Dragon - Cussler Clive. Страница 23

“Yes…” Jordan said slowly. “I didn’t, but I do now. Thank you, Curtis.”

Jordan turned from a totally mystified Meeker, opened the door, and melted into the throng leaving the theater.

15

TRUE TO HIS WORD, Pitt drove the mauled DSMV free of its buried prison. The metal tracks shrieked as they ground their way through the lava rock, a centimeter at a time. With tortured sluggishness the great vehicle clawed its way to the surface of the sea bottom, shook off the stone and ooze that trailed in a huge cloudy river from its rear end, and rolled onto the barren terrain.

“We’re clear,” Plunkett cried in delight. “Jolly well done.”

“Jolly well done,” Pitt mimicked. He switched on computer control and called up a series of geographical displays on the monitor. “A miracle we broke out with no pressure leaks or mechanical damage.”

“My dear fellow, my faith in you is as deep as the sea… ah, we’re under. I didn’t doubt your fortitude for a minute.”

Pitt spared him a curious stare. “If you’re taken in that easily, I have a bridge in New York I’d like to sell you.”

“What was that about a bridge’?”

“Do you play?”

“Yes, I’m quite good. Won more than a few tournaments. And you?”

“I deal a mean hand of Old Maid.”

The exchange was slightly less than bizarre considering their predicament, but they were men absorbed in their element and well aware of the danger of being trapped in the abyssal depths. If either Pitt or Plunkett felt any fear, he didn’t show it.

“Now that we’ve escaped the landslide, what’s the plan?” asked Plunkett as calmly as if he was requesting another cup of tea.

“The plan is to go up,” Pitt answered, pointing toward the roof.

“Since this magnificent old crawler has no buoyancy and we’ve a good five kilometers of ocean above us, how do you expect to accomplish the impossible?”

Pitt grinned.

“Just sit back and enjoy the seascape. We’re going to take a little ride through the mountains.”

“Welcome aboard, Admiral.” Commander Morton gave a razor-edge salute and extended his hand, but the greeting was purely official. He was not happy and made no attempt at hypocrisy. “A rare occasion when we’re ordered to surface at sea during a cruise to take on visitors. I have to tell you I don’t like it.”

Sandecker smothered a smile as he stepped from the Shanghai Shelly’s launch onto the bridge of the partially surfaced sail tower of the Tucson. He shook Morton’s hand with a casual unconcern and a dominating posture that, if anything, made his presence seem like an everyday affair.

“I didn’t pull strings to have you deviate from operational procedure so I could drop in for cocktails, Commander. I’m here on presidential order. If it’s an inconvenience, I’ll be happy to return to the junk.”

A pained expression crossed Morton’s face. “No offense, Admiral, but Soviet satellites—”

“Will photograph us in vivid color for the entertainment of their intelligence analysts. Yes, yes, but we don’t really care what they see or think.” Sandecker turned as Giordino climbed aboard. “My assistant project director, Al Giordino.”

Unconsciously almost, Morton acknowledged Giordino with a half salute and showed them through a hatch down to the control center of the sub. They followed the commander into a small compartment with a transparent plotting table with a recessed interior that provided a three-dimensional sonar view of the seabed.

Lieutenant David DeLuca, the Tucson’s navigation officer, was leaning over the table. He straightened as Morton made the introductions and smiled warmly. “Admiral Sandecker, this is an honor. I never missed your lectures at the academy.”

Sandecker beamed. “I hope I didn’t put you to sleep.

“Not at all. Your accounts of NUMA projects were fascinating.

Morton flicked a glance at DeLuca and nodded down at the table. “The admiral is most interested in your discovery.”

“What can you show me, son?” Sandecker said, placing a hand on DeLuca’s shoulder. “The message was you’ve picked up unusual sounds on the seabed.”

DeLuca faltered for a moment. “We’ve been receiving strange music—”

” ‘Minnie the Mermaid?’ ” Giordino blurted.

DeLuca nodded. “At first, but now it sounds like John Philip Sousa marches.”

Morton’s eyes narrowed. “How could you possibly know?”

“Dirk,” Giordino said definitely. “He’s still alive.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sandecker said with mounting joy. He stared at DeLuca. “Can you still hear the music?”

“Yes, sir. Once we obtained a fix, we were able to track the source.

“It’s moving?”

“About five kilometers per hour across the bottom.”

“He and Plunkett must have survived the earthquake and escaped in Big John,” Giordino concluded.

“Have you attempted contact?” asked Sandecker of Morton.

“We’ve tried, but our systems are not designed to transmit in water deeper than a thousand meters.”

“We can contact them with the underwater phone in the submersible,” said Giordino.

“Unless…” Sandecker hesitated. He glanced at Morton. “Could you hear them if they were trying to contact a surface vessel, Commander?”

“If we can hear their music, we could hear their voice transmissions. Might be garbled and distorted, but I think our computers could piece together a coherent message.”

“Any such sounds received?”

“None,” replied Morton.

“Their phone system must be damaged,” Sandecker speculated.

“Then why are they able to transmit music?”

“An emergency amplifying system locator in case the vehicle had a breakdown,” answered Giordino. “A rescue vehicle could home in on the sound. But it wasn’t built for voice transmission or reception.”

Morton stirred in slow anger. He did not like losing control of a situation on board his own command. “May I ask who these people are in Big John, as you call it, and how they came to be traipsing over the bottom of the Pacific Ocean?”

Sandecker gave a negligent wave of his hand. “Sorry, Commander, a classified project.” He turned his attention back to DeLuca. “You say they’re on the move.”

“Yes, sir.” DeLuca pressed a series of buttons and the display recessed in the table revealed a section of the sea bottom in a three-dimensional holograph. To the men crowded around the table, it felt as though they were looking down into a submerged Grand Canyon from the top of an aquarium. The detail was enhanced by advanced computer and sonar digital mapping that showed the images in muted color heavy on blues and greens.

The Mendocino fracture zone dwarfed the famous tourist sight of northern Arizona, its steep escarpments averaging 3,000 meters high. The uneven rims along the great crack in the earth’s submarine surface were serrated with hundreds of ridges, giving it the appearance of a huge gash through a series of sand ripples.

 “The latest underwater visual technology,” Morton offered proudly. “The Tucson was the first sub to have it installed.”

“Code-named The Great Karnak,” Sandecker said loftily. “Knows all, sees all. Our NUMA engineers helped develop it.”

Morton’s face, now curiously red and sullen, looked abjectly defeated in the game of one-upmanship. But he took control and made a brave comeback. “Lieutenant, show the admiral his toy in action.”

DeLuca took a short wandlike probe and traced a light beam across the floor of the display. “Your underwater vehicle emerged at this point in a small canyon just off the main fracture zone and is now traveling in a zigzag pattern up the slopes toward the top of the fracture zone’s edge.”

Giordino stared somberly at the flattened area where the mining project once stood. “Not much left of Soggy Acres,” he said sadly.