Trojan Odyssey

denuded their countryside of forested growth to make shacks and burn as firewood. Their buildings, run-down from neglect, offered them little protection, and nearly three thousand died before Hurricane Lizzie crossed the island and swept into open water again.

'Shame on you, Captain,' Pitt said, laughing.

Barnum looked at him quizzically, so mentally and physically exhausted he could barely mutter, 'What's that you say?'

'You're the only one of your crew not wearing a life jacket.'

He looked down at his unhindered oil slickers and smiled. 'I guess I got too carried away by the excitement to think of putting one on.' He turned and faced forward and spoke through his headset. 'Mr. Maverick.'

'Sir?'

'The ship is yours. You have control.'

'Aye, Captain, the bridge has command.'

Barnum turned to Pitt and Giordino. 'Well, gentlemen, you saved a lot of lives today. That was a brave thing you did, pulling those cable lines over to Sprite.'

Both Pitt and Giordino looked genuinely embarrassed.

Then Pitt grinned and said dryly, 'It was nothing, really. Just another one of our many accomplishments.'

Barnum wasn't fooled by the sarcastic wit. He knew both men well enough to know that they would go to their graves in silence before they ever boasted of what they did this day. 'You can make light of the magnitude of your actions if you wish, but I for one think you did a damn fine job. Now, enough talk. Let's go up to the pilothouse and get out of the wet. I could use a cup of coffee.'

'Got anything stronger?' asked Giordino.

'I think I can accommodate you. I picked up a bottle of rum for my brother-in-law when we were last in port.'

Pitt looked at him. 'When did you get married?'

Barnum didn't answer, merely smiled and began walking toward the ladder to the bridge.

Before he took a well-deserved rest, Pitt stepped into the communications room and asked Jar to call young Dirk and Summer. After repeated attempts, Jar looked up and shook his head. 'Sorry, Mr. Pitt. They don't respond.'

'I don't like the sound of that,' Pitt said pensively. 'Could be any number of minor problems,' Jar said optimistically. 'The storm probably damaged their antennas.'

'Let's hope that's all it is.'

Pitt walked down a passageway to Barnum's cabin. He and Giordino were sitting at a table enjoying a glass of Gosling's Rum.

'I can't raise Pisces,' said Pitt.

Barnum and Giordino exchanged concerned glances. Suddenly the happy mood faded. Then Giordino reassured Pitt.

'The habitat is built like a tank. Joe Zavala and I designed her. We built in every possible safety device. No way her hull could be punctured. Not at fifty feet below the storm's surface. Not when we built her to reach a depth of five hundred.'

'You're forgetting the hundred-foot waves,' said Pitt. 'Pisces might have sat high and dry during the passing of a trough, but then she could have been smashed off her mounts by a solid wall of water into exposed rock amid the coral. An impact that strong could easily have shattered her view port.'

'Possible,' Giordino admitted, 'but not likely. I specified a reinforced plastic for the view port that could repel a mortar shell.'

Barnum's phone buzzed and he took the call from Jar. He rang off and sat down. 'We just heard from the captain of one of the Ocean Wanderer's tugs. They left port and should arrive on station in another hour and a half.'

Pitt stepped to the chart table and picked up a pair of dividers. He measured the distance between their current position and the X marked on the chart that depicted Pisces. 'An hour and a half for the tugs,' he said thoughtfully. 'Another half hour to release the mooring cables and be on our way. Then two hours, maybe less at full speed, to the habitat. Slightly more than four hours to reach the site. I pray to God the kids are all right.'

'You sound like a distressed father whose daughter is out after midnight,' said Giordino, trying to ease Pitt's fears.

'I must agree,' added Barnum. 'The coral reef would have protected them from the worst of the storm.'

Pitt wasn't fully convinced. He began to pace the deck of the pilothouse. 'You may both be right,' he said quietly. 'But the next few hours are going to be the longest of my life.'

Summer reclined on the mattress from her bunk that she had laid on the angled wall of the habitat. Her breath was shallow as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. She made no attempt at exertion in an effort to conserve as much air as possible. She could not help staring out the view port at the brightly colored fish that returned after the turbulence and darted around the habitat, gazing curiously at the creatures inside. She could not help but wonder if this was to be her final vision before death took her by asphyxiation.

Dirk was trying every imaginable scenario for escape. Nothing panned out. Using the remaining air tank to reach the surface was not a practical idea. Even if he could somehow break the main portal, which was doubtful even with a sledgehammer, the water pressure at one hundred and twenty feet was sixty pounds per square inch. It would explode into the interior of the habitat with the force of a cannon blast and assault their bodies with deadly results.

'How much air do we have left?' asked Summer softly.

Dirk looked at the array of gauges. 'Two hours, maybe a few minutes more.'

'What happened to Sea Sprite? Why hasn't Paul come looking for us?'

'The ship is probably out there right now,' said Dirk without conviction. 'They're searching, but just haven't found us in the crevasse yet.'

'Do you think they were lost in the hurricane?'

'Not the Sprite,' said Dirk in a comforting tone. 'No hurricane ever born could send her to the bottom.'

They went silent as Dirk turned his attention to repairing the smashed underwater radio transmitter in a futile attempt to get it operational again. There was nothing frenzied about the manner in which he began reassembling the damaged connections. He moved with a steady purpose, coldly concentrating on his work. There was no further talk as they conserved their remaining air, relying on the strength they drew from each other.

It seemed a lifetime passed as the next two hours dragged on endlessly. Above, they could see the sun had returned to sparkle the sea that brushed restlessly over Navidad Bank. Despite Dirk's obstinacy he simply could not repair their communications equipment. Finally, he was forced to give up in defeat.

He felt his breathing become more labored. For the hundredth time he scanned the gauges registering the remaining air in the undamaged tanks. All needles stood fixed on zero. Dirk moved over and gently shook Summer, who had drifted off into a light sleep brought on by the diminishing oxygen left inside Pisces.

'Wake up, sis.'

Her gray eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him with a calm serenity that raised a quick flare of fraternal love within him that was classic among twins.

'Wake up, sleepyhead. We have to start breathing from the dive tank.' He placed the tank between them and passed the mouthpiece of the regulator to her. 'Ladies first.'

Summer was achingly aware that she and Dirk were facing a situation they could not influence. Helplessness was alien to her. She had always maintained a measure of control throughout her life. This time she was totally powerless and it was pushing her into despondency.

Dirk, on the other hand, was more frustrated than helpless. He felt as though the Fates were undermining his every effort to escape their prison and eventual execution. He kept thinking there had to be a way out before they took their final breath, but he met a dead end with every plan he conceived.