“Any input is helpful,” Pitt said, “when you’re chasing gremlins.”
“When you told me about the depressions at the heart of the toxic zones,” Gunn said, “I had Dr. McCammon in the geology department scan the region for seismic events. Within the past six weeks, there has been an event near each of the three sites, measuring 4.0 on the moment magnitude scale, or just under 3.0 on the Richter scale.”
“That sounds significant,” Giordino said, pacing in front of the screen.
“Not necessarily. There are about a thousand seismic events a day around the world, but in this instance there appears to be a correlation.”
“I assume the seismic readings could be registering an underwater explosion,” Pitt said.
“Absolutely. About six hundred to eight hundred pounds of TNT could produce an equivalent reading. Dr. McCammon showed me similar readings from known land-based mining operations.”
“That’s another shred of evidence that someone is blasting open the thermal vents,” Pitt said.
“There are a limited number of underwater mining systems in operation,” Gunn said, “but we haven’t tracked one to the Caribbean yet. Most seem to be deployed in Indonesia.”
“Given the environmental damage they’re causing,” Pitt said, “it’s little wonder they are flying under the radar.”
“One more thing,” Gunn said. “You mentioned you were headed back to the site of the sunken drill ship?”
“That’s right. Al and I noticed some bottom tracks that matched with marks we found around the vents.”
“We checked that area for seismic events and found there was a small rattle in the region just four days ago,” Gunn said. “Your hunch may be a good one.”
“We’re nearly there, so we’ll know soon enough. Thanks, Rudi.”
Gunn nodded and his image vanished from the monitor. Pitt turned to Giordino seated next to him. “Is the Starfish prepped for business? I’d like to start with another look at those tracks we saw near the Alta.”
“Standing by and ready to go.”
Twilight had settled over the ocean when the Sargasso Sea arrived at the spot of the Alta disaster. The surface waters were surprisingly crowded. Less than a half mile away, the lights of another vessel could be seen, standing on station. A second vessel appeared to be just east of it.
Pitt turned to the research ship’s captain. “Do we have identification of the vessels?”
The captain peered into a large radarscope, which typically provided a neighboring vessel’s name with its location and heading via a satellite tracking system called AIS. He looked up at Pitt and shook his head. “No identification is registering. They must have their AIS systems turned off.”
Pitt nodded. “Try them on the radio and advise them we will be deploying a submersible in the area of the wreck.”
The captain hailed the nearby ships but received only radio silence. “Do you want to wait and deploy in the morning?”
“No, we’ll go as soon as you are on station. After all, it’s always dark on the bottom.”
Thirty minutes later, Pitt headed to the stern deck cradle of the Starfish but was stopped along the way.
“Mr. Pitt?”
Pitt turned to find Kamala Bhatt stepping out of a side lab carrying a binder. “We just pulled a water sample when the ship stopped. I ran a quick test to check for methyl mercury.”
“What did you find?”
Pitt didn’t have to ask, he could see the answer in her eyes.
“The numbers are off the charts.”
37
Clad in a blue jumpsuit, Pitt crawled through the hatch of the deepwater submersible. Squirming into the pilot’s seat, he was surprised to find his daughter at the copilot’s station. “You nudge Al out of riding shotgun?” he asked.
“Why should he have all the fun?” she replied. “Of course, it will cost me a box of cigars when we make port. On top of that, I had to tell Dirk that you weren’t deploying for another hour to get him out of the way.”
“What kind of a daughter do I have?”
She smiled. “One who likes to get wet.”
They completed a predive checklist, then radioed the bridge that they were ready to deploy. Giordino activated a crane that lowered the Starfish into the water. With lights ablaze, the submersible sank slowly beneath the surface.
Pitt eyed his daughter as she reviewed the readouts on the console and radioed the ship that they were proceeding to descend.
“I don’t think we’ve taken a ride together,” he said, “since I taught you how to double-clutch my ’33 Packard.”
“Thank goodness submersibles don’t come with clutches.” She shook her head at the memory. “My left leg was sore for a week.”
When the bottom came into view, Pitt adjusted the ballast and engaged the thrusters.
“Is the wreck south of us?” she asked.
“Unless it crawled away. Maybe we can spot it on the sonar. Al said he configured a new system on the Starfish.”
Summer reached to an overhead panel and triggered a handful of switches, beating her father to the punch. “It’s a forward-looking, multibeam system with a range of three hundred meters,” she said. “Dirk and I tested it in the Mediterranean last month and it worked quite well.”
A small monitor began showing a multicolored image of the seabed in front of them. Summer adjusted the sonar’s frequency to increase the range.
Pitt shook his head. “I knew I’ve been spending too much time in Washington.”
He adjusted the thrusters and sent the submersible skimming over the seafloor. As they traveled south, a dark smudge appeared at the edge of the monitor. A minute later, the Alta rose up before them. Her bow was crushed from colliding with the seafloor while her topsides were charred from fire.
“Al and I saw the tracks off her opposite side,” Pitt said as he guided the submersible down the length of the wreck.
“She sank due to the fire?” Summer asked.
“An explosion in the forward fuel bunker sent her to the bottom. There’s a mystery as to what, or who, set it off.”
He slowed the Starfish as they approached a hole in the lower hull a few feet back from the bow.
“Pretty sizable blast,” Summer said. “Internal or external?”
“Interesting question. I’m sure the insurer will be asking the same.”
He maneuvered the submersible around the bow and across an undulating stretch of sand. The Starfish’s lights soon illuminated the set of tracks Pitt had seen on the earlier dive.
“Do they look like the same tracks you saw by the thermal vents?” Summer asked.
“They do. Let’s see where they lead.”
Pitt accelerated forward, gliding over the tracks while startling an occasional deepwater fish.
Summer watched the sonar monitor. “Multiple targets directly ahead.”
“I see them,” Pitt said. He wasn’t looking at the sonar but at a sprinkling of lights that pierced the darkness ahead.
The seafloor gradually descended and Pitt could see that the lights were centered at the base of a bowl-shaped crater. Two large vehicles came into view, both brightly illuminated. Each was creeping across the seabed, emitting large clouds of silt out their back ends. They were deep-sea mining vehicles, operated from the surface via thick, black power cables.
“Those things are massive,” Summer said, “as large as a Greyhound bus.”
“At least we caught them in the act,” Pitt said. “Now we can find out who’s causing all the damage.”