Ocean Black

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bull Kontas was proud of his acquisitions. He was grinning widely when, with a crowbar, he popped the cover on a wooden crate with its stenciling blacked out, and stood back so Brande could marvel.

“A torpedo?” Brande asked.

“Got two of ‘em, Chief. They’re old Mark 43s, and they’re electric powered, and they’re slow as hell, but they can do a job. Damn things weigh two hundred and sixty-four pounds. I think they were destined for Nicaragua, but, you know, money talks.”

Brande had no idea in the world what he was going to do with two torpedoes except, like Bull, be the proud owner. Located on the deck next to the battery chargers, the crates were about nine feet long, and the seven-foot, eight-inch torpedoes were cradled lovingly inside each box.

“Damn, that’s great, Bull.”

Okey Dokey tested the cosmoline protectorant with a forefinger. “Greasy mother.”

With his back to Kontas, Dokey looked at Brande and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Dane. Control and ignition might be a problem.”

“Got the manuals, too,” Kontas said.

“That’s all we’ll probably need,” Brande said. “I sure didn’t expect you to find torpedoes, Bull.”

“We’re in the underwater business, right. I thought they were damned appropriate,” Kontas said, his weathered face creased into an uncharacteristic smile.

Brande hated to wipe away that smile. “I thought you’d be lucky to get the mining explosives and grenades. You did get the grenades?”

“Oh, yeah. A hundred of them, most of them fragmentation, and a few phosphorous. Guaranteed to be good.”

Brande was certain the torpedoes would be useless at 18,000 feet of depth. They just weren’t designed for it. The grenades, however, were already densely compacted, and could take the pressures.

“How about the magnets, Bull?”

“No sweat there, Chief.”

Dokey grinned. “Now it dawns on me. We’re going to build our own mines.”

“What do you think, Okey?”

“It’s far better than using a cutting torch on a manipulator arm.”

“My original thought,” Brande said, “was to plant a few of these things around, disable their equipment, and slow down the march. Mark Jacobs would probably approve.”

“We won’t tell him, though, I trust?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“You don’t like the torpedoes?” Kontas asked.

“I want to keep those in reserve, Bull. We’ll go after the floor crawlers, first. If they attack us with subs at shallower depths, we’ll have those as a surprise.”

Kontas grinned yet again.

The three of them conducted their conversation scrunched into the starboard aft corner of the lab. DepthFinder’s bulk was again taking up most of the space, her innards being explored and tested by a gaggle of technicians and scientists, a few of whom had seen the torpedo and were probably wondering when they’d signed up for military service. The empty cardboard boxes and protective plastic bags for dozens of replacement circuit chips were spread all over the deck.

Not part of their group, but listening intently to them, Rae Thomas leaned against the side of the submersible. She had a look on her face that was wavering between complete amazement and stark disapproval.

Brande was doing his best to avoid her eyes.

“Bull can help me,” Dokey said, “and we’ll start building us a few Marine Visions Unlimited Mark One, mod one, deep submergence mines.”

“The hell you will,” Thomas told him.

Which stifled the activity around them.

Bob Mayberry, standing near a workbench with an opened black box for the forward-looking sonar resting on it, said to the grad student interns, “Come on, people, back to work.”

“Why don’t we put the lid back on this thing, Bull,” Brande said.

He knew that, within seconds, everyone on board would know that the Orion was now an armed vessel, and he didn’t think that most of them would appreciate the change of status.

Brande and Kontas replaced the lid on the crate, and Kontas picked up a hammer to drive the nails back home.

“Are you listening to me?” Thomas asked.

“Rae, let’s you and I go get a cup of coffee,” Brande suggested.

He reached for her arm, but she shrugged it out of his grasp.

“Please.”

She wasn’t happy, but she followed him out of the laboratory, across the corridor, and into the wardroom. Otsuka was there, gathering a box of soft drinks for the people working on the sub.

“Hi,” she said brightly. Brande thought she was looking at life a little differently now, as he was.

“Kim,” Thomas said, “do you really want Okey to blow himself up?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Go talk to him.”

Otsuka left them alone in the wardroom.

“You’re not happy, I guess,” Brande said.

“I’m upset about Svetlana, yes. I’m upset about you taking Okey and Kim into an area where you knew there could be nuclear activity. And, you’re damned right, Dane, I’m unhappy about you ordering up all this armament without telling me. We’re not fighting this war alone.”

Thomas’s eyes seemed to be firing tiny sparks at him.

“I’m incensed about Svetlana myself, Rae. And my run-in with the nuke only convinced me that Deride won’t be stopped. Not at any cost. Sure, it’s a war. You tell me what Washington is doing about it. If it shows, I don’t see it.”

“It’s not up to us.”

“It is up to us. We’re the ones on the scene, and we’re practically the only outfit available that’s capable of reaching the scene.”

“You’re so certain,” she said, “that you speak for the company. You’re putting others at risk without asking them, Dane.”

He was taken completely by surprise. She was correct, and he knew it.

“Come on, then,” he said. “I’ll ask them.”

He started for the door, but she stopped him with, “You won’t even talk to Deride.”

He hesitated and turned back to her. “We’ve tried a couple of times.”

“Try again.”

“All right, I’ll do that first.”

Brande decided to use the acoustic phone in the laboratory, and he went directly to the command console, where Emry was sitting, fiddling with the map he had on the screen. Thomas trailed along.

“Larry, let me on the Loudspeaker a minute, will you?”

Emry looked up. “Sure thing.”

They exchanged places, and Brande tried first on the frequency they normally used. There was no international convention for a hailing channel on acoustic transmissions, but Glenn had called them once before, so it was possible that she was monitoring them.

“AquaGeo habitat, this is the RV Orion. Come in, please.”

He tried three times before he got a response.

“Orion, this is AquaGeo Sea station AG-4.”

Even with the warbled acoustic characteristics, he could tell that it was a man’s voice, but not one that he knew.

“Dane Brande calling for Paul Deride or Penny Glenn.”

He didn’t know whether or not Deride would be aboard the habitat.

“Hold on a minute.”

Dokey, Otsuka, and Mayberry came over to stand beside Thomas and Emry.

It was Deride who finally responded. “What do you want, Brande?”

“Let’s talk about what you’re doing.”

“Let’s not. We’re pursuing a perfectly legal activity, and you’re interfering with it, Brande. You have been enjoined from doing so, and if you want talk, talk to my lawyer.”

“Deride, I don’t give a damn about your mining. You can dig for gold anywhere you want. My concern is your methods and how they endanger both the ocean and the west coast of the United States.”

“My methods are my business. Stay out of the way, and you won’t get hurt. Goodbye, Dr. Brande.”

Brande sat back. “We probably should have sold him Gargantua. Maybe he’d be nicer to me.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Emry said.

He looked up at Thomas. “I tried, Rae.”

She appeared to be as frustrated as he felt. “Yes, you tried.”

Brande stood up and went to the head of the laboratory. He didn’t have to call for attention; all eyes were on him. There were fifteen people present, all gathered around the bow of DepthFinder. All of them depended upon him for their livelihood as well as competent decisions. He felt the weight.

“We’ll get involved with a little democratic governance,” he said. “Everyone knows what’s been taking place. According to Larry’s projections, if AquaGeo continues its current pattern of blasting, we’ve got three more days, including today, and three more detonations before they’re interfering with some delicate structures in the Pioneer Fracture Zone. We don’t know the probabilities of a nuclear detonation triggering earthquakes, but as long as it’s possible, I’m concerned. On top of that, their activities are leaving behind a lot of ecological damage. You’ve seen the videos of dead and irradiated sea life.

“My intention would be to delay them as long as possible, until the legal beagles have a chance to act.”

Brande saw a few affirming nods in his audience.

“On the other side of this coin, we’d be defying some legal restrictions ourselves.” He aimed a thumb to starboard. “There are three navy ships out there, and I suspect that they’re going to be determined to uphold the law. They’ll tell us ‘no.’”

Brande took a deep breath. “I’m probably going to break the law. But you don’t have to break it with me or assume the risks. Bull has the Mighty Moose nearby, and we’ll transfer anyone who wants to return to San Diego.”

“Not me,” Kontas said. “Someone else can captain her.”

“Nor me,” Dokey said.

“I’m staying with my ship,” Mel Sorenson said over the intercom’s overhead speaker. He had been listening to Brande’s spiel from the bridge.

Connie Alvarez-Sorenson spoke over the intercom, “It’s my ship, too.”

“Let’s see some hands,” Thomas said. “Who wants to go back?”

There were no raised hands.

“All right, Dane,” she said. “We stop AquaGeo, but I want a say in the tactics.”

“What do you suggest, Rae?”

“We’ve been chasing after the problem, trying to anticipate the next nuke event, and look where it got you. We’re on our last set of replacements for the submersible, and she may be close to the envelope of safety. The hull may have suffered stresses we can’t find. If Ingrid were here, doing a competent structural analysis, I’m sure she wouldn’t allow us to launch again.”

She was probably correct. Ingrid Roskens was even more conservative than Brande in safety matters.

“We don’t know for sure,” Thomas went on, “where the next charge will be placed.”

“I’ve got a damned good idea about that, though, Kaylene,” Emry said.

“Give or take a few hundred yards, Larry? But we do know the exact coordinates of the root cause of our problem.”

“The seabed habitat?” Brande said.

“If you want to risk riding out another subsurface hurricane looking for floor crawlers to disable, Dane, you can do it by yourself. If you want to confront the real problem, which is people, I’ll dive with you.”

The fire was back in her cheeks, and Brande thought she had made her determination.

Brande crossed the deck to Emry’s monitor. He checked the symbols indicating the known locations of test sites. To the south-southwest was the square designating what he now knew that Deride called Sea station AG-4.

“Mel, you still listening?” he asked in the direction of the intercom.

“Got you, Chief.”

“Let’s come to a heading of one-ninety.”

“Coming to one-ninety. Aye aye.”

The deck heeled slightly to port as the ship began to come about.

Brande turned to the others. “Anyone else have another good suggestion?”

Otsuka, standing next to Dokey, smiled at him. “The next time, Dane, that you order bomb materials, consult with me first. I’d have chosen better components.”

Thomas shook her head in resignation.

A seaman second brought the visitors to the officers’ wardroom, showed them in, then closed the door behind them. Captain Mabry Harris and Commander George Quicken were waiting for them.

Harris walked around the table, smiled, and extended his hand.

“Dr. Thomas, I’m Captain Harris. This is Commander Quicken.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Captain,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. She introduced Dr. Lawrence Emry.

“I’m sorry Dr. Brande couldn’t join us,” Harris said.

“As I told you on the radio, Captain, he’s extremely busy with the repairs to the submersible.”

She had been forthright, and perhaps justifiably angry, in her description of the maelstrom to which the sub had been subjected.

They took seats around the table, and a steward served coffee and rolls. The rolls went untouched.

“I asked for this meeting,” Harris said, “because I thought it was time to discuss several issues.”

“What’s on your agenda, Captain?”

She was a striking woman, Harris thought. He had expected that the president of Marine Visions would be, somehow, more severe. He also noted some subtly recognizable features — the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the jutting of her chin.

“Are you, by any chance, related to Admiral Charles Thomas?”

“He’s my father,” she said.

“A terrific man and commander,” Harris said. “I served with him in the Med.”

“Stubborn and irascible, too,” she said.

He grinned. “Yes, there were times. At any rate, I feel we need to talk about, first of all, this injunction.”

“We’ve turned off-course, Captain.”

“Yes, I noted that, though you haven’t turned back to San Diego.”

“We want to remain in the area, should we be needed when the legal matters are ironed out. Our contract is still in effect, so far as we know.”

Was she being overly optimistic? Given the normal speed of the courts, Harris thought so.

Emry dug into a large plastic envelope he had placed on the table and came up with an oversized chart. He handed it to Quicken. “That’s a map we’ve compiled of the test sites. You’re aware of the implications?”

Quicken scanned it quickly. “We’re aware, Dr. Emry. This is nice chart. There are structures we weren’t aware of.”

His first mate handed it to him, and Harris looked it over. Their own computers had stored the detonation sites, but this map also detailed a great many seabed features.

“It’s yours,” Emry said.

“Thank you. Let me say,” Harris said, “that I’m completely sympathetic to your cause. Conversely, my orders are to be certain that you comply with the injunction. For however long it is in place.”

“You don’t care about what Deride’s doing down there?” Emry said.

“I care. Still, we live in a civilized world.”

“It’s a free ocean,” Thomas said. “We….”

“I believe that’s the argument AquaGeo’s attorneys are making, Dr. Thomas.”

“We can still go where we want to go.”

“My concern is with the heading you’ve taken.”

“Why is that?”

“A hundred and twenty nautical miles south, on your present heading, you will run into the Outer Islands Lady.”

Thomas’s surprise appeared to be valid.

“I don’t know anything about her.”

“She’s AquaGeo’s submersible maintenance ship, and she arrived in the area this morning. Along with her is a freighter that, until yesterday, had taken up a station a couple hundred miles to the east. I’m suggesting that the Orion steer clear of her. Just to avoid potential unpleasantries.”

“I’ll bring the subject up with Dane when we go back,” she said.

“Good. Now, you can imagine that the information I get has been filtered through Washington and a few other commands. Would you be so good as to provide Commander Quicken and myself with a first-hand account of what has taken place to date?”

Thomas quickly told them of her own encounter with the AquaGeo submersible — he hadn’t realized that she was also a qualified diver — and of Svetlana Polodka’s death. She also seemed convinced that the AquaGeo people knew that the DepthFinder would be endangered when they set off the charge at Site Number Eleven.

Quicken was taking shorthand notes of the testimony.

If her version of the facts was correct, Harris would agree that Paul Deride’s people had shown extremely reckless disregard for human life. If she were unbiased. Sometimes, though, the cold, objective scientist’s view could be slanted. So far, though, Harris didn’t think there was anything provable, in the matter of intent.

“Is there anything else?” Quicken asked.

She glanced at Emry, but was apparently not going to say anything.

Emry did. “We, ah, happened to disable one of their floor crawlers.”

“I see,” Harris said. “How did you do that?”

“Brande and Dokey cut a power cable to one of the tracks. Keeps them moving in a circle.”

“Without endangering anyone?”

“The crew could be picked up.”

“I might also suggest that similar sabotage in the future won’t be conducive to resolving the issues,” Harris said, though he had to suppress an urge to grin.

“You ought to get the CIA or someone to brief you on Deride’s history,” Thomas said. “He won’t be trying to resolve any issues but his own.”

Once again, Harris felt a bit deprived of information. Everyone around him seemed to know more than he did. It left him at a disadvantage.

“Okay, there’s one more thing, Dr. Thomas.”

“Of course there is.”

“George.”

Quicken passed each of them copies of the faxed articles from the Washington Post.

He waited while they read the Wilson Overton-bylined story, then said, “That hit the street this morning.”

“I think he got it mostly right,” Thomas said. She was smiling.

“I assume that you’re the unnamed source from Marine Visions.”

“Since I was a little kid, I’ve always wanted to be an unnamed source,” she said.

“This is damned good, Kaylene,” Emry told her.

“I understand your point, naturally,” Harris said. “You can’t get the legal system to move, so you went to the public with the story.”

“It nearly worked for Ross Perot,” she said. “In fact, there are changes being made directly as a result of his concern for the involvement of people in the political process.”

“Not that I don’t understand your motivation,” Harris said, “but this article is already having some drastic response.”

“Such as?”

“The White House and the Pentagon are swamped with telephone calls and wires, for one thing. Protestors are lined up on Pennsylvania Avenue and in front of the state capitol in Sacramento.”

“For another,” she said, “I’ll bet you heard from your bosses.”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” Harris admitted. The Chief of Naval Operations, Delecourt himself, had blistered his hide for half-an-hour on a scrambled radio frequency.

Harris had taken it stoically. He didn’t know what he could do about changing freedom-of-the-press rules. There was no declared war or hostilities involved here.

“Of concern to the people in Washington, Dr. Thomas, are the mounting number of protests. AquaGeo’s offices in Washington and San Francisco are being protected by police. There’s a flotilla of environmental activists on its way here. Someone is bound to get hurt.”

“And what’s Deride doing?” she asked.

“Ah, as far as I know, and I may not know very much, Deride’s doing very little.”

“You must have an eye on the Outer Islands Lady.”

A P-3 Orion was flying an orbit that encompassed both the maintenance ship and the two freighters holding station above what Emry’s map described as Site Number Four.

“We do.”

“And what is happening with her?”

Harris didn’t have a security classification to fall back on, so he said, “The ship has retrieved a submersible. Our recon photos show that it’s severely damaged.”

“One of the propellers?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the one Dokey took out,” Emry said. “Cost us a quarter-million dollar robot to do it.”

“And the freighter?” Thomas probed.

“They seem to be off-loading additional submersibles and floor crawlers.”

“Damn,” she said. “They’ve got reinforcements, Larry.”

“How many did you see?” Harris asked.

“We were figuring two subs and three floor crawlers, with one of each out of commission,” Emry said. “But if Deride’s bringing in more, then surely you know that he’s not going to listen to any reason that doesn’t have a dollar amount tied to it.”

Harris thought that Emry made a good argument, but he said, “Our hands seem to be tied. The Chief of Naval Operations would like to do more, but the directions are apparently being devised by the Justice Department.”

“Don’t you get overwhelmed by the bureaucracy?” Thomas asked him.

“I try to do my job, Dr. Thomas.”

“What’s your job going to be when San Francisco and Carmel slide into the sea?”

Avery Hampstead asked Brande, “Who leaked this thing to the press?”

Their scrambled communications circuit caused voices to echo, ebb, and rise.

“An unnamed source, as I understand it,” Brande said.

“Well, it’s got people riled up. When I talked to Unruh last, they had just called an emergency meeting of the task force. He said that a whole fleet of Justice Department lawyers had just sailed for the courts of prominent jurisdiction. Plus, they’re digging into every on- and off-shore permit and license issued to AquaGeo. They’re going to dig until they find something.”

“Good. Maybe a little blackmail is in order, Avery.”

“How about you?”

“We’re just hanging around. The Navy made it clear to Rae, without saying so, that one massive missile cruiser will get in our way if we don’t stick to the rules.”

“And will you stick to the rules?”

“You know me, Avery.”

“That’s the problem. I do know you.”

“So where are we?”

“Our contact at Justice, one Ms. Pamela Stroh, tells me that AquaGeo, through its counsel, Mr. Anthony Camden, has denied any wrong-doing on the part of the company. He said they’d alleviate any concerns at the hearing before the Maritime Commission.”

“And when is that?” Brande asked.

“Camden asked for a continuance, and that’s being considered.”

“When is the hearing scheduled, Avery?”

Hampstead cleared his throat. “Ah, the sixth of January.”

“Shit!”

“Well, they’re getting some pressure now, as a result of the publicity, and I think they’ll try to move it up.”

“If it’s not held within the next two days, it’s too damned late.”

“I’m aware of that, Dane. So are others.”

“Go out and buy yourself an electric cattle prod, Avery. Try that on them, will you?”

Deride took the call at the console on the far end and bent over the countertop, trying to keep his conversation confidential.

“Tell me that again, Anthony.”

“There’s FBI agents and Justice Department lawyers invading every operation we’ve got going in the States, and within the off-shore limits.”

“Bloody hell! What are they looking for?”

“Anything, I imagine, Paul. There will be some loopholes, something that we forgot to cross. As soon as they find one, they’ll close us down.”

“Damn it!”

“I told you this morning that the newspaper story was going to hurt.”

In all of its years of operation, AquaGeo had never had a single adverse article appear in the media. Their success had been derived from staying in the fringes and out of the limelight. As much as he hated working below the surface, Deride enjoyed working in the dark.

“We’ve got five San Francisco cops outside the office door here,” Camden said. “There are a dozen protestors in the hallway with all kinds of derogatory placards, and when I look down on the street, I can see another hundred or so.”

“These people don’t scare me.”

“Nor me, Paul. However, our revenues could be drastically affected if Justice convinces the Environmental Protection Agency or the Bureau of Land Management or some other agency to suspend our permits pending hearings.”

“We’re getting to trade-off time,” Deride said.

“I think so, yes.”

“I’ll talk to Penny.”

Glenn had concerned herself with logistics for most of the day. From the mining operation at Test Hole D, she had diverted two subs — the Brisbane and the Canberra — and three floor crawlers to the sea station. The sub maintenance ship was now in position and had hoisted the Melbourne aboard, though the technicians said it would require two to three weeks to make the repairs required. They were going to have to ship a new motor out of Sydney, as well as fabricate a new housing. The damaged floor crawler, FC-6, was still being towed back.

Deride had wanted to talk to her earlier, but she had put him off for awhile. She had too much to do.

Hitting the transmit switch, she said, “FC-9, AG-4.”

“Dorsey here, Penny.”

“What’s your status?”

“Joey and I got us a couple hours’ worth of nap,” he said. “But the drilling’s done, and next, we’ll place the charge. Maybe another hour.”

“And your power supplies?”

“Oh, another seventy hours, easy.”

“Good. You go straight through with it, Jim, then set out for Test Hole K.”

“You don’t want us to collect samples?” he asked.

“No. I’m sending McBride with Canberra and one of the new crawlers.”

“Roger, then. We’re off.”

She closed the circuit and updated her status board which was actually on the computer. Discounting two crawlers — the tower and the towee — for the time being, she had four crawlers available. She would keep one here, and send the others out after briefing the crews on Brande’s imaginative use of a cutting torch. That wouldn’t happen again. One of the new subs should be sent to cover Dorsey’s Team Three. Team Three was composed of her two nuclear experts, and she didn’t want Brande getting near them.

The fact that Brande was alive had thrilled her. There was still a future beyond the immediate future. But she had been busy enough that she hadn’t had time to consider all of the implications.

Something would work out. Give it a week, when it was all over, and she would devote some time to R&R and planning in some warm place like Acapulco.

But now, the goal was in sight, and she couldn’t afford to lose her concentration.

“Penny, we’ve got to talk.”

“Sure, Uncle Paul. Sit down.”

He pulled up one of the chairs and sat close to her for privacy. The sea station was currently overflowing with fresh bodies, the crews who would man the vehicles coming down from the freighter. They milled around the lounge and the control room, simultaneously nervous and excited. There were four women among them.

“I talked to Anthony a little while ago.”

“How is Anthony?”

He told her about the siege of the American offices and the FBI investigations.

That alarmed her a little. “How did that happen?”

“Brande spilled it all to the press. We’re being crucified. Anthony says he’s been contacted about an appearance on Nightline. He declined.”

“Are we going to let a bunch of environmental zealots dictate how we conduct business, Uncle Paul? We never have in the past.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Penny. What if we’d suspend operations further north until this all settles down?”

“We’ve got four more locations to go,” she said. “If we suspend for a month or so, then start up again, they’ll be all over us for breaking our word. Wouldn’t it be better to press forward, to stonewall them for another four — now three — days, then quit entirely?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. “That’s all there is? Four more?”

“That’s it. But if you’re worried about a bunch of tree freaks, why we can….”

“No. Let’s just get it over with.”

“I knew you’d come up with the best decision, Uncle Paul.”

She had counted on it, in fact.

His decision.

Connie Alvarez-Sorenson, who was on the bridge, had altered course several hours before at Brande’s direction.

He wanted Harris on the California to be reassured that the RV Orion wasn’t seeking out the surface ships above the sea station. He was, in fact, certain that Harris didn’t know the exact coordinates of the sea station. As far as the local navy knew, only the surface ships were worrisome.

Or worrisome, if the Orion approached them. Therefore, she would not.

In the lounge with Thomas, Emry, Otsuka, Dokey, Sorenson, and Mayberry, Brande wolfed down egg-and-sausage sandwiches that Fred Boberg had concocted. He was facing forward, and in the failing light of day, he could see a sea that was becoming almost as angry as he was. Waves were running at fifteen feet, and a darkly slanting rain obscured the lights of the Mighty Moose; she was now running ahead of them.

On the starboard, the Arienne was still present, and Brande had turned down two additional interview requests from Wilson Overton. The man was ecstatic about the stateside reaction to his articles.

The navy ships were still with them, also. Harris had reported earlier that several boats operated by marine activists were closing to within a hundred miles of their position. By morning, it was going to get crowded, and the Navy captain wasn’t happy about the prospects.

Emry had dumped the sausage and eggs out of his sandwich and was eating them with a fork, as he claimed that civilized people did. “You sure I can’t go along, Chief?”

“Need you on the command console, Larry. Without encouraging your ego, I want someone level-headed there.”

“You don’t think I’m level-headed?” Otsuka asked, holding her chin out, to level her head.

“Of course. You’re Larry’s backup. Let’s not argue this anymore, huh? It’s Okey and Rae and me.”

And he wasn’t happy at all about Rae, but she had prevailed in their private argument. By way of blackmail. She had insisted, and he had believed her, that she would call Captain Harris in and spill the plot if she wasn’t allowed to go along with them.

DepthFinder had been moved out of the laboratory and to her customary position on the fantail, primarily to reassure the watchers aboard the California. She was in relatively good shape, with most of her electronic components changed out for fresh units. Ninety-eight per cent pure, Dokey said, downgraded only to A-1c.

Atlas, with a long series of electronic problems, had been removed from the submersible’s parking sheath.

In the growing dusk, and with the deck lights extinguished, she would slowly disappear from observation into the gloom and the rain.

Dokey took a gargantuan bite out of his sandwich and chewed mightily and happily. He was wearing a recent creation, a sweatshirt with a piranha eyeing a barracuda, and captioned, “Who’s your dentist?”

With his mouth full, Dokey said, “The best part about this location is that we don’t have to wear the damned radiation suits. Everybody gets to wear ten Dokey sweatshirts.”

Brande had one of his on already, and he had decided against the protective suits on the assumption that AquaGeo wouldn’t store, much less detonate, one of their nukes in the region where they were headed.

“Mel,” he said, “any questions?”

“I don’t think so, Chief. We’ve been holding ten knots for the last three hours, so we don’t scare the navy types. I don’t like launching you at speed, but I think you’re right. We go any slower, they’re going to get suspicious.”

“Kim, how about you?”

“None, Dane. I gave Dokey the black box, and he’s already installed it in Depthfinder.”

She had designed, and encased in black plastic, a remote detonator utilizing an acoustic signal generator that would utilize some existing telemetry circuits. This was in addition to the twenty-five receivers she had built for the acoustic signals. Her hands were stained with etching acid, and she had a burn from a soldering iron on one wrist.

Mayberry said, “No more that eighty hours, Dane. I’m going to be firm about that.”

“That’s a promise, Bob.”

“Anyone else? Okay, then, let’s get suited up.”

They were, in fact, already suited up. As a group, they quickly finished the remnants of their meals, Dokey grabbed four boxes of foodstuffs he had prepared for the trip, and they walked aft.

The lab was in semi-darkness, with light spilling from the computer monitors. A blackout curtain had been rigged across the stern doorway, so that light wouldn’t spill out when the door was opened.

Brande, Thomas, and Dokey gathered up their spare clothing, slipped into ponchos, and slid through the hatchway.

The designated deck crew members went with them, everyone feeling their way carefully in the darkness and hard, slanted rain of the stern deck. As Brande had ordered, the deck crewmen clipped on lifelines as soon as they left the safety of the superstructure.

Brande took Thomas’s hand and led her through the blackness until his left elbow bumped into the scaffold. Cautiously, he urged her upward, and she climbed swiftly to the top, then over the sail.

As soon as Brande and Dokey reached her, she opened the hatch, and one after the other, they slipped aboard. Dokey closed the hatch and dogged it, but not before they had shipped a fair amount of rainwater.

There would be no UHF transmissions, for fear of the Navy overhearing, and the acoustic system didn’t operate until they were in the water.

They had timed the launch, instead.

Dokey flopped in the right-hand seat, saying “Zero plus ten seconds.”

Zero hour began with the closing of the hatch.

Brande took the left seat, and Thomas settled in the back position and began flipping switches.

At zero plus fifteen seconds, Dokey powered up the instrument panels.

By four minutes after the hatch closed, all of their systems were up and operating. At five minutes, Brande had the option of opening the hatch to abort the dive.

He didn’t.

At six minutes, he felt the submersible lift from her deck rails.

“Here we go,” he said.

“Betcha this is a rough bounce, Chief,” Dokey said.

“Rae?” he asked.

“I’m ready.”

With no deck lights, it was difficult to tell when they dropped below deck level. He thought he saw a paleness through the driving rain that was the port hull.

When the sub hit the water, she immediately skewed to the right, throwing Dokey toward him.

Then she surged upward, riding a wave.

Then the winch line was released, and they bobbed in the wake of the research vessel.

“I suggest we head for the bottom,” Dokey said.

“Execute your suggestion, Okey.”

A few seconds later, they were stable, and the fury of the storm was behind them.

Dokey worked his control sticks, finding the direction he wanted.

“I’m on two-five-five, descent rate eighty per minute. All right with everyone?”

“Sounds good to me,” Brande said.

“Kaylene, honey,” Dokey said, “if you look in the top box there, you’ll find a burrito. I’m hungry.”