Pulaski and his buddy got real agitated. They started to jabber over some diagrams of the wreck that they had with them.'
'In Russian.'
'Sounded like it. Apparently, they'd had us cut through the wrong spot. We tried two more times before they found what they wanted. It was a fairly big cabin filled with metal boxes the size of those old steamer trunks you see in antique shops.'
'How many boxes?'
'About a dozen, jumbled every which way. Pulaski told us to grab them with the NR-1's manipulator arm. We had a tough time moving them. They were obviously heavy and strained the manipulator to capacity. We pulled the boxes to the opening and called the surface ship and told them to lower some lines with hooks on the ends of them. We attached the lines, stood off and let the ship winch the stuff up with its superior lifting power.'
Austin, who had been trained in deepwater salvage, nodded. 'Exactly the way I would have handled it.'
'Captain Logan's idea.' Kreisman smirked with embarrassment. 'We were like the British soldiers in that movie, Bridge on the River Kwai. We really got into it. Professional pride, I guess.'
'Don't feel bad. They probably would have killed you if you hadn't done the job.'
'That's what the captain said. We worked round-the-clock shifts. There were a few of the hitches you'd expect with a job that complicated, but we got all the stuff they wanted off the ship.'
'Did you see what was in the steamer trunks?'
'That was a funny thing. They shoved us around the corner, but we could hear them prying the boxes open with a crowbar. They sounded pretty excited. Then there was this silence, and next we heard them yelling. It sounded like an argument. Then Pulaski appeared and started shouting at us in Russian, like whatever happened was our fault. He looked real angry, but I think he was a little scared.' Kreisman glanced around the room and got nods of agreement from the other crewmen.
'No indication what the dustup was all about?'
He shook his head. 'They put us below, and when they brought us on deck again it was night. The monster sub was back. There was a ship nearby, too. We couldn't see in the dark, but it sounded like a big one. They loaded us aboard the sub, except for the captain and pilot-same first-class accommodations. We traveled underwater, a shorter time than before. When we were allowed out, we were in a place as big as an airplane hangar.'
'That would be the sub pen. What happened to the NR-1?'
'We don't know. It was still tied up alongside the salvage vessel when we left. The captain and pilot are okay, I hope,' he said with consternation. 'Why would they keep us prisoner and let them go?'
'They may have further work for the NR-1 or simply want hostages. What happened next?'
'They put us in yet another bunk room. A real dump. We were there a couple of days. Bored as hell. The only excitement was what sounded like a big explosion from somewhere below.'
'They were sealing the entrance to the sub pen.'
'Why would they do that?'
'The base had been discovered, and they wanted to make sure no one would find the evidence. The big sub used in the hijack had served its purpose. I wouldn't be surprised if they planned to plug the surface entrance later. Maybe with you inside. What was the guard situation?'
'Same bunch who kept an eye on us on the salvage ship. Military types with automatic weapons. They gave us black bread and water, and locked us in. Next thing we know, these guys with the funny hats and the baggy pants showed up. The first guards were Girl Scouts compared to this gang. They beat up a couple of the guys just for chuckles, dragged us outside and herded us into that big field. You know the rest.'
Austin looked around the room. 'Any questions?'
'Did you get a glimpse of your GPS position when you were on the NR-1?' Gunn asked.
'They kept us away from the positioning gauges, then turned them off later so we couldn't see.'
'Damn shame,' Gunn said.
Laughter rippled around the room.
'Are we missing a joke?' Gunn said.
A slim blond-haired crewman in his midtwenties stood and identified himself as Seaman Ted McCormack. He passed a sheet of paper toward the table. 'These are the GPS coordinates for the wreck.'
'How can you be sure?' Gunn said, reading the figures.
McCormack held out his arm and displayed what looked like an overgrown digital wristwatch. 'My wife gave this to me. We got married just before I shipped out. She's got a chart back home so when I called her she could mark exactly where I was.'
'We used to kid Mac about being on a short leash,' Kreisman said. 'Not anymore.'
'When we were hijacked, I slid this thing up my arm and kept it covered under my sleeve,' McCormack said. 'They never frisked us. Figured we were harmless, I guess.'
The ProTek GPS watch was a miracle of miniaturization, said by its manufacturer to be the world's smallest GPS device. It could give the wearer his position anywhere on the planet within a few yards.
Austin grinned. 'Let's hear it for love.' He looked around the room. 'Now, to quote the immortal words of Porky Pig, 'That's all, folks.' Thanks for your help. And bon voyage.'
The NR-1 crew rose to their feet as one and stampeded out of the conference room like thirsty steers who'd smelled water. Austin turned to the NUMA team.
Paul flipped open his laptop computer and connected it to the modem that would allow files to be projected on a large screen at one end of the room. Gamay stood next to the projection screen with a laser pointer. Paul tapped a few keys, and a map of the kidney-shaped Black Sea and the surrounding land appeared.
'Welcome to the Black Sea, one of the most fascinating bodies of water in the world,' Gamay said, outlining the shores with the bright red dot. 'It's roughly six hundred thirty miles from east to west and three hundred thirty from north to south. It's only one hundred forty-four miles here at the 'waist,' where the Crimea sticks out. Despite its relatively small size, it's got a big bad reputation. The Greeks called it Axenos, which means 'inhospitable.' The medieval Turks were less diplomatic. They named it Karadenez. The 'Sea of Death.' '
'Catchy,' Zavala said. 'It has a certain poetic quality.'
'I can definitely see the chamber of commerce using that in a New York Times ad,' Austin agreed.
Gamay rolled her eyes. 'Are you two ever serious?'
'We try not to be,' Austin said. 'Sorry to interrupt, teacher. Please go on.'
'Thank you. Despite the bad press, the Black Sea gets a lot of visitors. Jason came this way in the original Argo to look for the Golden Fleece. The sea has been an important trade route and fishing ground for thousands of years. During the Ice Age, it was a big freshwater lake. Then around 6000 B.C., a natural land dam broke and the waters of the Mediterranean burst through. The sea level rose hundreds of feet.'
“Noah's flood,' Austin said.
'Some people think so. The people who lived around the lake fled for their lives.' Gamay smiled. 'I can't say whether they did it on an ark. The salt water effectively smothered the lake. River nutrients pouring into the sea have only made the situation worse.' She signaled to Paul, who projected a profile of the sea onto the screen.
'This gives you an idea of the incredible depth. A continental shelf that's probably the remnant of the old shoreline runs around the perimeter. It's the widest off the Ukraine, then it plunges down for seven thousand feet. The thin layer near the top is rich with life. But below the five-hundred-fifty-foot mark, there is no oxygen and the sea is lifeless. It's the biggest body of dead water in the world. Even worse, the depths are loaded with hydrogen sulfide. One breath of the stuff can kill you. If that mass of poison ever rose to the surface, it would release a cloud that would kill every living thing in and around the sea.'
'The Turks weren't kidding about the sea of death,' Zavala said.
Paul projected a map that had a dotted line running around the inner edge of the sea. 'Kreisman said the ship was found around the four-hundred-foot level. That would put it at the edge of the continental shelf. Any deeper and ship wouldn't be there. Wooden vessels are perfectly preserved in the depths, because there is no oxygen to sustain wood-boring worms, but the chemicals eat away at metal.'
'The ship would have been reduced to its basic molecules,' Austin said.
'That's right. That gorge he talked about is probably an extended riverbed. The continental shelf is smooth and gradually dips seaward, pretty much like the ensign's description. The decay from all those organisms has formed pockets of methane gas. Presumably, a diver could be insulated from that type of thing, but there might still be
