With a deft movement of its head and neck, the dolphin deposited the pressure cooker upon the steel-laticed catwalk, directly in front of Alexandrov. The senior lieutenant was no stranger to this efficient creature, who saved wear and tear on their mini subs by acting as a messenger between the support ship and the habitat below.
“Well, Comrade Dolly, what have you brought us?” remarked Alexandrov as he walked over to grasp the object that the dolphin had conveyed from the depths.
Dolly reacted with an excited outburst of whistles and clicks. Ignoring this high-pitched chatter, Alexandrov prepared to open the pressure cooker to see what lay inside. Yet Dolly was not about to go unnoticed, and the dolphin stood up on its tail, then dove beneath the water and shot to the surface, leapt through the air, and came down in a frothing splash that quickly gained Alexandrov’s attention.
Now finding himself with his uniform partially soaked, Alexandrov redirected his line of sight back to the moon pool “All right. Comrade, I hear you loud and clear. Let’s see what kind of treat Viktor can find for you.”
An ice-filled bucket of mullet sat on the forward portion of the catwalk for just this purpose. Alexandrov picked up the largest of the partially frozen fish by its tail, and held it out, high above the water.
“Come and get it. Comrade,” he teasingly offered.
Not to be denied. Dolly circled the entire moon pool After disappearing beneath the surface, the dolphin spiralled upwards in a graceful leap, snatched the mullet in its mouth, and fell back into the water with a resounding splash.
Satisfied that the insistent marine mammal would leave him alone now, Alexandrov turned his attention back to the pressure cooker. The lid was tightly sealed, and it took a bit of effort to unscrew it and pull the rubberized gasket apart. It opened with a loud, popping noise, and he reached inside and removed a large manila envelope that contained several supply requisitions and a sealed letter addressed to Dr. Harlan Sorkin, the head of the U.N. observer team. Marked Personal and Confidential, this piece of mail immediately caught the naval officer’s attention. Yet before delivering it, he decided to share its presence with his superior officer.
He found Admiral Valerian in his stateroom, in the midst of a shave. The one-eyed veteran still used an old-fashioned, pearl-handled straight razor, which he honed to a fine sharpness on a rawhide strop. Clad only in a T-shirt and his skivvies. Valerian greeted his guest while staring into the mirror and carefully scraping the shaving cream from his neck.
“To what do I owe the honor of your presence this early in the morning. Senior Lieutenant?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you. Admiral. But I found an unusual item in the habitat’s morning mail.”
With several dextrous strokes of his razor. Valerian completed his shave. He then took the time to wipe his face dry with a terry-cloth towel before turning to impatiently address his guest. “So Senior Lieutenant, just what is this unusual item that you speak of?”
Alexandrov pulled out the letter that he had taken from the mail envelope.
“This is the item, sir. It’s addressed to Dr. Sorkin, and is marked personal and confidential.”
Valerian roughly grabbed the letter, and wasted no time picking up his razor and cleanly slicing open the envelope. It held a single sheet of white paper that he hastily skimmed, then slowly reread.
“You’ll never believe it. Senior Lieutenant. But it seems that our brave aquanauts have managed to stumble upon our secret. Somehow they got their diving saucer operational, and as fate would have it, witnessed our submersibles at work on the bottom of the trench last night.”
Alexandrov appeared genuinely shocked by this revelation.
“Does this mean that our operation is over?”
“Why of course not!” replied Valerian firmly.
“It’s only going to demand a bit more resourcefulness on our part. Let me see their supply requisition. I have a feeling that calamity is about to strike the inquisitive occupants of Starfish House.”
12
It took Mimi Slater an entire day and night to make her final decision. Beyond the monetary expense that a trip down to the Bahamas would incur, was the ever important emotional cost involved in such a questionable excursion. Still not absolutely certain if Dr. Elizabeth was legitimate or not, Mimi couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t merely prolonging her period of mourning by holding onto this last hope of contacting her husband. Unlike the other family and wives of the crew of the Lewis and Clark, she alone could not accept her loved one’s death, and she was even willing to search the vastness of the universe in an effort to locate him.
Was she deceiving herself? Or was the psychic’s story true after all? Because these questions would haunt her for the rest of her life, she had no choice but to turn a deaf ear to logic, and follow the call of her heart.
With her tear-filled stare locked on the photograph of Peter that crowned the fireplace’s mantel, she picked up the telephone and informed Dr. Elizabeth of her decision. The psychic had been anticipating her call, and she readily agreed to meet Mimi at the Miami airport Marriott the next evening. Meanwhile, she was to proceed down to Southern Florida, and arrange to charter a boat for the voyage to the waters off Andros Island. With the fall equinox only three days away, there was no time to waste, and Mimi hung up the phone feeling that she had made the proper choice.
She made a quick call to her travel agent, and reserved a one-way ticket on a noon flight to Miami.
This gave her less than two hours to shower, pack, and close up the house. She drove her car to the Charleston airport, and left it parked in the short-term lot. A flight delay gave her an extra thirty minutes. She used this time to find an automatic teller machine and get a five-hundred-dollar cash advance. With Peter gone, she had no one to call to say goodbye, and she walked onto the plane feeling as if she were leaving her old life behind.
The aircraft was half empty, and she sat alone above the right wing. Minutes after takeoff she fell soundly asleep, and slept until the stewardess shook her to inform her that they were about to land at their destination.
She looked out the window in time to see the clear blue waters of Biscayne Bay passing down below. The Miami Beach skyline colorfully beckoned in the distance, and beyond stretched the surging Atlantic. It had been almost twenty years since she had last visited Miami, and she noted the dozens of newly built high rise skyscrapers that gave the sprawling city a vibrant, modern look.
Since she had only carry-on luggage, she didn’t have to stop at the crowded baggage-claim area after landing.
She went right to the Hertz counter and rented a car.
A short drive brought her to the Marriott, where she got a double room overlooking the pool. She ate a sandwich in the coffee shop, then stopped to see the concierge to get help finding a reliable boat-charter outfit.
As it turned out, the nearest charter boats could be found on Key Biscayne. Also home to the Miami Seaquarium, Key Biscayne was less than a fifteen-minute-drive away, and Mimi had no trouble finding the proper causeway. This roadway conveyed her to a small, exclusive, condo-filled island, located immediately south of Miami Beach.
Because the concierge couldn’t recommend a particular boat to rent, Mimi would have to make that decision on her own. She found the charter docks easily enough, and after parking the car, walked out onto the pier to see what she had to choose from.
Most of the boats moored at the marina were sleek fishing vessels, designed for day trips out into the Gulf Stream. These fiberglass cabin cruisers featured stern mounted fighting chairs, where fishermen could go after sailfish or marlin from the upholstered comfort of a leather-lined perch.