“Only if I get to drive,” Dirk grinned back.
Clad in aqua-colored NUMA jumpsuits, the two siblings threaded their way into the tiny chamber through a hatch in the rear. Though cramped inside, Dirk and Summer sat comfortably in a pair of padded captain's chairs, which faced out the front of the acrylic bubble. Dirk slipped on a communications headset and spoke to First Officer Ryan.
“This is Starfish,” he said, checking the system. “Ready when you are, Tim.”
“Prepare for deployment,” Ryan's voice rang back.
An overhead boom reeled up a thick cable attached to the submersible by a pair of eyelets, raising the underwater vessel straight into the air and suspending her three feet above the deck. As the Starfish hung floating in the air, Ryan pushed a button on a side console and the deck suddenly split open beneath the submersible, sliding on rollers to either side of the deck. Exposed beneath the dangling submersible was the pale green water of the East China Sea. Ryan hit another switch and a circular band of underwater floodlights burst on, outlining the perimeter of the large moon pool cut into the Sea Rover's rear hull section. A large meandering grouper was caught illuminated Dy the sudden flash of light and quickly bolted from beneath the odd hole in the ship's hull. The orange submersible was slowly dropped through the hole and into the water, the lifting cable released after Dirk confirmed that all systems were operational aboard the Starfish.
“Cable is released,” Ryan's voice announced over Dirk's headset. “You are free to swim. Happy hunting, guys.”
“Thanks for the drop,” Dirk answered. “I'll honk the horn when we get back from the store.”
Dirk tested the thrusters one last time as Summer opened a ballast tank, allowing a flood of salt water to fill the chamber. Negative buoyancy was quickly achieved and the submersible began slowly dropping into the depths.
The pale green water gradually dissolved to brown, then faded to an inky black as the Starfish sank deeper. Summer flicked on a switch and a powerful bank of xenon arc lights illuminated their path, though there was little to see in the murky water. Dependent on gravity to reach the bottom, it took about fifteen minutes to make the nearly thousand-foot descent to the seafloor. Despite the frigid water temperatures outside, the occupants soon became warm from the electronic equipment churning about them in the insulated acrylic and Summer finally turned on an air-conditioning unit to keep themselves cool. Attempting to make the time go faster, Dirk rehashed a few of Jack Dahlgren's stale jokes while Summer brought her brother up to date on the sea pollutant survey taken off Japan's eastern coast.
At nine hundred feet, Summer began tweaking the buoyancy level to slow their descent and avoid smacking hard on the bottom. Dirk noticed the water visibility had cleared, though the seas were devoid of much life at that depth. Gradually, through the murk, he eyed a familiar dark shape looming up beneath them. “There she is. We're right on her.”
The shadowy black superstructure of the I-411's conning tower reached out to them like a tiny skyscraper as the Starfish descended amidships of the giant submarine. Much like he had found with the I-403, Dirk observed that the I-411 was sitting upright on the bottom, tilted at just a fifteen-degree angle. Surface encrustation was much less severe than on the I-403 and the big sub looked as if she had been underwater only a few months, not years. Dirk activated the Starfish's thrusters and backed away slightly from the approaching vessel while Summer adjusted their buoyancy to remain neutral at 960 feet, just even with the submarine's deck.
“She's enormous!” Summer exclaimed as her eyes took in the sub's huge girth. Even with Starfish's bright lights, she could see only a portion of the entire vessel.
“Definitely not your run-of-the-mill World War Two U-boat,” he replied. “Let's see where she got hit.”
Maneuvering the thrusters, Dirk propelled the submersible along a path down the starboard flank of the submarine, gliding just a few feet above its rounded topsides. Circling around the stern, Summer pointed out the tips of the I-411's two giant bronze propellers poking out of the muddy bottom. Moving forward along the port side, they traveled about fifty feet before a huge gash appeared at the waterline.
“Torpedo hit number one,” Dirk called out, eyeing the fatal impact from one of the Swordfish's torpedoes. He positioned the Starfish so that its lights shined into the irregular opening. Inside, a circular mass of twisted and jagged metal shined back at them, like the open jaws of an iron-toothed shark. Turning and moving forward again, the submersible crept along the silent wreck another thirty feet before a second opening appeared.
“Torpedo hit number two,” Dirk said.
Unlike the first gash on the port flank, the second hole was oddly centered higher up, along the edge of the topside deck, almost as if the explosive force had been delivered from above.
“You're right, this must have been the second torpedo impact,” Summer speculated. “The stern must have already dropped under from the first hit, and the sub rolled back from the initial recoil when the second torpedo hit her here.”
“Pretty good firing from the Swordfrish. They must have caught her at night, while she was running on the surface.”
“Is that the aircraft hangar?” Summer asked, pointing to a large tubular appendage that ran lengthwise along the rear deck to the conning tower.
“Yes. Looks like it was blasted open in the explosion,” he said as they glided over toward the opening. A twenty-foot section of the ) hangar adjacent to the deck had simply disappeared in the carnage. Under the beam of the floodlights, they could see a three-bladed air| craft propeller mounted on the backside of the hangar wall as they floated outside peering in. Applying power to the thrusters, Dirk turned the vehicle and zoomed forward, gliding past the I-411's conning tower with its multiple gun platforms still in place. The Starfish proceeded down the forward deck before turning and hovering off the bow near one of the large diving planes, which sprouted off the submarine like a giant wing.
“That concludes the scenic portion of the tour,” Dirk said. “Let's see if we can find out what she carried.”
“We better check in with the gang upstairs first,” Summer said, slipping on her communications headset and pushing the transmit button.
“Sea Rover, this is Starfish. We've found the Easter Bunny and are proceeding to hunt for the eggs.”
“Roger,” Ryan's voice crackled back. “Be careful with the basket.”
“I think he's more concerned about his submersible than he is about us,” Dirk deadpanned.
“A typical man,” Summer mused, shaking her head. “Places emotional feelings on inanimate mechanical objects.”
“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Dirk replied facetiously.
As he spoke, he gently guided the Starfish above the submarine's bow section, studying the forward deck. After several minutes, he spotted what he was looking for.
“There's the forward hatch to the upper torpedo room. If they follow suit with the I-403, that's where the biological ordnance would have been loaded and stored.”
Dirk maneuvered the Starfish in front of the hatch before setting the submersible down onto the deck of the I-411 and killing the thrusters.
“How's your breaking and entering skills?” he asked of Summer.
Unlike on the I-403, the forward hatch was closed and battened tight by a flush-mounted wheel. Summer activated a joystick control hidden in the armrest of her chair and powered the hydraulics to the submersible's right retractable arm. As she manipulated the controls, the metal appendage sprang from the side of Starfish and extended forward in a clumsy stretch. Slowly she dropped the arm down toward the hatch, adjusting the toggle control with short flips to maneuver the device. With the precision of a surgeon, she opened the clawlike hand and dropped it down to the hatch, wedging the fingers into the open slots of the hatch wheel on the first attempt.
“Nicely done,” Dirk admired.
“Now, if she'll just open,” Summer replied. With the flick of a second toggle control, the articulated grip of the mechanical claw began to twist. Dirk and Summer both pressed their faces to the bubble window, intent on seeing the wheel turn. But the seal that had been locked for sixty years didn't budge. Summer tried toggling the grip back and forth a half-dozen more times but to no avail.
“So much for my hydraulic grip,” she finally muttered.
“Keep a hold on the wheel,” Dirk instructed. “We'll try a little leverage.”
In an instant, he powered up the thrusters and lifted the Starfish a few inches off the deck. With Summer
