stairs.
“Not at all. We've just completed a seismic mapping project off Mindanao and are taking a break to test some equipment before heading up to Manila. Besides,” Stenseth said with a grin, “when my boss says, ”Stop the boat,“ I stop the boat.”
“Your boss?” Biazon inquired with a confused look.
“Yes,” Stenseth replied as they reached the bridge wing and he pulled open the side door. “He's traveling on board with us.”
Biazon stepped through the door and into the bridge, shivering involuntarily as a blast of refrigerated air struck his perspiration-soaked body. At the rear of the bridge, he noticed a tall, distinguished-looking man in shorts and a polo shirt bent over a chart table studying a map.
“Dr. Biazon, may I present the director of NUMA, Dirk Pitt,” Stenseth introduced. “Dirk, this is Dr. Raul Biazon, hazardous wastes manager with the Philippines Environmental Management Bureau.”
Biazon was shocked to find the head of a large government agency working at sea so far from Washington. But one look at Pitt and Biazon knew he wasn't the typical government administrator. Standing nearly a foot taller than his own five-foot-four frame, the NUMA chief carried a tan, lean, muscular body that showed few indications of having spent much time behind a desk. Though Biazon wouldn't know, the senior Pitt was nearly the spitting image of his son who carried the same name. The face was weathered and the ebony hair showed tinges of gray at the temples, but the opaline green eyes sparkled with life. They were eyes that had absorbed much in their day, Biazon gauged, reflecting an assorted mix of intelligence, mirth, and tenacity.
“Welcome aboard,” Pitt greeted warmly, shaking Biazon's hand with a firm grip. “My underwater technology director, Al Giordino,” he added, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward the far corner of the wheelhouse. Curled up asleep on a bench seat was a short, thick man with dark curly hair. A light snore drifted from the man's lips with each breath of air that exhaled from his barrel-shaped chest. His powerful build reminded Biazon of a rhinoceros.
“Al, come join the party,” Pitt yelled across the bridge.
Giordino pried his eyes open, then popped instantly awake. He quickly stood and joined the other men at the table, showing no signs of slumber.
“As I told the captain, I appreciate your offer of assistance,” Biazon said.
“The Philippine government has always been supportive of our research work in your country's waters,” Pitt replied. “When we received your radio call to help identify a toxic marine affliction, we were glad to help. Perhaps you can tell us a little more about the specifics of the outbreak.”
“A few weeks ago, our office was contacted by a resort hotel on anglao Island. The hotel's management was upset because a large quantity of dead fish were washing up on the guest beach.”
“I could see where that would tend to dampen the holiday makers' spirits,” Giordino grinned.
“Indeed,” Biazon replied sternly. “We began monitoring the shoreline and have witnessed the fish kill growing at an alarming rate. Dead marine life is washing ashore along a ten-kilometer stretch of beach now, and growing day by day. The resort owners are all up in arms, and we, of course, are concerned about potential damage to the coral reef.”
“Have you been able to diagnose what is killing the fish?” Stenseth asked.
“Not yet. Toxic poisoning is all we can infer. We have sent samples to our departmental lab in Cebu for analysis but are still awaiting the results.” The look on Biazon's face revealed his dissatisfaction with the snail- paced response from the agency lab.
“Any speculation as to the source?” Pitt asked.
Biazon shook his head. “We initially suspected industrial pollutants, which, regrettably, are an all too common source of environmental damage in my country. But my field team and I have scoured the impacted coastal region and failed to locate any heavy industrial businesses operating in the area. We also examined the coastline for obvious spillways or illegal dump sites but came up empty. It is my belief that the source of the kill originates at sea.”
“Perhaps a red tide?” Giordino said.
“We do experience toxic phytoplankton outbreaks in the Philippines,” Biazon said, “though they are typically seen during the warmer late summer months.”
“It might also be some covert offshore industrial dumping,” Pitt replied. “Where exactly is the impacted area, Dr. Biazon?”
Biazon glanced at the map, which showed Mindanao and the southern Philippine island groupings. “Off the province of Bohol,” he said, pointing to a large round island north of Mindanao. “Panglao is a small resort island located here, adjacent to the southwest coast. Its about fifty kilometers from our present position.”
“I can have us there in under two hours,” Stenseth said, eyeing the distance.
Pitt nodded toward the map. “We've got a ship full of scientists who can help find the answers. Bill, lay a course in to Panglao Island and we'll take a look.”
“Thank you,” a visibly relieved Biazon said.
“Doctor, perhaps you'd like a tour of the ship while we get under way?” Pitt offered.
“I'd like that very much.”
“Al, you care to join us?”
Giordino looked at his watch pensively. “No, thanks. Two hours will be just enough time for me to finish my project,” he replied, easing himself back down on the bench seat and drifting rapidly back to sleep.
The Mariana Explorer cruised easily through a flat sea and arrived at Panglao Island in just over ninety minutes. Pitt studied an electronic navigational map of the area that was displayed on a color monitor as Biazon denoted a rectangular area where the fish kill was occurring.
“Bill, the current runs east to west through here, which would suggest that the hot zone is located at the eastern end of Dr. Biazon's box. Why don't we start to the west and work our way east into the current, taking water samples at quarter-mile increments.”
Stenseth nodded. “I'll run a zigzag course, to see if we can gauge how far from shore the toxin is concentrated.”
“And let's deploy the side-scan sonar. Might as well see if there's any obvious man-made objects involved.”
Dr. Biazon watched with interest as a towed sonar fish was deployed off the stern, then the Mariana Explorer began following a dot-to-dot path laid out on the navigation screen. At periodic intervals, a team of marine biologists collected seawater samples from varying depths. As the ship moved to the next position, the collected samples were sent down to the shipboard laboratory for immediate analysis.
On the bridge, Giordino tracked the signals from the side-scan sonar. The electronic image of the shallow seafloor revealed an interweaving mix of flat sand bottom and craggy coral mounts as the ship sailed over the fringes of a coral reef. In a short time, his trained eyes had already discerned a ship's anchor and an outboard motor | lying beneath the well-traveled waters. As the monitor revealed each object, Giordino reached over and punched a mark button on the con| sole, which flagged the location for later assessment.
Pitt and Biazon stood nearby, admiring the tropical beaches of Panglao Island less than a half mile away. Pitt glanced down at the water alongside the ship, where he spotted a sea turtle and scores of dead fish floating belly- up.
“We've entered the toxic zone,” Pitt said. “We should know the results shortly.”
As the research vessel plowed west, the concentration of dead fish in the water increased, then gradually fell away until the blue sea around them grew empty again.
“We're a half mile beyond Dr. Biazon's grid,” Stenseth reported. “Judging by the water, it looks like we're well clear of the toxic zone.” “Agreed,” Pitt replied. “Let's stand by here until we see what kind of results the lab has found.”
As the ship ground to a halt and the sonar tow fish was retrieved, Pitt led Biazon down a level into a teak- paneled conference room, followed by Giordino and Stenseth. Biazon studied the portraits of several famous underwater explorers which lined one wall, recognizing the images of William Beebe, Sylvia Earle, and Don Walsh. As they were seated, a pair of marine biologists clad in the requisite white lab coats entered the conference room. A short, attractive female, her brunet hair tied back in a ponytail, walked to a suspended viewing screen at the front of the room, while her male assistant began typing commands into the computer-driven projection system.
