“I’ll take the bottle but not the bet. Someone wants to keep people out of here.”
“That’s obvious. How’s this buggy handling?”
“Getting into a little backwash from the water swishing out of the lagoon, but it’s still easier than driving on the Beltway,” Zavala said, referring to the highway that separates Washington from the rest of the country geographically and politically. “She handles like an-uh-oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Sonar is picking up multiple targets. Lots of them. About fifty yards dead ahead.”
Austin had been lulled into complacency by the tranquility of the trip. In his imagination he pictured a line of underwater guards waiting in ambush.
“Divers?”
“Sonar hits are too small. Little or no movement.”
Austin strained his eyes in an attempt to pierce the gauzy blue.
Thinking ahead, he said, “What’s the Brogan’s top speed if we have to get out of here in a hurry?”
“Seven knots, pedal to the metal. She was made more for vertical travel than horizontal, and we’re carrying a couple of hundred extra pounds of beef.”
“I’ll join Weight Watchers when we get back,” Austin said. “Move in real slow, but be prepared to make a dash for it.”
They crawled ahead at half speed. Within moments dozens of dark objects materialized, stretching from the surface to the bottom and rolling off both directions in a great wall.
Fish.
“Looks like a net,” Austin advised. “Stop before we get snagged.”
The Brogan slowed to a complete halt and hovered in place.
Austin ducked his head in reflex as a streamlined silhouette glided in from above and behind him. The shark was only there for an instant, long enough for Austin to see its round white eye and to estimate the hungry predator’s length at more than six feet. Its toothy jaws opened then clamped shut to grab half a struggling fish in one bite before disappearing from sight with a flick of its high tail fin.
Zavala had seen the same thing. “Kurt, are you okay?” he shouted.
Austin laughed. “Yeah. Don’t worry. That guy doesn’t want a tough old human to chew on when he’s got a whole seafood buffet.”
“Glad to hear you say that, because he invited some of his friends for dinner.”
Several more sharks swooped in, grabbed a bite, then, wary of the sub, quickly left. It was less a wild feeding frenzy than a gathering of discriminating gourmands picking from the choicest items on the menu. Hundreds of fish were caught in the-fine mesh. They came in all sizes, shapes, and species. Some, still alive, were making fruitless attempts to free themselves, only to attract the attention of the sharks. Others had only their heads left, and bones marked the remains of many more.
“No one has been tending the net,” Austin said.
“Maybe someone hung it here to keep nosy guys like us out.”
“I don’t think so,” Austin said after a moment’s reflection. “That net is made of monofilament. You could cut your way through it with a nail clipper. No electrical wiring, so it doesn’t seem to have an alarm signal attached.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Let’s think about it. Whatever, sir! that lagoon killed a pod of whales. The locals would begin asking questions if they started seeing hundreds of dead fish. The folks who bring you Baja Tortillas don’t like attention. So they stick the net here to keep the fish out and any dead ones in.”
“Makes sense,” Zavala agreed. “What next?”
“Keep on going.”
Zavala’s fingers danced over the computer screen that con trolled the sub’s functions. Two mechanical arms on the front of the Brogan unfolded and extended like a telescope to within inches of the net. The claws at the end of each arm grabbed the mesh and tore it open like an actor parting a curtain. Pieces of fish in various states of decomposition drifted off in every direction.
The job accomplished, Zavala brought the metal arms back to their rest position and increased throttle. With Austin still on the sub’s back, they plunged through the hole and into the la goon. The thirty-foot visibility was cut in half by thousands of tiny particles of seaweed that had washed into the cove to be shredded by the razor-sharp rocks. The sub slowed to a walk, Zavala feeling his way like a blind man with a white cane. They didn’t see the huge object until they were almost on top of it. Again the sub came to a stop.
“What is that thing?” Zavala asked.
The cathedral light filtering down from the surface illuminated an enormous structure. It was about three hundred feet wide, Austin estimated, and about thirty feet thick, tapered at the ends like a huge metal lens and resting on four thick metal legs. The legs were hidden by boxlike structures where they sank into the sea.
“It’s either a big metal spider or a sunken UFO,” Austin said in wonder. “In any case, let’s take a closer look.”
At Austin’s direction, Zavala steered the sub off at an angle and cruised along the perimeter as far as they could, then re traced their path and went along the other side. The structure was almost perfectly round except where it butted up close to the undersea cliffs.
“Hey, this is amazing! I’m getting high heat readings.”
“I can feel the heat through my wet suit. Someone has cranked up the BTUs.”
“The instruments indicate that it’s coming from the pillars. Must be conduits as well as supports. Nothing dangerous. Yet.”
“Park this thing while I go in for a closer look.”
The mini dropped lightly to the bottom and rested on its pontoons. Austin unhooked the harness and peeled off with instructions for Zavala to turn on the positioning strobe light in fifteen minutes.
Austin swam toward the disk, then over it. Except for a circular skylight the odd structure was fabricated of metal painted a dull green, which would have been difficult to see from the surface. He dropped down onto the dome itself and peered cautiously through the skylight.
Below was a network of pipes and machines. Men in white frocks walked about the well-lit cavernous space. Austin puzzled over the function of the machines, trying to put what he saw together with the hot water discharges, but came up with nothing. He undid a portable waterproof video camera from his belt and filmed the scene below. Satisfied with his work, he decided to get an overview. He rose off the disk and was panning the camera when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
He froze, floating above the structure. The egg-shaped elevator Zavala had described descended from the shimmering surface. It moved along its track and disappeared into a circular hatch that was opening on the roof of the underwater structure closest to the face of the cliff. Austin resumed his camera work only to be interrupted again, this time by Zavala.
“Better get back here pronto! The water temp readings are shooting up.”
There was no mistaking the urgency in Zavala’s voice. “On my way!”
Austin threshed the water with strong kicks of his powerful legs maintaining a rhythm that ate up the yards. Zavala wasn’t
kidding about the heat buildup. Austin was sweating under his wet suit. He vowed never to boil a lobster again. “Hurry,” Zavala said. “The temp is going off the tracks!”
The Brogan’s silvery beacon blinked in the gloom. Austin reached down and switched on a small strobe that hung from his buoyancy compensator. The Brogan moved in to meet him. The heat had become more intense. Austin grabbed onto the back of the moving sub and snapped his harness buckle in place. With Austin aboard, the Brogan quickly wheeled about and was headed for the mouth of the lagoon, motors whining at top speed. Zavala barked, “Something’s wrong, Kurt! I am detecting alarms inside the facility.” Moments later, Austin heard a loud, muffled whump. He turned to look over his shoulder just as the facility exploded in a fiery ball. The inferno instantly incinerated every living thing in the enclosed space. Superheated gas shot up pipes into the tortilla factory. Luckily, the factory was empty be cause it was Sunday. The Brogan wasn’t as fortunate. It was caught by the shock wave and tumbled end over end with Austin desperately clinging on.
Austin felt as if he had been kicked by a giant invisible mule. The harness straps let go, and he was flung
