Poseidon's Arrow

44

THE NUMA RESEARCH SHIP ALEXANDRIA WAS stationed four miles away when the submersible broke the surface, and Summer radioed for recovery. As the submersible drifted with the current, she and Dirk passed the time studying the dusty brown shores of southern Madagascar, which seemed to rise and fall across the choppy sea.

The Alexandria arrived promptly, its turquoise hull, like all the ships in the NUMA fleet, sparkling under a sunny sky. A brawny man with a thick mustache and even thicker Texas accent directed the retrieval of the submersible onto the ship’s aft deck. Jack Dahlgren opened the vessel’s rear-mounted hatch and welcomed Dirk and Summer to the fresh air. “Y’all have a good swim?”

“We certainly did,” Summer said, holding up a portable hard drive. “We obtained excellent footage of the uplift and should be able to identify some prime insertion points for the ground sensors.” She climbed past him, scurrying to locate the ship’s marine geologist so they could jointly review the seabed footage.

“I take it that means an immediate prep for another dive?” Dahlgren asked with a long face.

Dirk patted him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid it does, my friend.”

Dirk assisted Dahlgren in removing several heavy sets of battery packs that powered the submersible, swapping them with freshly charged replacements. While they worked on the aft deck, a large patrol boat appeared from shore. As the boat loosely circled the Alexandria, two casually dressed occupants on its open bridge studied the research ship with a look of displeasure. When the Alexandria moved off-site, the patrol boat ran back to shore.

“I wonder what those boys are up to,” Dahlgren said.

“They didn’t exactly look like government officials.” Dirk gazed toward the receding boat, and shoreline beyond. “I thought the coast around here was pretty well an empty desert.”

“A small freighter came cruising through while you were down. It appeared headed to shore, so there must be some sort of harbor nearby.”

They finished swapping batteries and completed an extensive predive safety check before tracking down Summer in one of the ship’s labs. She had assembled a crate of tiny battery-powered ground sensors that would track tremors and movements in the fault line. Each was contained in a stainless steel canister that sprouted a bright orange metal marker flag.

“We’ve surveyed in a perfect location,” Summer said. “What we want to do next is go back and bury ten sensors, five hundred meters apart, along the same track.” She looked to Dahlgren. “Can you drop us back at the same starting point?”

“Can a boll weevil find a Mississippi cotton field? You just go get yourself comfy in my submersible before I decide to put you over the side without it.” He stormed out of the lab, heading for the bridge to confer with the captain.

“What’s he so touchy about?” Summer asked.

“I made the mistake of telling him about the wreck we discovered,” Dirk said. “He’s mad that we found it in his submersible without him.”

She shook her head. “Boys and their toys.” Summer grabbed the sensors and carried them to a cage basket affixed to the front of the submersible. Once they were secured, she climbed inside and joined Dirk in reviewing the predive checklist.

Dahlgren appeared a few minutes later and ducked his head inside the hatch. “Good to go when y’all are.”

“We’re launch ready,” Dirk said. “Have a couple of cold ones waiting when we get back.”

“Sure, but they’re liable to be empty cold ones. Anything else?”

“Yes. See what the records show in the way of southern Madagascar shipwrecks in the past five years.”

“That I can do. Happy sowing.”

Dahlgren sealed the hatch and hoisted the submersible over the Alexandria’s stern. He waited until a radio call from the bridge confirmed they were at the designated drop spot, then lowered the sub. Once the grapple was freed, Dirk was given the okay to flood the ballast tanks, and the yellow submersible slipped under the waves.

The bottom appeared a few minutes later, and Dirk guided the submersible on its earlier northeast heading. This time they traveled less than fifty meters before crossing the familiar uplift.

“Kudos to Jack,” Summer said. “He played the currents almost perfectly.”

“Shall we drop the first sensor?” Dirk asked.

Summer checked their position, calculated from a dead reckoning program initiated at deployment. “Actually, we should move about thirty meters east to pick up our first track.”

Dirk made the adjustment. He eased the submersible to a flat section of seabed adjacent to the uplift and powered off the thrusters to settle the whirling clouds of sediment they had stirred up. Summer took over from there, activating a pair of articulated robotic arms. She clawed a vertical pit into the seafloor with one arm, then used the other to grasp a sensor from the basket. She wedged the sensor into the pit and covered up the main body of the sensor, leaving just the bright orange flag protruding from the seafloor.

“That went well,” Dirk said. He powered up the thrusters and shot down the rift at top speed.

“You in a hurry to get someplace?” Summer asked.

“I figured we might take another look at the wreck when we’re finished.”

Summer smiled. She’d had the same idea and made sure a backup video hard drive was aboard for them to film the wreck.

They proceeded along the fault, planting the remaining nine sensors along the seven-mile route. When the last sensor was secured, Dirk checked their position relative to the shipwreck. He maneuvered the submersible a short distance until the mass appeared before them. “Right where we left her.”

“I’ll get some video this time,” Summer said, activating the forward cameras.

Dirk ascended the submersible as they approached the hulk, heading immediately for the main deck. He crossed to the opposite rail, allowing Summer’s cameras to film the width of the ship’s beam and its open holds, which were missing their hatch covers. He was on a mission of identification, as he turned the submersible and its video cameras toward the high rear superstructure. Its design would offer another clue to the age of the ship and its builder.

Creeping up the front face of the superstructure, he zoomed over the bridge and hovered near the funnel, which protruded from the aft side. Commercial ships often carried the company colors or logo there, but this one was painted black.

“Funny there’s no smudge marks,” Summer said. “Looks like it was freshly painted.”

“Another attempt to conceal her identity.”

“Take us in a little.” Summer leaned forward, peering closely at the funnel’s surface.

While Dirk drew them in, Summer activated one of the robotic arms and flexed it toward the funnel. Making contact, she dragged the claw across the surface, leaving a foot-long gouge.

“Please don’t carve your initials,” Dirk said. “I don’t want a Lloyd’s agent knocking on my door at two in the morning.”

“Just checking what’s underneath.”

As the paint flakes swirled away with the current, they could clearly see an ocher line beneath the scratch.

“The funnel was originally gold, or had a gold band,” she said.

“That’s one more nugget.”

They filmed the wreck for another thirty minutes, capturing its length, deck configuration, and any other details that could aid in its identification.

“Batteries are approaching reserve power,” Summer said.

“I think we’ve learned all we can,” Dirk said. “Besides, Jack won’t be too happy if we surface after dark.”

He purged the ballast tanks, and they began a controlled ascent. Several minutes later, they broke the surface amid a choppy sea driven by a gusting westerly. The sun was already dipping beneath a bank of clouds on the horizon, stabbing the fading sky with bolts of pink and orange. As waves splashed over the submersible’s acrylic canopy, Dirk saw a nearby boat approaching. It was the same patrol boat he and Dahlgren had seen earlier.

“Looks like someone was waiting for us.” The boat turned directly toward them while increasing speed. “Might be a good time to call the Alexandria to come fetch us.”

“I think I spotted them on the horizon.” Summer strained her neck to peer over the rolling waves. “They still look to be a few miles off.”

She reached for the transmission button on her radio, then froze. “Dirk, what are they doing?”

Her brother was already tracking the patrol boat, which approached at an uncomfortably high speed. The steel-hulled vessel was less than a hundred feet away. It should have begun to slow or veer off, but it didn’t.

“They mean to ram us!” Summer shouted.

Dirk had the thrusters engaged, but with a top speed of only three knots the submersible couldn’t outrun a sea turtle. With no chance to elude the patrol boat, and insufficient time to dive, Dirk reacted the only way he could. He turned the submersible directly toward the oncoming vessel.

Summer looked at him as if he were insane and braced for the collision. Dirk kept his eyes glued on the boat, maneuvering toward its sharp bow as if on a death wish. He waited until the craft was nearly upon them, then turned the joystick hard over while reversing the starboard thrusters.

The submersible responded as if mired in quicksand, and Dirk feared he had reacted too late. But after a brief hesitation, it veered to starboard, narrowly slipping past the boat’s charging prow.

As Dirk hoped, the patrol boat’s helmsman had locked on course and reacted too late to the last-second maneuver. Instead, the boat struck the submersible with only a light blow.

Dirk and Summer heard a bang and felt their craft shudder as the contact crushed one of the rear thrusters. The impact briefly disrupted the power supply, shutting down the sub’s electrical systems. As Dirk frantically repowered the thrusters, he glanced out the spherical window as the patrol craft tore by. A man in green fatigues stood at the rail, pointing an assault rifle at the sub. But the gunman didn’t shoot, instead just offering a menacing grin.

Summer fought off the urge to flash him an obscene gesture. “That was close.” She turned her attention to the radio. “Can you get us submerged?”

“Trying.” Dirk had started flooding the ballast tanks even before the collision but had to reactivate the pumps after the power failed. They had only a matter of seconds before the patrol boat would swing around for another pass.

“Still no power to the radio,” Summer said, resetting the breaker switches behind her seat. When that failed, she took a quick peek out the bubble. The ballast tanks had resumed filling, pulling the submersible almost beneath the waves.

“She’s already turned. Nearly upon us,” she said matter-of-factly.

She jumped back into her seat and cinched the lap belt tight.

“C’mon, get down.” Dirk pressed the yoke all the way forward. With half their thrusters disabled, it did little to speed their descent.

They could hear the patrol boat’s charging engines—and then the boat was upon them. The submersible had made it a few feet underwater, but the boat’s pilot had drawn a careful bead. Its sharp prow skimmed over the submersible, but its lower hull hit home.

The crunching impact produced an explosion of bubbles as the acrylic bubble cracked and the ballast tanks were ripped free. The submersible bounced under the hull, battered in a series of punishing blows, until finally getting swept aside.

The mangled shell wavered a moment before tumbling into a lazy death spiral that carried it all the way to the seafloor.