquamarine seawater rose menacingly up through the trunk. All three divers breathed a silent sigh of relief when it predictably stopped just shy of the lip of the hatch. They all knew it would, but they also knew that if it did not there was no place to go.

Richard gave Michael a thumbs-up sign. Michael returned the gesture. Richard then carefully climbed down through the trunk. Once he was free he dropped out the bottom of the bell.

For Richard, getting out of the cramped bell was a relief he likened to being born. The sudden freedom was exhilarating. The only part of him that could sense the coolness of the water was his gloved hands. He scanned the area while adjusting his buoyancy. It took him only a moment to see the dark shape cruising just at the periphery of light. It wasn’t the submersible. It was a shark with luminous eyes. The length of the huge fish was more than twice the diameter of the diving bell.

“We got company,” Richard said calmly. “Toss down my rebar just in case and have Michael bring his.” Of all the fancy antishark paraphernalia on the market, Richard preferred a simple, three-and-a-half-foot metal rod. It had been his experience that sharks avoided the rod like the plague if it was just pointed in their direction. During a feeding frenzy he wasn’t as confident it would work, but in that situation, nothing worked one hundred percent.

Seconds later the rebar came down and clanked mutely against the rock. A moment later Michael’s legs appeared as he struggled out of the trunk. Once he was free the two divers made eye contact. Richard gestured in the direction of the shark, which now wandered into the light.

“Ah, it’s only a Greenland shark,” Richard said to Louis, who made sure Michael had heard it as well. Now Richard was even less concerned. It was a big shark, but not dangerous. He knew that another name for the monster was sleeper shark because of its sluggish habits.

After Michael made his adjustments Richard pointed toward the ridge. Michael nodded and the two started off. Both held their lights in their left hands and the rebars in their right. As accomplished swimmers they covered the distance in a short time without rushing. At a pressure of almost thirty atmospheres the sheer work of breathing the viscous, compressed gas sapped their energy.

Inside the diving bell Louis was frantically playing out both sets of tethers. He didn’t want to restrict the divers or give them too much slack lest they get tangled up. Until the divers got down to work the bell diver was a busy man. The job required concentration and quick reflexes. At the same time Louis was handling the lines, he had to keep his eye on the pressure gauges and the digital oxygen percentage readout. On top of that he was in constant communication with each diver and with diving control up in the diving van. To keep his hands free, a headset kept a tiny speaker in his ear and a microphone positioned over his mouth.

Out in the water the two divers swam to the top of the ridge and paused. At that distance from the diving bell the amount of illumination fell off sharply. Richard motioned to his flashlight and both turned them on.

Behind them, the diving bell glowed eerily like an orbiter nesting in a rocky, alien landscape. A stream of bubbles issued from the bell and dribbled toward the far-off surface. Ahead, the divers faced darkness fading to indelible blackness with only a faint hint of a glow when they looked up toward the surface almost a thousand feet above. In the back of their minds they knew the huge shark was somewhere just beyond their vision. Shining their lights forward provided meager cones of light that penetrated the icy darkness only forty to fifty feet ahead.

“There’s a drop-off beyond the ridge,” Richard reported. “This must be the scarp.”

Louis relayed the information up to the dive station. Although the dive control could listen to the divers and talk to them, Larry preferred to use the bell diver as an intermediary. The combination of the helium voice distortion and the noise of the divers’ breathing gas flow made comprehension by those up in the diving van extremely difficult even with the helium unscrambler on-line. It was much more efficient to use the bell diver since he was more accustomed to the speech distortions.

“Red diver,” Louis called out. “Control wants to know if you see any sign of the Oceanus.”

“That’s negative,” Richard said.

“How about a crevice or a hole?” Louis relayed.

“Not at the moment,” Richard reported, “but we’re about to start down this rock wall.”

Richard and Michael swam over the edge and down the face of the cliff.

“The rock is as smooth as glass,” Richard commented. Michael nodded. He’d run his hand along it briefly.

“You’re coming up on your last one hundred feet of hose,” Louis said. He quickly took the last loops down from their storage hooks, already cursing under his breath. Soon he’d be coiling it all up again. Divers rarely wandered this far from the diving bell, and it was just his luck to be assigned as the bell diver when they did.

Richard stopped his descent. He grabbed Michael to stop him as well. Richard pointed to his wrist thermometer. Michael looked at his and did a double take.

“The water temperature just changed,” Richard reported. “It just went up almost one hundred degrees. Shut off our hot water!”

“Red diver, are you shitting me?” Louis asked.

“Michael’s reads the same,” Richard said. “It’s like we’ve climbed into a hot tub.”

Richard had been shining his light down as they descended, searching for the base of the scarp. Now he shined it around. At the very periphery of illumination he could just make out a wall opposite the one they were descending.

“Hey! Apparently we are in some kind of huge crevice,” he said. “I can just barely see the other side. It must be about fifty feet wide.”

Michael tapped Richard on the shoulder and pointed off to their left. “There’s an end to it as well,” he said.

“Michael’s right,” Richard said when he’d looked. Then he swung around and pointed the light in the opposite direction. “I guess it’s like a box canyon ’cause I can’t see a fourth side, at least not from where we are.”

“Hey,” Michael said. “We’re sinking!”

Richard looked at the wall behind him. It was true they were sinking-more quickly than he would have thought possible. There was little sensation of resistance against the water.

Richard and Michael gave a few powerful kicks upward. To their astonishment there was little effect. They were still sinking. With a mixture of confusion and alarm, both responded by reflex and inflated their buoyancy vests. When that seemed to have little effect, they released their weight belts. Still significantly negatively buoyant, they jettisoned their rebars. Finally with some continued kicking their descent slowed and stopped.

Richard pointed upward and the two started swimming. Despite the heavy work of breathing they were swimming hard. The strange sinking episode had unnerved them, and to make matters worse, they were beginning to feel the heat through their suits.

The two were even with the top of the cliff when a sudden sustained vibration swept up from the depths like a shock wave. For a few seconds both men were mildly disoriented. They had trouble breathing and swimming at the same time. The shaking was similar to what they had experienced in the diving bell on the descent, only much worse. They realized this was an underwater earthquake, and both of them intuitively sensed they were at or near the epicenter.

For Louis, the quake was even more violent. At the moment of impact he’d been frantically hauling in the tethers, which had gone suddenly slack. He’d been forced to let go of the lines to keep himself from being impaled on one of the many wall-mounted protrusions.

Richard recovered enough to take a breath although doing so was painful. The pressure wave had bruised his chest. As an experienced diver, his first response was to check on his buddy, and he frantically searched by spinning around. For a heart-stopping second he could not find Michael. Then he looked down. Michael appeared to be clawing his way up through the water. Richard reached down to lend a hand. When he did, he realized that they were both sinking-and sinking fast.

With no other way to decrease his weight Richard joined Michael in an attempt to swim upward. In desperation they even discarded their lights to free their hands. But they made no progress. If anything, they seemed to be going down. Then they plummeted, caroming off the rock wall as they were inexorably sucked into the abyss.

Inside the bell Louis had recovered his balance enough to grab the tethers, which were still slack. Quickly he pulled in a loop, but before he could get it over the rack, there was a sudden tug in the opposite direction. At first he tried to hold the lines from going out, but it was impossible. Had he held on, they would have pulled him from the bell.

Louis cursed as he frantically got out of the way of the hoses, which were now being yanked out of the bell at a furious rate. It was as if Richard and Michael were lures that had been taken by a gigantic fish.

“ Bell diver, are you all right?” Larry’s voice asked.

“Yeah, I’m all right!” Louis yelled. “But something crazy is going on! The hoses are going out at a hundred miles an hour!”

“We can see that on the monitor,” Larry said urgently. “Can’t you stop it?”

“How?” Louis pleaded through tears. He glanced at the remaining hose. There wasn’t much left. He froze. He had no idea what to expect. The last loops whipped out of the bell and for a brief moment the lines went taut. Then to Louis’s utter horror they were torn from their housings and disappeared down into the trunk and out into the unforgiving sea.

“Oh, my god!” Louis cried as he struggled to turn off the gas supply manifold.

“What’s happening down there?” Larry demanded.

“I don’t know,” Louis cried. Then to add to his terror the vibration and rumbling started again. Frantically he reached out to grab whatever he could as the diving bell shook as though it were a salt shaker in the hand of a giant. He screamed, and as if in answer to a prayer, the shaking lessened to a mere trembling. At the same time he became aware of a sizzling sound and a red glow that penetrated through the view ports.

Letting go of the death grip he’d had on the high-pressure piping, Louis twisted to glance out one of the view ports. What he saw made him freeze anew. Over the nearby ridge, which the divers had so recently scaled, came a surreal cascade of glowing, red hot lava. The leading edge sputtered and popped and smoked as it turned the icy water into steam.

When Louis recovered enough to find his voice, he threw his head back to look up into the camcorder lens.

“Get me out of here!” he shrieked. “I’m in the middle of a goddamn erupting volcano!”

The van’s interior had become quiet. A sense of shock hung over the room. The only noise came from the deck-mounted motors driving the winches that were hauling up the diving bell and the life-support lines. Moments before, utter pandemonium had prevailed as it became apparent they’d lost two divers in some kind of pyroclastic catastrophe. The only consolation was that the third diver was okay, and he was on his way up.

Mark took a long, nervous drag on his Marlboro. Oblivious to the new rules, he’d reached for his cigarettes by reflex at the first rumblings of trouble, and now that the extent of the tragedy had rapidly unfolded, he was chain-smoking out of pure anxiety. Not only had he managed to lose a hundred-million-dollar submersible with two trained operators plus two experienced saturation divers; he’d also lost the president of Benthic Marine. If only he hadn’t encouraged Perry Bergman to make the dive. For that he was solely responsible.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Larry asked in stunned bewilderment. Even he was smoking although he was supposed to have given it up six months before. As the diving supervisor he, too, felt responsible for the disastrous outcome.

Mark sighed heavily. He felt weak. He’d never had a single loss of life on his watch in his entire career, and that included hairy diving operations in some dicey locations like in the Persian Gulf during Desert Storm. Now he’d lost five people. It was too much to think about.

“The bell is passing through five hundred feet,” the winch operator called out to no one in particular.

“What about the drilling operation?” Larry wondered aloud.

Mark took another long drag on his cigarette and almost burned his fingers. Angrily he stubbed it out, then lit another.

“Get ready to launch the camera sled,” Mark said. “We got to look at what’s going on down there.”

“Mazzola was pretty clear,” Larry quavered. “As we were pulling him up he said the whole top of the seamount as far as he could see was molten lava, bubbling up from behind the ridge. And we’re recording almost continuous tremors. Hell, we’re sitting on a live volcano. Are you sure you want the sled down in that kind of an inferno?”

“I want to see it,” Mark said slowly, “and I want to record it. I’m sure there’s going to be one hell of an inquiry about this whole mess. And I want to look at the area where the canyon or hole was that the Oceanus disappeared into. I’ve got to be sure there’s no chance…” Mark did not finish his sentence. He knew in his gut it was hopeless; Donald Fuller had dropped the submersible down into a volcanic vent just prior to its erupting.

“Fair enough,” Larry conceded. “I’ll have the crew get the sled ready to go. But what about the drilling? I hope you’re not thinking of sending down another dive team if and when this volcano quiets down.”

“Hell no!” Mark said with emotion. “I’ve lost interest in drilling into this freaking mountain, especially now that Perry Bergman is no longer with us. It was his foolhearty obsession, not mine. If the camera sled confirms that the vent hole or whatever it was is filled with fresh lava, and we can’t find any trace of the Oceanus, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“That sounds good to me!” Larry said. He stood up. “I’ll get the sled ready and in the water ASAP.”

“Thanks,” Mark said. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. He’d never felt worse in his life.