Veyron took the logbooks, nodded at Sam, a gesture that he’d come to understand meant, I’ll talk to you later — I have a new toy to look at. Like many engineers Sam had met, Veyron had more interest in mechanical contraptions than people. However, Sam was starting to discover that there was a lot more to his engineer than an almost autistic obsession with machinery. It was a side of him that few on board the Maria Helena realized.
Sam made a mental note to catch up with him shortly.
Genevieve Callaghan approached with thick European hot chocolate. “Here, boss. I thought you might like one of these after your flight.”
“Thanks, Harry — you’re wonderful. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you,” he said, embracing her tightly and kissing each of her cheeks.
“I missed you too, handsome.” Her big brown eyes and long lashes, like those of a gazelle, greeted him with a look that appeared almost seductive with affection. Although, Sam knew that she, of all people on board, had no interest in him that way. “Of course, what you meant to say was that you missed my cooking!”
“That too.”
Genevieve was a kind of Jack of All Trades on board, who managed the kitchen with an ability bordering on divinity. She’d once trained under a Three Michelin Star chef, but that was where, much to her parent’s chagrin, her feminine attributes finished. Everyone on board called her Harry — after the violent cop, Harry Callaghan, AKA Dirty Harry — whom her personality and surname more accurately reflected. She was excellent at everything she did, an expert martial artist, athletic, and short-tempered as hell. For some reason that no one aboard had yet to determine, she also spoke perfect Russian.
Sam sat down with Matthew and opened his computer tablet.
Harry took the sign it was time to work. “Be sure to catch up soon, and tell me all about this beautiful girl I hear has stolen you.”
“I will. You can bet on it.”
Matthew smiled.
It wasn’t like him to pry into Sam’s personal business. “How was your sojourn in the Caribbean with that beautiful girl? What was her name, Aliena?”
“Aliana,” Sam corrected him. “And it was great. But, now I’m here again, and that means it’s time to get back to work and solve this disaster — before hurricane season really takes off and it becomes a problem for all of us.”
“Understood.”
Sam looked around the otherwise empty mission room and asked, “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Tom Bower.”
“He’s still below on a dive — should be up soon.”
“Good, get him back up here. I want him to bring me up to speed with our problem and what he’s done about it.” Sam looked at Matthew and said, “What have we got so far?”
Matthew gave a quick whistle, and a man monitoring the dive gave the signal for Tom to return to ship.
Matthew then turned on the overhead projector.
“As you know, summer can be a tough time for many species in the Gulf of Mexico, when the combination of nutrient-rich river runoff and warm temperatures can rob coastal bottom waters of oxygen. Where that happens, shrimp, fish, and other creatures can be forced to flee to fresher waters, leaving a so-called ‘Dead Zone’ behind.”
“I read the report. I’ve heard about them, but didn’t know a lot about those that affected the Gulf of Mexico. Here, the Dead Zones are caused by runoff from land rich in nutrients such as nitrogen and phosphorous. These elements aren't toxic, but they are potent fertilizers. In fact, in the Mississippi River, which drains about forty percent of the continental United States and most of its Midwestern farmland, agricultural fertilizers are the main source of these elements. Air pollution and urban development also increase nutrient runoff. When these nutrients find their way to the Gulf of Mexico they cause unnaturally large algal blooms. The algae then die and sink to the bottom, where they're decomposed by oxygen-consuming bacteria. During the warm summer months, when there is little mixing in the water column, the bottom water can stagnate and become hypoxic, or low in oxygen. If the hypoxia becomes severe enough, you have a Dead Zone.” Sam wasn’t reading from notes — he had a memory bordering on photographic. “So, what’s so different about it this time?”
“Well, I’ll show you. See here? This is a normal graph of a typical summer Dead Zone. See the purple markings? They represent the Dead Zone for last year.”
Sam followed the graph along the coastal region of up to two miles off shore from the numerous landfalls, which make up the Gulf of Mexico, “And this year?”
“Check this out…”
In front of him, the projector displayed an image of the entire Gulf of Mexico covered in red.
There must be a mistake. If this is right, the world is in for serious trouble!
“Are you sure that’s right?”
“It’s right — and to make matters worse, normally this only affects ground feeding fish, such as shrimp, crustaceans, etc. But this year we’re talking about widespread devastation of sea life.”
“And at the current rate, if we can’t stop the progression?”
“The world’s oceans will be rendered inhospitable to all but the most resilient of sea creatures within two to three years.”
“Do we have any idea what’s causing their demise?”
“Yes, and no.” Matthew looked worried.
Sam knew why. He was a kind boss, but he wanted answers, and had little time for people sitting on the fence. “All right, what do we know?”
“Analysis of the dead sea creatures show that they have been affected with hydrogen cyanide.”
“The Mexican silver mines?” Sam realized instantly.
“Probably, but it will be hard to prove.”
“Why? Where’s the primary source of the contamination?”
“Tom’s managed to trace the source of their original contamination to a location below us — about three hundred feet to be exact.”
“Someone’s been dumping something they shouldn’t?”
“That’s what we thought at first, but not necessarily. It looks like something way more interesting than that.”
“What is it?”
“No, Tom would kill me if I took away all his thunder,” Matthew complained.
“Forget Tom. I’m the one paying for this project.”
“Who wants to forget me?” Tom said as he walked in, his dive suit still dripping wet.
“I do, you tall bastard.”
Tom was stoked to see Sam again, and his big, cheeky grin beamed from ear to ear while he shook Sam’s hand. It was solid. Not the type of handshake where a man tries to impress another with the strength of his grip, but instead, simply the firm handshake of a man whose hands were as strong as a vice.
It had only been a week, but the project just didn’t feel right without Sam. And then, after his most recent dive, he couldn’t believe his buddy missed it. Sam was going to be pissed when he discovered this was more than a simple case of someone dumping something they shouldn’t in an environment that couldn’t deal with it.
His wetsuit was still dripping, having come straight up from the ship’s moon pool. When his boss said come now, he didn’t wait to get dry.
“Good to see you, Sam,” he said, giving his friend a giant bear hug.
“You too, Tom. Now, what have you got for me?”
He expected such a reply from Sam — the man was focused when he started a new project.
“You’re not going to believe what we’ve found.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, so the cause of this year’s apocalyptic Dead Zone was hydrogen cyanide…”