“I figured as much,” returned Pierce solemnly.
“Yet until we get our venting systems back on line, the Marlin’s just going to have to take it. Seal her up tight, gentlemen. We’re about to see what this baby’s really made of.”
The depth gauge continued to register their descent, and the hull creaked and moaned in response.
A tense silence prevailed, as Pierce did his best to slow the speed of the drop. Guiding the DSRV in a wide, spiraling circle, he was able to brake the rate of descent rather drastically.
“I hope you’ve picked out a nice, soft, sandy spot for us to touch down on,” said Pierce to his copilot.
Blackmore still had his doubts as to whether the Marlin’s hull would even get them to that point.
Suddenly Marvin’s voice sounded.
“Try those vents again, Commander!”
Immediately reaching forward. Pierce hit the ballast trigger. The familiar gush of venting sea water met their ears, and the Marlin shuddered in response.
With the assistance of the vessel’s thrusters, the level of descent was gradually eased, until the DSRV lay hovering, level in the water.
“Glory be!” sighed Pierce, who only then took the time to wipe off the sweat that had gathered on his forehead.
“And will you look at that! We’ve got a whole seventy feet of ocean left until we hit bottom. I knew we’d make this depth. What’s down there anyway. Lieutenant?”
Blackmore’s glance was ri voted on the sonar screen.
“Good thing we didn’t hit here, sir. Though it’s certainly flat, the ocean bottom seems to be comprised of solid rock.”
Pierce shrugged his shoulders.
“Since the fates took us down this far, how about taking a closer look at it? Another fifty feet or so won’t hurt us.”
Offering no objections of his own, Blackmore hit the Marlin’s bow spotlights, as Pierce gently directed the vessel downward. After tilting the video camera toward the sea floor, Lance bent over to peer into the lap-mounted viewing port.
At first he could see nothing but the swirling, turbid waters themselves. Even at this great depth, the thick, primordial ooze had been stirred up by the tsunami’s passage. Only when Pierce lowered them another five feet did the sea floor become visible.
Formed from a series of flat, smoothly hewn rocks, the ocean bottom there looked more like some sort of cobblestone pathway. Lance Blackmore couldn’t help but make this association as his eyes alertly scanned the depths.
“It almost looks like there’s a manmade road down here,” observed the lieutenant, who realized the absurdity of such a statement.
Quick to study his own viewing port, Pierce shook his head in wonder.
“I’ll be damned, it sure as hell does. I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.
What’s our current heading?”
Blackmore checked their course and answered, “We’re cruising due west, sir.”
“I’d like to see how far this phenomenon extends, Lieutenant. Zap the waters with our sonar, and see what it looks like ahead of us.”
While Blackmore got to work on this. Ensign Marvin snuggled in between them.
“What’s so interesting, Commander?”
Without looking up from his viewing column, Pierce answered, “It almost looks like we found a section of the freeway grid that the auto club missed on their maps. What do you make of it, Ensign?”
Swinging the column over for Louis to have a look, Pierce waited for the ensign’s response.
“It certainly does, Commander. If this is a byproduct of mother nature, it’s awfully freaky. Those stones down there sure look like they were placed by hand.”
“We’re picking up something else straight ahead of us, sir,” interrupted Lance.
“It seems to be some sort of rock formation. Sonar shows that it’s semicircular in shape and comprised of six separate, large stones, approximately seven feet tall and three feet wide. It’s still a good mile distant.”
“Anything else out there?” queried Pierce curiously.
“That seems to be it, Commander. Until you reach the canyon’s walls, it’s as flat as a pancake out there.”
As he took this in, Pierce’s brow tightened.
“Then let’s check this formation out firsthand.”
Pierce opened the Marlin’s throttle, and the vessel surged forward. Still hunched over the viewing column, Marvin scanned the stone thoroughfare that continued to stretch out beneath them. Though some of it was covered with sediment, most of it was unusually clear. He supposed that it could have been only recently swept clean by the deep currents which accompanied the tidal wave. Yet this certainly didn’t explain how it had been formed in the first place. The one thing that he was certain of was that this was no freak of nature. The stones were too uniformly cut and laid out too perfectly for this to be true. This meant that it had to be the product of man.
With what little Louis knew of underwater geology, he supposed that this canyon could have once been part of the mainland. Most likely, an earthquake had caused its submergence many centuries before. Yet this still left in question who had originally designed it. Louis could only guess that it had been built by the ancient Spaniards, who had first visited there in the 1500’s.
“We’re two hundred yards in front of the formation, Commander.”
Blackmore’s words caused Louis to sit up, and Pierce slowed the craft to half speed. The steady hum of the Marlin’s single propeller decreased proportionately.
Since both officers were busy at the controls initiating their approach, Louis turned his attention back to the viewing column. Angling the tilt of the camera to scan that section of ocean directly before them, he focused in on a sight that would stay with him forever.
Projecting from the seafloor were six massive monoliths of smooth stone. Appearing like those of Ston henge, the monoliths were equally spaced in such a way to allow the stone roadway to neatly bisect them.
Still following the center of this path, the Marlin continued its way westward.
Louis Marvin’s eyes were wide with wonder as the DSRV passed into the semicircle itself. His pulse quickened as he viewed a huge black and red circle, etched into the very stone below them. He audibly gasped upon setting eyes on the object that lay at this circle’s axis. For here was a white metallic nose cone, its skin fire-scarred, its base cleanly punctured. Only when he identified the five-pointed-star insignia of the Air Force that was imprinted on its base did a chill of awareness streak up his backbone.
“Jesus Christ, Commander, you’re not going to believe this!”
Chapter Eleven
From an altitude of 78,000 feet above sea level, Lieutenant Grigori Yagoda sat in the cramped fuselage of the Tupolev Red Fox strategic reconnaissance aircraft. Perched before the compartment’s single, heat-resistant glass porthole, the Spetsnaz commando peered down to the blue Pacific passing far below. He found it hard to fathom the fact that they were presently traveling at a speed of three times that of sound. This meant that they would be able to complete the 4,200-mile trip from Petropavlovsk in a little more than two hours’ flying time.
Grigori had heard rumors that such an amazing aircraft was part of the Motherland’s arsenal, and this flight proved them all true. Not only could it fly higher and faster than any plane on the planet, but, because of its design, it could do so while remaining completely undetected. Such engineering advances were beyond Grigori’s comprehension. Yet, without such a platform, he doubted their present mission would have even been attempted.
Within the next half hour, they would be penetrating American airspace. He knew that the United States tactical air corps was extremely weak. Because the Soviet Union had never fielded a serious strategic bomber threat, the Yankees had put little effort into their coastal defense. With the advent of such amazing aircraft as the “Red Fox,” this would soon change. Right now, they could but take advantage of their adversary’s weaknesses as they best saw fit.