Clive cusslers dark vect.., p.7
Clive Cussler's Dark Vector, page 7
She nodded. What else could she do?
“Grab your gear,” Emmerson said, pointing toward the dive bag and the hallway beyond. “You’re going to need it.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because the ship is sitting at the bottom of the East China Sea.”
CHAPTER 9
EAST CHINA SEA
Kurt leaned over the edge of the Sapphire’s swim platform with a long boat hook in hand. Stretching precariously, he looked along the side of the ship as floating debris slid past its gleaming hull.
“What’s it look like?” Joe asked from a position behind Kurt.
“More plastic garbage,” Kurt said.
As the debris neared the stern, Kurt stretched the full length of his six-foot-two frame, hooking a corner of the plastic and pulling it close. Lifting the waterlogged mess out of the water was harder than it looked and Kurt had to lean back and use every muscle in his body. Swinging around, he dumped the catch on the deck.
Joe stepped in behind him, using a makeshift skimmer to scoop up smaller pieces, which were added to a growing pile at the center of the swim platform.
Kurt bent to examine the find. Cloth, plastic and a few bits of Styrofoam. Nothing to suggest it came from the missing ship. “For all we know, this stuff could have been dumped off a cruise ship.”
“Or swept down to the sea from a landfill,” Joe replied, placing the skimmer down and stretching his back. “Be easier to do this if we could stop the boat.”
Kurt felt the soreness in his own muscles. “If we stopped every time we spotted floating junk, we’d have covered about two miles in the last five hours. We need to keep moving so the towed array will scan as much of the seafloor as possible.”
Joe knew this, but he had no interest in wrenching a muscle or being dragged off the platform while trying to haul garbage aboard the ship as it sped past. “If you say so, but don’t be upset when you get the bill from my chiropractor.”
The radio squawked to life beside them. “New target,” Winterburn’s voice called out. “Five degrees to port. I’d say about a thousand yards out.”
“A thousand yards,” Kurt said. “The kid’s got good eyes.”
“He’s using the LiDAR system to look for debris,” Joe said. “Pretty smart of him.”
LiDAR stood for Light Detection and Ranging. The system used a pair of high-definition cameras with zoom lenses to scan back and forth. Because the cameras were placed a wide distance from each other on the forward deck, they got a stereoscopic view of the world that a computer examined for recognizable shapes.
The system was supposed to be capable of observing a small raft at ten miles and an average-sized trawler out to the horizon. Using it to look for debris in their path was playing into its strengths.
Kurt admired the ingenuity. He grabbed the radio and pressed the talk switch. “Turn toward it. Take it down the starboard side if you can. That way, Joe can pull a muscle on both sides of his back.”
Joe laughed. “Surely you jest. But if I get hurt, you’re doing the work on your own.”
Good point, Kurt thought. He pressed the talk switch again. “And chop the throttle a notch. No reason to be hasty.”
The Sapphire changed course, easing onto a new heading and slowing just a bit. Kurt and Joe switched to the other side of the platform. As the object grew closer, they were able to make out details with the naked eye.
Joe was up front this time. “Does that look like international orange to you?”
Kurt nodded. The color was dull and tarnished, but definitely the standard shade of emergency equipment.
As the object came closer it seemed to grow larger. It bumped against the hull at one point, spinning in the yacht’s slipstream.
“All stop,” Kurt called out over the radio.
The vibration from the engines died away and the Sapphire slowed. The floating object continued to bump and whirl until it was almost even with the swim platform.
Joe caught it in the net and pulled. Kurt latched onto an exposed section with the boat hook. Together they pulled the object up against the platform and held it there. When the yacht came to a stop, they hauled it in.
Like fishermen with a prize catch, they’d captured something almost too large for the deck. Six feet long and several feet across, it had the shape of a giant puzzle piece. It was twisted and scorched in places. Lifting it over the transom, Kurt would have guessed the weight at nearly a hundred pounds.
Joe rapped his knuckles on the object. “FRP,” he said. “Fiber-reinforced plastic.”
Kurt was examining the cross section. “It’s a sandwich of two layers with a hollow center filled with waterproof foam.”
“This came from a lifeboat,” Joe concluded.
Kurt nodded. The gravity in Joe’s voice matched the concern in Kurt’s mind. Modern lifeboats were designed to be virtually indestructible. The fact that they’d found only a small chunk was bad news.
Joe knelt down and found part of it was covered with oil. He used his hand to wipe it clean. The name Canberra Swift and the ship’s ID number were stenciled there in faded letters.
“Well,” Joe said, looking up, “at least we know we’re looking in the right place.”
Kurt studied the fragment up close. He found cracks radiating along its entire length as if it had been bent backward before breaking loose from the rest of the lifeboat and snapping back to its original shape. He found the texture of the melted plastic to be rough and barbed, with jagged little hooks protruding from the previously smooth surface. “Thoughts?”
“Flash heat and shock cooling,” Joe said. “This thing flew out of the frying pan but not into the fire. I’d say it hit the cold ocean and its melting plastic froze in whatever weird shape it had curled into.”
Kurt trusted Joe’s analysis. The explosion theory was looking more likely with every passing second. And yet something was out of place. For the moment, Kurt kept that thought to himself.
Standing up, Kurt scanned the horizon. The sun was getting low. It was turning the water dark while painting the surface with streaks of gold and platinum. He found it hard to look west, even with his best polarized sunglasses on.
“We’re losing the daylight,” he said. “I’ll clean up out here, you go store that somewhere safe, check with Stratton on the sonar scan. That’s going to be our best hope of finding anything now.”
As Joe dragged the orange slab of wreckage inside, Kurt grabbed the radio. “Winterburn, you see anything else on the horizon?”
“Nope,” the ensign replied. “I mean . . . negative, sir.”
Kurt laughed. He wasn’t a stickler for detail. He cared more if people got the job done than whether they followed any communication protocol. “Get us moving and resume our original course. Best speed you can manage without degrading the sonar signal.”
As the yacht began to move, Kurt gathered up the rest of the debris they’d found, stuffing it into large plastic bags. He stored them in the aft dive locker and raised the swim platform before making his way toward the forward compartment.
He arrived to find Joe talking with Stratton, the other NUMA crewman on board. Stratton was a sonar specialist and underwater drone expert. He’d spent the last four hours monitoring the moving images from the Sapphire’s towed array and a trio of underwater drones that were traveling in formation with the yacht.
“Anything new?” Kurt asked.
“Bloodshot eyes and an empty coffee mug,” Stratton said, holding up the oversize cup for Kurt to see.
“I was referring to the search.”
Stratton shook his head.
Kurt checked a computer screen displaying the search area. He saw four vertical swaths that ran parallel—with the exception of the Sapphire’s course deviations to retrieve floating debris. In six hours, they’d covered about three hundred square miles altogether. Normally, that would be a drop in the bucket, but with a detailed location provided by the last beep of the Swift’s AIS beacon and the flash seen by the officer on the Korean freighter, they were working in a relatively small area. Another day or two, there would be nowhere left to look.
“I’m going to grab some chow,” Kurt said. “You guys want me to bring something back from the galley? By that, I mean the microwave.”
Joe didn’t answer right away, which was odd considering the subject was food.
“Stratt?” Kurt asked.
He noticed now that both men were leaning closer to the screen.
“Do you see that?” Joe said quietly.
“I do,” Stratton replied. He tapped the keyboard, enhancing the image they were staring at.
“There’s definitely something there,” Joe said.
“Hold your applause,” the sonar specialist replied. “It could be junk. Or a shipping container. I’ve found three of them in the last hour. One had at least a thousand pairs of expensive sneakers pouring out the back end. Do you know what we could get for those if we salvaged them?”
“We’re not here to rescue footwear,” Joe said. “But talk to me later.”
Kurt moved closer, looking over their shoulders and remaining quiet. All thoughts of food were now forgotten. Or at least postponed.
“It’s at the edge of the scanning field,” Joe said. “We need a better image.”
“Let me reroute the drone for another pass,” Stratton replied. Tapping the keyboard, he took command of the torpedo-shaped vehicle, maneuvering it out of the formation and back toward the distorted image it had picked up.
As the drone lined up on the new course, Stratton switched from side-scan sonar to a bottom-scanning system.
“Let’s get a visual,” Joe said.
Stratton switched on the drone’s camera and high-intensity lights. At first, they revealed nothing but the barren plain of the ocean floor thirty-six hundred feet down. Then little shards of debris appeared, some of them sitting in the little craters they’d excavated as they hit the mud.
“Getting a strong reading on the mag,” Joe said.
Kurt shook his head softly. “We couldn’t get this lucky,” he said, “not in a million years.”
“Speak for yourself,” Joe replied.
Several twisted lengths of metal appeared and then the lights found something more impressive.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Engine block,” Joe said. “Large diesel, by the look of it.”
Kurt studied the image, nodding silently. He could see the sleeves for the pistons clearly. “Need I remind you the Swift ran on gas turbines?”
“She also had a diesel backup for low-speed maneuvering and a couple APUs that ran on heavy fuel.”
“Fair point,” Kurt said, folding his arms and leaning against the bulkhead. He was doing his best to withhold judgment, but something felt wrong.
Finally, another shape appeared. This one larger than the engine block they’d seen earlier. It began to take on color as it filled out the screen. Dull brown at first, brightening to international orange.
“Lifeboat,” Joe said. “Or part of one.”
“Where’s the rest of it?” Stratton asked.
“One part is in the dive locker,” Kurt noted.
What they’d found was the pointed bow of the craft. It lay on its side like a three-dimensional triangle or a tent that had been blown over by the wind.
“Get in closer,” Joe suggested.
Stratton took the drone down and held it in place against the current. The aluminum framework to which the high-strength plastic was attached could be seen now. It had been bent and twisted outward by a tremendous force. Scorch marks and more of the rapidly melted and cooled plastic could be seen.
It was all very telling, Kurt thought. And misleading. “Hate to tell you, gentlemen, but we’ve been had.”
CHAPTER 10
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It fell to Rudi Gunn to deliver the bad news.
After alerting his counterpart in the NSA, Rudi arranged a briefing at NUMA headquarters. By five a.m. the main conference room was filled with the representatives from various Washington-based agencies and a few members of the NUMA staff.
Joining Rudi was NUMA’s Director of Information Technology, Hiram Yaeger. While Rudi was clean-shaven and squared away—even at this hour of the morning—Hiram wore faded jeans and a black pullover sweater. He was also in need of a haircut, or at least everyone in the office thought so, but for now had his graying hair tucked back under a vintage Washington Senators ball cap.
Hiram’s style was not a function of the early wake-up call. Like many computer experts and IT directors, he dressed in a very relaxed manner. In Hiram’s case, a fondness for comfort, Harley-Davidsons and classic rock bands tended to inform most fashion decisions.
Taking his first gulp of the dark, unadulterated coffee, Yaeger turned to Rudi. “If we’re going to keep having meetings before the sun is up—or Starbucks is open—I’m going to need NUMA to install a cappuccino machine.”
Rudi grinned. “You do know that cappuccino has less caffeine than an ordinary cup of coffee, right?”
“Well aware of that,” Yaeger insisted. “But I could drink six cappuccinos and still consume less liquid. Which becomes important”—he raised his eyebrows—“later on.”
Rudi laughed and made his way over to the conference table, where several outsiders were reading over the report Kurt and Joe had sent in.
Front and center sat Anna Biel, one of the President’s advisers and the director of the National Security Agency.
One seat over he saw Elliot Harner, deputy director of the CIA. There was the only true civilian in the group, Sunil Pradi, the CEO of Hydro-Com, the company that designed the missing computers.
And finally, looking less than happy at his inclusion, Rear Admiral Marcus Wagner, an old friend of Rudi’s and the current head of Naval Intelligence for the Western Pacific.
“Not really sure why I’m here,” Wagner said to Rudi, “but this better be good. Otherwise, I’ll be inviting you to some of our early-morning meetings.”
“Wouldn’t bother me,” Rudi said. “I’m up at four without an alarm.”
Rudi was a former Navy man. He’d graduated first in his class at Annapolis and had a full career in the service before joining NUMA. That background brought him a great deal of respect with the Navy brass and also the type of familiarity that made them treat him like he was one of their own. That could be good or bad, depending on the circumstances.
“I bet you are,” Wagner replied smugly.
Rudi sat down. “I suppose you’ve all read Kurt’s report. What do you think?”
Anna Biel spoke first. “If I understand this correctly, he’s suggesting the explosion and the loss of the AIS signal was a ruse designed to make us think the ship had gone down in deep waters. When it was, in fact, still afloat and proceeding at full speed toward some unknown destination. Assuming he’s correct, this is basically our worst-case scenario. Quite frankly, I’m hoping he’s wrong.”
“Not likely,” Rudi said. “First of all, Kurt’s a very measured thinker. And second, the data is anything but inconclusive. The stress points on the lifeboat show that it was blown apart from the inside, not damaged or crushed by a larger exterior detonation. In addition, the fiber-reinforced plastic—which the lifeboat’s shell was made of—displays distinctive signs of flash heating and melting, but, once again, only on the interior surfaces. This is completely opposite of what we’d expect if the lifeboat was thrown from the Swift in a cataclysmic blast that took out the entire ship. Finally, there’s the little item on page three. In my opinion, Kurt has buried the key.”
Everyone turned simultaneously to page three.
“Please direct your attention to number five on the list of items recovered from the bottom,” Rudi said.
“AIS transponder,” Rear Admiral Wagner said, reading aloud. “So what? All lifeboats carry them.”
“Except this one was found jury-rigged to an odd section of the lifeboat’s hull,” Rudi replied. “You might expect that on an older vessel plying the coastal waters of a Third World nation somewhere but not on a state-of-the-art lifeboat hitched to a modern freighter.”
“Then there’s the size,” Yaeger chimed in. “That unit is an NJX 1700 model. It draws a larger current and puts out a stronger signal than what a lifeboat normally carries. The antenna has been torn off in the explosion, but you can see clearly that the attachment point is designed for a longer, heavier aerial.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” Ms. Biel asked.
“It belongs on a larger ship,” Rudi replied. “In this case, the Canberra Swift. Kurt’s theory is that it was taken from the freighter and attached to the lifeboat to simulate the Swift’s continuing on course. The only thing they couldn’t do was simulate the Swift’s incredible speed.”
Yaeger jumped in. “Which necessitated the message they sent to the operations center indicating trouble with the fuel system and a switch to the diesel auxiliary.”
Rudi nodded. “A hardworking lie, since it did double duty, covering up the lifeboat’s limited speed while suggesting the possibility of a massive explosion based on one of the liquid natural gas tanks rupturing.”
Ms. Biel looked perturbed by this news, but she was the type to follow the evidence where it took her. “So, we all watched the AIS beacon on the lifeboat while the freighter itself went dark and took off in a different direction, is that it?”
“Sleight of hand,” Rudi said. “Or sleight of ship, if you prefer.”
The room fell quiet as the various individuals pondered the meaning of this news. The CEO of Hydro-Com looked almost apoplectic, given this idea. A sunken ship and destroyed computers were one thing. Stolen technology and all that came with it was something else entirely. “But they’ve found wreckage.”
