Blue Gold

Chapter 9

As Austin scudded through the blue-green Baja waters on the back of a mini-submersible, he wondered how a National Geographic photographer filming a whale migration would react if a man riding a giant boot suddenly appeared in his camera's viewfinder. Perched outside, like a rumble seat passenger in an old roadster, Austin could see Joe's head and shoulders outlined by the blue light from the control computer screen inside the watertight cockpit.

Zavala's metallic voice crackled in the headphones of Austin's underwater communicator. "How's the weather out there, cap?"

Austin rapped on the Plexiglas dome and curled his finger and thumb in the okay sign.

"It's fine. This beats muscle power any day," he said.

Zavala chuckled. "Contos will be pleased to hear that."

The skipper of the Sea Robin had beamed with pride as he showed Austin the new submersible sitting in its deck cradle. The experimental mini-sub was a marvelously compact vehicle. The operator sat in the dry, pressurized cabin like the driver of a car, legs stretched out into the extended eight-foot-long hull. Two pontoons flanked the miniature cabin, and on the back were the air tanks and four thrusters.

Austin had run his fingers over the transparent bubble dome and said, "I'll be damned. This thing does look like an old boot."

"I tried to get you the Red October," Contos said, "but Sean Connery was using it."

Austin wisely kept his silence. NUMA people were known to form personal attachments to the high-tech equipment under their command. The uglier the gear, the more intense the relationship. Austin didn't want to embarrass Contos by explaining how he knew the sub was being field-tested off California where the main components had been assembled. He had commissioned the design and building of the mini-submersible for the Special Assignments Team, and Zavala designed it. NUMA had subs that could go faster and deeper, but Austin wanted a tough little vehicle that would be portable, easily transported by a helicopter or boat. It would have to be unobtrusive as well, Austin specified, so as not to attract attention. Although he had approved the blueprints, this was his first glimpse of the final product.

Zavala was a brilliant marine engineer who had directed the construction of many manned and unmanned underwater craft. For inspiration, Zavala used the DeepWorker, a commercial mini-sub designed by Phil Nuytten and Zegrahm DeepSea Voyages, an adventure expedition cruise company. Zavala extended the range and power and added sophisticated testing capacity. He claimed the instruments aboard the submersible could tell what river or glacier a drop of ocean water came from.

The sub was originally named the DeepSee, an homage to its predecessor and to its intended function as an exploration vehicle. When Admiral Sandecker heard the designation he cringed at the pun. Shown the scale model, he grinned. "It reminds me of one of the brogans I used to wear when I was a kid," he said, using the old slang term for high-topped workboots. The new name stuck.

The NUMA ship cruised south from San Diego into Mexican waters, staying well offshore. Near Ensenada the Sea Robin began to follow the coast more closely. The ship passed several fishing boats and a couple of cruise ships. Before long the vessel was about a half mile from the open mouth of the cove Austin and

Zavala had scouted out earlier from land. Austin scoured the rugged cliffs through powerful binoculars and studied the back of the tortilla factory. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Large signs posted on either side of the lagoon warned of dangerous hidden rocks. Highlighting the warnings were caution buoys strung across the opening.

The Sea Robin sailed beyond the cove and headed into a small inlet. As the anchor slid into the sea, Zavala eased into the mini-sub and made his last-minute checks. With the dome se cured the cabin was watertight and carried its own air supply. Zavala was dressed comfortably in shorts and his new purple Hussong's T-shirt.

Austin, who would be immersed in water, was suited out in full scuba gear and extra air tank. He climbed onto the back of the Brogan with his fins resting on the pontoons and fastened a quick-release harness attached to the sub. The dome was latched tight. At his signal a crane hoisted the sub in the air, then lowered it into the sea. Austin unhooked the slack holding lines and gave Zavala the go-ahead to dive. Within seconds they were sinking into the sea in an explosion of bubbles.

The battery-operated thrusters kicked into action with a high-pitched hum, and Zavala steered for open water. The sub rounded the point of jagged sea-wet rocks and followed a course directly into the mouth of the lagoon. They stayed at a depth of thirty-five feet, moving well under Mach One at a comfortable five knots. They used a combination of Austin's observations and the mini's instruments to navigate. Austin kept his head low to reduce water resistance. He was enjoying the trip, particularly the schools of brightly colored fish that scattered like wind blown confetti at their approach.

Austin was glad to see fish for a less aesthetic reason. Their presence meant the water was still safe for living things. He had not forgotten that unknown forces killed an entire pod of huge creatures that were hardier and more adaptable to their marine environment than a puny human being. Although sensors in the sub's skin automatically sampled and tested the ambient waters,

Austin knew that by the time he learned conditions were un healthy it might be too late.

'Approaching the mouth of the lagoon. We're going right up the middle," Zavala reported. "Plenty of room on either side. Mooring line from a warning buoy off to starboard."

Austin turned to the right and saw a thin black line running from the surface toward the bottom. "I see it. Notice anything funny?"

"Yeah," Zavala said as they cruised by. "No rocks under the buoy."

"Bet you a bottle of Cuervo that all the other warnings are phony, too."

"I'll take the bottle but not the bet. Someone wants to keep people out of here."

"That's obvious. How's this buggy handling?"

"Getting into a little backwash from the water swishing out of the lagoon, but it's still easier than driving on the Beltway," Zavala said, referring to the highway that separates Washington from the rest of the country geographically and politically. "She handles like an-uh-oh."

"What's wrong?"

"Sonar is picking up multiple targets. Lots of them. About fifty yards dead ahead."

Austin had been lulled into complacency by the tranquility of the trip. In his imagination he pictured a line of underwater guards waiting in ambush.

"Divers?"

"Sonar hits are too small. Little or no movement."

Austin strained his eyes in an attempt to pierce the gauzy blue.

Thinking ahead, he said, "What's the Brogan's top speed if we have to get out of here in a hurry?"

"Seven knots, pedal to the metal. She was made more for vertical travel than horizontal, and we're carrying a couple of hundred extra pounds of beef."

"I'll join Weight Watchers when we get back," Austin said. "Move in real slow, but be prepared to make a dash for it."

They crawled ahead at half speed. Within moments dozens of dark objects materialized, stretching from the surface to the bottom and rolling off both directions in a great wall.

Fish.

"Looks like a net," Austin advised. "Stop before we get snagged."

The Brogan slowed to a complete halt and hovered in place.

Austin ducked his head in reflex as a streamlined silhouette glided in from above and behind him. The shark was only there for an instant, long enough for Austin to see its round white eye and to estimate the hungry predator's length at more than six feet. Its toothy jaws opened then clamped shut to grab half a struggling fish in one bite before disappearing from sight with a flick of its high tail fin.

Zavala had seen the same thing. "Kurt, are you okay?" he shouted.

Austin laughed. "Yeah. Don't worry. That guy doesn't want a tough old human to chew on when he's got a whole seafood buffet."

"Glad to hear you say that, because he invited some of his friends for dinner."

Several more sharks swooped in, grabbed a bite, then, wary of the sub, quickly left. It was less a wild feeding frenzy than a gathering of discriminating gourmands picking from the choicest items on the menu. Hundreds of fish were caught in the- fine mesh. They came in all sizes, shapes, and species. Some, still alive, were making fruitless attempts to free themselves, only to attract the attention of the sharks. Others had only their heads left, and bones marked the remains of many more.

"No one has been tending the net," Austin said.

"Maybe someone hung it here to keep nosy guys like us out."

"I don't think so," Austin said after a moment's reflection. "That net is made of monofilament. You could cut your way through it with a nail clipper. No electrical wiring, so it doesn't seem to have an alarm signal attached."

"I don't get it."

"Let's think about it. Whatever, sir! that lagoon killed a pod of whales. The locals would begin asking questions if they started seeing hundreds of dead fish. The folks who bring you Baja Tortillas don't like attention. So they stick the net here to keep the fish out and any dead ones in."

"Makes sense," Zavala agreed. "What next?"

"Keep on going."

Zavala's fingers danced over the computer screen that con trolled the sub's functions. Two mechanical arms on the front of the Brogan unfolded and extended like a telescope to within inches of the net. The claws at the end of each arm grabbed the mesh and tore it open like an actor parting a curtain. Pieces of fish in various states of decomposition drifted off in every direction.

The job accomplished, Zavala brought the metal arms back to their rest position and increased throttle. With Austin still on the sub's back, they plunged through the hole and into the la goon. The thirty-foot visibility was cut in half by thousands of tiny particles of seaweed that had washed into the cove to be shredded by the razor-sharp rocks. The sub slowed to a walk, Zavala feeling his way like a blind man with a white cane. They didn't see the huge object until they were almost on top of it. Again the sub came to a stop.

"What is that thing?" Zavala asked.

The cathedral light filtering down from the surface illuminated an enormous structure. It was about three hundred feet wide, Austin estimated, and about thirty feet thick, tapered at the ends like a huge metal lens and resting on four thick metal legs. The legs were hidden by boxlike structures where they sank into the sea.

"It's either a big metal spider or a sunken UFO," Austin said in wonder. "In any case, let's take a closer look."

At Austin's direction, Zavala steered the sub off at an angle and cruised along the perimeter as far as they could, then re traced their path and went along the other side. The structure was almost perfectly round except where it butted up close to the undersea cliffs.

"Hey, this is amazing! I'm getting high heat readings."

"I can feel the heat through my wet suit. Someone has cranked up the BTUs."

"The instruments indicate that it's coming from the pillars. Must be conduits as well as supports. Nothing dangerous. Yet."

"Park this thing while I go in for a closer look."

The mini dropped lightly to the bottom and rested on its pontoons. Austin unhooked the harness and peeled off with instructions for Zavala to turn on the positioning strobe light in fifteen minutes.

Austin swam toward the disk, then over it. Except for a circular skylight the odd structure was fabricated of metal painted a dull green, which would have been difficult to see from the surface. He dropped down onto the dome itself and peered cautiously through the skylight.

Below was a network of pipes and machines. Men in white frocks walked about the well-lit cavernous space. Austin puzzled over the function of the machines, trying to put what he saw together with the hot water discharges, but came up with nothing. He undid a portable waterproof video camera from his belt and filmed the scene below. Satisfied with his work, he decided to get an overview. He rose off the disk and was panning the camera when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

He froze, floating above the structure. The egg-shaped elevator Zavala had described descended from the shimmering surface. It moved along its track and disappeared into a circular hatch that was opening on the roof of the underwater structure closest to the face of the cliff. Austin resumed his camera work only to be interrupted again, this time by Zavala.

"Better get back here pronto! The water temp readings are shooting up."

There was no mistaking the urgency in Zavala's voice. "On my way!"

Austin threshed the water with strong kicks of his powerful legs maintaining a rhythm that ate up the yards. Zavala wasn't

kidding about the heat buildup. Austin was sweating under his wet suit. He vowed never to boil a lobster again. "Hurry," Zavala said. "The temp is going off the tracks!"

The Brogan's silvery beacon blinked in the gloom. Austin reached down and switched on a small strobe that hung from his buoyancy compensator. The Brogan moved in to meet him. The heat had become more intense. Austin grabbed onto the back of the moving sub and snapped his harness buckle in place. With Austin aboard, the Brogan quickly wheeled about and was headed for the mouth of the lagoon, motors whining at top speed. Zavala barked, "Something's wrong, Kurt! I am detecting alarms inside the facility." Moments later, Austin heard a loud, muffled whump. He turned to look over his shoulder just as the facility exploded in a fiery ball. The inferno instantly incinerated every living thing in the enclosed space. Superheated gas shot up pipes into the tortilla factory. Luckily, the factory was empty be cause it was Sunday. The Brogan wasn't as fortunate. It was caught by the shock wave and tumbled end over end with Austin desperately clinging on.

Austin felt as if he had been kicked by a giant invisible mule. The harness straps let go, and he was flung forward, arms and legs flailing, in a tangle of air hoses. He cartwheeled for an eternity and might have kept going halfway across the Pacific if he hadn't slammed into the net strung across the mouth of the la goon. He hit the mesh with his feet, which was fortunate, be-. cause a headfirst impact would have broken his neck. The netting yielded, then snapped back. Austin shot out like a rock in a boy's slingshot.

Right into the path of the oncoming submersible.

The mini's dome had been ripped off, and Zavala was no longer inside. The sub tumbled at Austin on a collision course. Austin brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He seemed fated to be smashed like a bug on a car windshield when the sub did a little hop that took it over Austin's head. He felt a painful impact as a pontoon grazed his shoulder. Then he was buffeted by secondary shock waves from

multiple explosions that slowed his velocity and tossed him back after the mini-sub. The Brogan had battered its way through the net, and this time there was nothing to stop him.

Instinctively, he swooped his arm out to retrieve his regulator hose, clenched the mouthpiece between his teeth, and took a breathy gulp of air. The regulator was still working. His face mask was a cobweb of fracture lines where one of the hoses had hit the lens. Better the mask than his face! He whipped the use less mask off, assumed a vertical position, and did a complete turn.

He knew he had better get to the surface, but he wasn't going to do it without Zavala. One more try. He spun slowly around. Without the mask his vision was blurred, but he thought he saw a spot of purple and swam toward it. Zavala was floating a few feet off the bottom. Bubbles were coming from his mouth.

Austin pushed the regulator toward Zavala's face, not sure if it ever found its mark, because the willpower he had been using to operate on was eaten away by the black angry surf crashing against his brain. He reached down and let the quick-release buckle go on his weight belt and groped for the inflation valve of his buoyancy compensator. He thought he heard another explosion. Then he blacked out completely.