Richard did as he was told. Almost immediately there was the hiss of the compressed gas, and the needle on the analog pressure gauge began to rise. The divers happily took to their bunks. Richard pulled the worn deck of playing cards from his long johns pocket.
CHAPTER THREE
Perry emerged from the interior of the ship and stepped out onto the grate that formed the deck of the fantail. He was dressed in a maroon jogging suit over sweats—Mark’s suggestion. He told Perry it was what he’d worn the last time he’d been in the submersible. The quarters were tight, so the more comfortable the clothes, the better, and layers were good because it could be cool. The outside water temperature was only around forty degrees, and it was foolish to expend too much battery power on heat.
At first Perry found walking on the metal grate disconcerting since he could see down into the ocean surface some fifty feet below. The water had a cold, gray-green look. Perry shivered despite the pleasant ambient temperature, and he wondered if he should go on the dive after all. The strange foreboding that he’d awakened with returned, raising the hackles on the back of his neck. Although he wasn’t claustrophobic per se, he’d never been comfortable when he found himself in a tight space like the interior of the submersible. In fact one of Perry’s most horrid memories as a child was having been caught hiding under the covers by his older brother. His brother pounced on him instead of pulling the covers back and, for a time that seemed like an eternity, wouldn’t let him out. Occasionally Perry still had nightmares that he was back in that cloth prison with the desperate sensation he was about to smother.
Perry stopped and stared at the little submarine, which was sitting on chocks at the very stern of the ship. Angled over it was a large derrick capable of swinging the vessel out over the water and lowering it to the surface. Workers were swarming around the craft like bees hovering around a hive. Perry knew enough to recognize they were participating in the predive check before launch.
Perry was relieved that the vessel looked considerably larger than it had when it was in the water, a fact that appeased his recently awakened claustrophobia. The submersible was not as tiny as many were. It was fifty feet long with a twelve-foot beam, and bulbous in shape, like a bloated, HY-140 steel sausage with a fiberglass superstructure. There were four view ports made of eight-inch-thick, conical sections of Plexiglas: two forward and one to either side. Hydraulic manipulator arms, folded up under the bow, made it look like an enormous crustacean. The hull was painted scarlet with white lettering along the sides of the sail. Its name was Oceanus, after the Greek god of the outer sea.
“Handsome little devil, isn’t she?” a voice said.
Perry turned. Mark had come up behind him.
“Maybe it’d be better if I didn’t go on the dive after all,” Perry said, trying to sound casual.
“And why is that?” Mark asked.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Perry said. “I came out here to be a help, not a hindrance. I’m sure the pilot would prefer not to have the equivalent of a tourist tagging along.”
“Poppycock!” Mark said without hesitation. “Both Donald and Suzanne are thrilled you’re coming. I spoke with them not twenty minutes ago, and they said as much. In fact that’s Donald on that scaffolding, supervising the connection to the launching crane. I understand you’ve never met him.”
Perry followed Mark’s pointing finger. Donald Fuller was an African American with a shaved head, a neat pencil-line mustache, and an impressively muscled frame. He was dressed in crisply ironed dark blue coveralls with epaulets and a shiny name tag. Even from a distance Perry could appreciate the man’s martial bearing, especially when he heard his deep, baritone voice and his clipped, no-nonsense manner as he called out commands. During the current operation there was no doubt who was in charge.
“Come on,” Mark urged before Perry could respond. “Let me introduce you.”
Reluctantly, Perry allowed himself to be led over to the submersible. It was painfully obvious that he would not be able to get out of diving on the Oceanus without a significant loss of face. He’d have to admit to his fears, and he hardly thought that would be appropriate. Besides, he had enjoyed his first ride on the sub even though that had been done in only a hundred feet of water just outside of the harbor on Santa Catalina, a far cry from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
Once Donald was satisfied with the submersible’s connection to the hoisting cable, he swung down from the scaffolding and began walking around the boat. Although the topside dive team had responsibility for the exterior predive check, Donald wanted to make his own visual check on all the penetrations through the pressure hull. Mark and Perry caught up to him at the bow. Mark introduced Perry as the president of Benthic Marine.
Donald responded by clicking his heels and saluting. Before Perry knew what he was doing, he saluted back. Only Perry didn’t really know how to salute; he’d never executed the gesture in his life. He felt as pathetic as he probably looked.
“Honored to meet you, sir,” Donald said. He was standing ramrod straight with his lips pressed together and his nares flared. To Perry he appeared like a warrior about to do battle.
“Pleased to meet you,” Perry said. He gestured toward the Oceanus. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“No problem, sir,” Donald snapped back.
“I also don’t have to go on this dive,” Perry said. “I don’t want to be in the way. In fact . . .”
“You won’t be in the way, sir,” Donald said.
“I know this is an operational dive,” Perry persisted. “I wouldn’t want to take your attention away from your job.”
“When I am piloting the Oceanus, no one takes my attention away from my job, sir!”
“I appreciate that,” Perry said. “But I won’t be at all offended if you feel I should stay topside. I mean, I’ll understand.”
“I’m looking forward to showing you the capability of this craft, sir.”
“Well, thank you,” Perry said, recognizing the futility of trying to excuse himself graciously.
“My pleasure, sir,” Donald snapped.
“You don’t have to call me sir,” Perry said.
“Yes, sir!” Donald responded. Then his mouth formed into a thin smile when he realized what he’d said. “I mean, yes, Mr. Bergman.”
“Call me Perry.”
“Yes, sir,” Donald said. Then he allowed himself a second smile when he realized he’d slipped again in so many seconds. “It’s hard for me to change my ways.”
“I can see that,” Perry said. “I guess it’s not a wild guess that you got your experience for this type of work in the armed forces.”
“That’s affirmative,” Donald said. “Twenty-five years in the submarine service.”
“Were you an officer?” Perry asked.
“Indeed. I retired as a commander.”
Perry’s eyes wandered to the submersible. Now that he’d reconciled himself to the upcoming dive, he wanted reassurance. “How’s the Oceanus been performing?”
“Flawlessly,” Donald answered.
“So it’s a good little ship?” Perry asked. He patted the cold steel pressure hull.
“The best,” Donald said. “Better than anything I’ve ever piloted, and I’ve been in quite a few.”
“Are you just being patriotic?” Perry asked.
“Not at all,” Donald said. “First of all, it can go deeper than any other manned craft I’ve piloted. As I’m sure you know, it’s got a certified operating depth of twenty thousand feet and a crush depth not until thirty-five thousand. But even that’s deceiving. With the built-in safety margin, we could probably dive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench without a hitch.”
Perry swallowed. Hearing the term crush depth brought back the shiver he’d experienced a few minutes before.
“Why don’t you give Perry a quick rundown on the rest of the Oceanus’s statistics,” Mark said. “Just to refresh his memory.”
“Sure,” Donald said. “But stand by for a second.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to one of the workmen completing the predive check: “Have the TV camcorders been checked out on the inside?”
“That’s an affirmative!” the worker responded.
Donald directed his attention back to Perry. “The craft’s sixty-eight tons with room for two pilots, two observers, and six other passengers. We have lockout capability for divers, and we can be mated to the DDCs if the need arises. We’ve got life support for a maximum of two hundred sixteen hours. Power comes from silver zinc batteries. Propulsion is from a varivec propeller, but maneuverability is also enhanced with vertical and horizontal thrusters directed by twin joysticks with top-mounted thumb balls. There’s short-range, narrow-beam, and side-scan sonar, ground-penetrating radar, proton magnetometer, and thermistors. Recording equipment includes silicon-intensified target video camcorders. Communications are with FM surface radio and UQC underwater telephone. Navigation is inertial.”
Donald paused while he let his eyes roam around the submersible. “I think that covers the basics. Any questions?”
“Not for the moment,” Perry said quickly. He was afraid Donald might ask him a question. The only thing Perry retained out of the entire monologue was the thirty-five-thousand-foot crush depth figure.
“Ready to launch the Oceanus!” a voice crackled over a loudspeaker.
Donald herded Perry and Mark away from the sub. The hoisting wire became taut. With a creak the submersible lifted from the deck. It was kept from swinging by multiple launching lines attached at key points along the hull. A high-pitched squeak heralded the movement of the davit as it swung the boat out off the stern of the ship and started lowering it toward the water.
“Ah, here comes the good doctor,” Mark said.
Perry turned briefly to look behind him. A figure was emerging through the main door into the ship’s interior. Perry did a rapid doubletake. He’d only seen Suzanne Newell once before and that was when she’d presented the original seismic studies on Sea Mount Olympus. But that had been in L.A., where there was no dearth of beautiful people. Out in the middle of the ocean on the utilitarian Benthic Explorer with its nearly hundred percent frowzy male crew, she stood out like a lily in a patch of weeds. In her late twenties, she was vibrant and athletic looking. Dressed in coveralls similar to those worn by Donald, she gave off a stunning gender message which was the absolute antithesis of Donald’s. A dark blue baseball cap, with a gold braid embroidered on the visor and BENTHIC EXPLORER sewn across the crown, was perched on top of her head. Out of the back of the hat just above the adjustment band protruded a ponytail of thick, shiny chestnut hair.
Suzanne saw the group and waved, then headed in their direction. As she approached, Perry’s mouth slowly dropped open, a response that was not lost on Mark.
“Not bad, huh?” Mark said.
“She’s rather attractive,” Perry admitted.
“Yeah, well, wait a few days,” Mark said. “She gets better the longer we’re out here. Quite a shape for a geophysical oceanographer, wouldn’t you say?”
“I haven’t met too many geophysical oceanographers,” Perry said. Suddenly he thought that maybe the dive wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Too bad she isn’t a medical doctor,” Mark said under his breath. “I wouldn’t mind her doing a hernia check on me.”
“If you’ll permit me, I’ll continue getting the Oceanus ready for the dive,” Donald said.
“Of course,” Mark said. “The new bit and the corer will be up shortly, and I’ll have them loaded directly into the tray.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Donald said with a salute. He walked back to the edge of the fantail and looked down at the descending submersible.
“He’s a bit stiff,” Mark said, “but one hell of a reliable worker.”
Perry wasn’t listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off Suzanne. She had an unmistakable spring to her step; her smile was friendly and welcoming. With her left hand she was pressing two large books against her chest.
“Mr. Perry Bergman!” Suzanne exclaimed, reaching out with her right hand. “I was delighted to hear you’d come out to the ship and am thrilled that you’re going to dive with us. How are you? You must be recovering from a long flight.”
“I’m just fine, thank you,” Perry said while shaking hands with the oceanographer. Then he unconsciously reached up to make sure his hair was appropriately arranged over the thinning spot on the top of his head. He noted that Suzanne’s teeth were as white as his own.
“After our meeting in Los Angeles I never got to tell you how pleased I was that you decided to bring Benthic Explorer back to Sea Mount Olympus.”
“I’m glad,” Perry said, forcing a smile. He was bewitched by Suzanne’s eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were blue or green. “I only wish the drilling were proceeding more successfully.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Suzanne said. “But I have to admit, from my personal, selfish perspective I’m a happy camper. The seamount is a fascinating environment, as you’re about to see, and the drilling problems are getting me down there. So you won’t hear any complaints from me.”
“I’m glad it’s making somebody happy,” Perry said. “What’s so fascinating about this particular seamount?”
“It’s the geology,” Suzanne said. “Do you know what basaltic dikes are?”
“I can’t say that I do,” Perry admitted. “Other than I suppose they’re made out of basalt.” He laughed self-consciously and decided that her eyes were a light blue tinted green by the surrounding ocean. He also realized that he liked the sparing way she used makeup. She seemed to be sporting only the slightest bit of lipstick. Cosmetics were a sore subject for Perry and his wife. She worked as a makeup artist for a movie studio and wore a significant amount herself, to Perry’s chagrin. Now their eleven- and thirteen-year-old daughters were following their mother’s example. The issue had become a full-blown feud that Perry had little chance of winning.
Suzanne’s smile broadened. “Basalt dikes are indeed made of basalt. They are formed when molten basalt is forced up through fissures in the earth’s crust. What makes some of them so intriguing is that they’re geometric enough to look manmade. Wait till you see them.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Donald said. “The Oceanus is ready to dive and we should be on board. Even in a calm sea it’s dangerous to have her moored too long next to the ship.”
“Yes, sir!” Suzanne said smartly. She saluted crisply but with a lingering, mildly mocking smile. Donald was not amused. He knew she was teasing him.
Suzanne gestured for Perry to precede her down the companionway that led to a combination dive platform and launching dock. Perry started but hesitated as another involuntary shudder rippled down his spine. Despite his efforts to reassure himself about the safety of the submersible and despite his anticipation of Suzanne’s pleasant company, the foreboding he’d experienced earlier came back like a cold draft through an underground crypt which is what he thought the interior of the Oceanus was going to feel like. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him he was crazy to lock himself up inside a boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean that was already sunk.
“Just a second!” Perry said. “How long is this dive going to take?”
“It can be as short as a couple of hours,” Donald said, “or as long as you’d like. We usually stay down as long as the divers are in the water.”
“Why do you ask?” Suzanne asked.
“Because . . .” Perry sought for an explanation. “Because I have to call back to the office.”
“On Sunday?” Suzanne questioned. “Who’s at the office on Sunday?”
Perry felt himself blush anew. Between the night flights from New York to the Azores he’d gotten his days mixed up. He laughed hollowly and tapped the side of his head. “I forgot it was Sunday. It must be early Alzheimer’s.”
“Let’s move out!” Donald announced before
descending to the dive platform below.
Perry followed, one step at a time, feeling like a ridiculous coward. Then, despite his better judgment, he inched across the swaying gangplank. It was shocking how much motion was involved in what appeared to be a calm sea.
The gangplank lead directly to the top of the Oceanus’s sail. The deck of the submersible was already awash since the vessel was close to being neutrally buoyant. With some difficulty Perry got himself through the hatch. As he worked his way down into the sub he had to press tight against the steel ladder’s icy cold rungs.
The interior was as tight a space as Mark had warned. Perry began to doubt the claims that there was room for ten people. They’d have to be packed like sardines. Contributing to the cramped atmosphere, the walls of the front of the sub were lined with gauges, LCD readouts, and toggle switches. There wasn’t a square inch without a dial or knob. The four viewing ports seemed tiny within the profusion of electronic equipment. The only positive was that the air smelled clean. In the background Perry could make out the hum of a ventilation fan.
Donald directed Perry to a low-slung chair directly behind his on the port side. In front of the pilot’s seat were several large CRT monitors whose computers could construct virtual images of the seafloor to help in navigation. Donald was using the FM radio to talk with Larry Nelson in the dive control van as he continued the predive check of the equipment and electrical systems.
Perry heard the hatch close above with a thud followed by a distinctive click. A few moments later Suzanne dropped down from the sail with a good deal more agility than Perry had exhibited. She’d even managed to do it with the two large books in hand. She proceeded to hand them to Perry.
“I brought these for you,” she said. “The thick one is on oceanic marine life and the other is on marine geology. I thought it might be fun for you to look up some of the things we’ll be seeing. We don’t want you to get bored.”
“That was thoughtful,” Perry commented. Little did Suzanne realize, he was far too anxious to be bored. He felt the way he did when he was about to take off in an airplane: There was always the chance that the next few minutes would be his last.