“Because they are blowing up thermal vents in order to mine deposits of uranium buried within them.”
Ramsey looked at Pitt like he’d just stepped off a flying saucer. “Uranium? You’re mad. The ship was chartered to mine gold off Nicaragua.”
Pitt shook his head. “Perhaps they started with gold, but they’ve graduated to uranium in the Caribbean. They have a stockpile down the coast that was being loaded aboard an outbound freighter just today.”
“That can’t be. I know uranium deposits coexist with other minerals, but I’ve never heard of it being commercially mined undersea. Why would they be doing so?”
“You’d have to talk to a Cuban named Juan Díaz.”
“Díaz? He took possession of the ship on behalf of a Panamanian venture. You know him?”
“He seems to be running the show. And he’s the one holding my daughter.”
Ramsey could see from the intense look in Pitt’s eyes that he was telling the truth. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a shaken voice.
“That’s not the worst of it. High-grade uranium ore apparently exists in the deep core of the thermal vents in this region. Somewhere within the layers of sediment is a concentration of mercury, probably laid down during the Triassic Period. Díaz and his Cuban Army pals have blasted open several vents in the Caribbean — and one nearby — that have released large plumes of mercury,” said Pitt. “As we speak, they are preparing to blast a pair of very large thermal vents in the middle of the Florida Straits. If they succeed, the mercury plumes will likely expand to the Gulf Stream. It will be the environmental disaster of the century.”
Ramsey sank into his chair with the look of a shattered soul. “I’ve built my career on prudent mining, using the least invasive environmental techniques possible. I would have never provided my equipment and expertise had I known that’s what they were up to.”
He shook his head slowly. “I should have known something wasn’t right. They were extremely secretive about their mining plans, which isn’t unusual when gold is at stake. But everything was handled as a military operation. They insisted on crewing my ship with their own men. I never imagined they could create such harm in the few months that they’ve leased the Sea Raker.”
“There’s also a high likelihood they were responsible for sinking the drill ship Alta.”
Ramsey stared at the plush carpet, overwhelmed by what he’d been told. “You say they are about to blast more vents? What can we do to stop them?”
“Two things,” Pitt said. “Get this yacht to the Sea Raker as fast as you can and find a way to sneak me aboard. In the meantime, please show me to a radio. I’d like to call my ship.”
65
The Domingo 2 hydrothermal vent emerged like a shattered kaleidoscope amid a barren desert. At a depth of twelve hundred feet, the surrounding seabed was a cold, muddy plain devoid of life and color.
The Sea Raker’s auxiliary cutter had excavated a linear trench near the vent’s core as a place to deposit the bulk explosives. At the trench’s epicenter, a narrow, deeper cut had been made for inserting the high explosives.
A suspended platform, filled with the crated bags of ANFO explosives, was lowered nearby. The bulk cutter, using its heavy manipulator arm, clasped one of the crates and transported it to the trench. In a few hours, more than five thousand pounds of explosives had been laid in the heart of the thermal vent.
On the surface, Díaz’s crew boat approached the marionette-like operation performed by the Sea Raker. Summer noted the bright deck lights were reflecting off the water as dusk settled over a calm sea. The barge, still laden with explosives for the second thermal vent, was tied alongside the mining ship’s port flank. As they approached the barge, they saw the auxiliary cutter machine, finished with its seafloor ditch digging, being hoisted back aboard.
The crew boat tied up aft of the barge, and Díaz climbed a lowered ladder. Summer remained seated in the passenger bay as two soldiers boarded the boat. One took up position in the pilothouse while the other grabbed her elbow and escorted her aboard the Sea Raker.
A mining engineer greeted Díaz, then led them to a large prefabricated building on the center deck. Summer felt like she had entered a smaller version of NASA’s fabled Houston Control Center. Multiple rows of manned computer stations filled the room, all facing a giant video screen. Each workstation controlled an element of the subsea mining operation, with the collector, cutter machines, and ROVs operated by toggled panels and joysticks. Video feeds from each underwater device fed into the multiscreen video board.
Summer observed the live underwater footage from two ROVs, while the two raised cutter machines showed deck shots from their multiple cameras.
Díaz took a seat at a leather armchair in front of the video screen while Summer was escorted to a nearby bench.
The mining engineer stood in front and spoke to Díaz. “We have completed trenching and placement of the base explosives. We are well positioned at the vent, so the deployment went quicker than expected. As you probably saw, both the bulk cutter and the auxiliary cutter have been returned to the ship.”
Díaz pointed to the screen. “But the high explosives have not yet been set?”
One of the cameras on the bulk cutter showed several crewmen coiling a long, tube-shaped charge about the deck.
“The bulk cutter still needs to place the TNT sleeve and detonator into the base of the thermal fissure. Then we’ll be able to fire. We should be ready to lower the charge and the cutter in about ten minutes.”
“Very well. I’ll watch the operations from here.”
The engineer nodded as a nearby phone rang. He answered and passed the receiver to Díaz. “The captain has a question for you from the bridge.”
As Díaz took the call, the engineer stepped to one of the work consoles and conversed with its operator.
Summer was alert to it all. Since entering the control center, she had seen that the operators were too engaged in their duties to pay her any attention. With Díaz and the engineer temporarily occupied, she looked about for her guard. He was leaning against the wall at the side of the room, watching the underwater video feeds.
Summer quietly got up, stepped to a door on the opposite side, and slipped out, only to come face-to-face with another guard, his hand on the bolt of his rifle. He backed her into the control room, shoving her with his gun muzzle digging into her stomach.
Díaz witnessed the act and marched over with a shake of his head.
“A valiant, if fruitless, effort,” he said.
“Why don’t you just let me go? I can’t halt your undersea destruction now.”
“You don’t care for our hospitality? Then have it your way. You can indeed depart the Sea Raker.” He sneered. “Only it won’t be aboard my crew boat.”
66
Pounding the seas at almost thirty knots, Ramsey’s Gold Digger located the Sea Raker on its radar in less than two hours. Pitt spent the intervening time trying to hail the Sargasso Sea but was met with only silence. Even a last-minute call to Rudi Gunn at NUMA headquarters went unanswered.
The last vestiges of daylight streaked the western horizon as the Sea Raker loomed ahead. Ramsey radioed the mining vessel, then turned to Pitt.
“They were quite surprised and very unhappy to hear from me. They tried to beg off a visit since they are conducting operations. They didn’t explain what they are doing here.” He rubbed his chin. “I said, being just as surprised finding them in the Caribbean, that it was just a brief social call and I certainly wasn’t here for an inspection, so they agreed. They’ll be rather shocked if you’re part of the boarding party.”