collier's bow sliced into the boiler rooms below the waterline with a section of the second-class accommodations straight above.'

'You're suggesting that the Storstad obliterated Shields' cabin?'

'We have to consider the worst possibility.' Heidi spread a copy of the Empress of Ireland's plans over the charts. She pointed a pencil tip at a small circled area. 'Number forty-six was an outside starboard cabin. It was either damned close or directly in the middle of the impact point.'

'That could explain why Shields' body was never found.'

'He was probably crushed to death in his sleep.'

'What did you mean by 'lousy luck' when I gave you the wreck's angle?'

'A forty- five-degree list to starboard would put cabin forty six in the riverbed,' Heidi replied. 'The interior must be buried in silt.

'Back to square one. The silt would preserve the treaty's covering but make it almost impossible to find.'

Heidi sat silently watching Pitt as he slowly tapped his fingers on the table, his mind rummaging through the data laid before him. His deep green eyes took on a faraway look.

She reached over and touched his hand. 'What are you thinking about?'

'The Empress of Ireland,' Pitt said quietly. 'It's the ship the world forgot. A tomb of a thousand souls. God only knows what we'll find when we get inside her.'

'I hope you don't mind seeing me on such short notice,' said the President as he strode from the elevator.

'Not at all,' replied Sandecker without fanfare. 'Everything has been constructed. Please step this way.'

The President motioned his Secret Service men to wait by the elevator. Then he followed the admiral down a carpeted hallway to a large cedar double door. Sandecker opened it and stood aside.

'After you, Mr. President.'

The room was circular and the walls were covered by a dark purple fabric. There were no windows and the only piece of furniture was a large kidney-shaped table that stood in the center. Its surface was illuminated by blue and green overhead spotlights. The President approached and stared at a three-footlong object resting on a bed of fine-grained sand.

'So this is how it looks,' he said in a reverent tone.

'The grave of the Empress of Ireland,' Sandecker acknowledged. 'Our miniature craftsman worked from video pictures relayed by the Ocean Venturer.'

'Is that the salvage ship?' the President asked, pointing to another model that was suspended on a clear plastic plate about two feet above the Empress.

'Yes, the models are in exact proportion to each other. The distance between them represents the depth from the surface to the riverbed.'

The President studied the Empress model for several seconds. Then he shook his head in wonderment. 'The treaty is so small and the ship so large. Where do you begin to look?'

'Our researcher had a breakthrough on that score,' said Sandecker. 'She was able to pinpoint the location of Harvey Shields' cabin.' He motioned to an area amidships on the buried starboard hull. 'It lies somewhere about here. There is, unfortunately, a good possibility that the cabin was mangled in the collision with the coal collier.'

'How will you go about reaching the cabin?'

'After the crew conducts a survey of the interior of the ship by an unmanned remote search vehicle,' replied Sandecker, 'the salvage operation will start on the lifeboat deck and excavate downward to the target site.'

'It looks like they're going about it the hard way,' said the President. 'Me, I'd enter from outside the lower hull.'

'Easier said…... As near as we can figure, Shields' cabin lies under tons of silt. Take my word for it, Mr. President, dredging through river mud is a dangerous, exhausting, time-consuming procedure. By attacking from inside the ship the men will have a firm platform from which to work, and most important, they'll be able to orient the exact direction of their penetration from the shipbuilder's plans at any time during the operation.'

'You've made your case,' the President acquiesced.

Sandecker went on: 'We're relying on four different systems to tunnel through the guts of the ship. One is the derrick you see on the Ocean Venturer. Designed for a lifting load of fifty tons, it will remove the heavier debris. Second, a two-man submersible with mechanical arms will function as an all-purpose back up unit.'

The President picked up a detailed miniature and studied it. 'I take it this represents the submersible?'

Sandecker nodded. 'The Sappho I. It was one of four deepwater recovery vehicles used on the Titanic project last year.'

'I didn't mean to interrupt. Please continue.'

'The third system is the keystone of the operation,' said Sandecker. He held up a doll-like figure that resembled a mechanical polar bear with portholes in a bulbous head. 'An articulated, deepwater atmospheric diving system, more commonly called a JIM suit. It is constructed of magnesium and fiberglass, and a man inside it can work at tremendous depths for hours at a time while eliminating the need for decompression. Two of these suits will enable six men to work on the wreck around the clock.'

'Looks heavy and cumbersome.'

'In air, with an operator inside, it weighs eleven hundred pounds. Under water, only about sixty. It's surprisingly agile. You might say it puts hiking on the seafloor in a class with hiking on the Sahara.'

The President took the figure from Sandecker's offered hand and moved the tiny articulated arms and legs. 'It also makes aqualung divers obsolete.'

'Not entirely,' answered Sandecker. 'A diver with three dimensional mobility is still the backbone of any salvage operation. The fourth and final system is called saturation diving.' He gestured at a model in the form of a cylindrical tank. 'A team of divers will live in this pressurized chamber while breathing a mixture of helium and oxygen. This prevents the narcotic effects of inhaling nitrogen under pressure. The chamber permits men to work underwater for long stretches of time without the danger of lung gases dissolving into the bloodstream, forming bubbles and causing the bends. Also, they don't have to decompress until the job is finished.'

The President fell silent. By education and occupation he was an attorney, a precise and analytical man-and yet scientific data was beyond him. He did not wish to appear stupid in front of the admiral. He chose his words carefully.

'Surely your people don't intend to literally claw a path through an acre of steel.'

'No, there is a better method.'

'Like explosives perhaps?'

'Too risky.' Sandecker replied matter-of-factly. 'The steel in the wreck has been under attack by corrosive elements for seventy-five years. It has become porous and its tensile strength is greatly reduced. A charge in the wrong place or one too strong, and the whole ship could collapse in on itself. No, we'll cut our way through.'

'With acetylene cutting torches, then.'

'With pyroxone.'

'Never heard of it.'

'A pliable incendiary substance that can burn under water at an incredibly high temperature for pre controlled lengths of time. Once pyroxone is molded against the surface to be separated, it is ignited by an electronic signal. At three thousand degrees Celsius it will melt any barrier in its way, including rock.'

'It's hard to imagine.'

'If I can answer any more questions.'

The President made a disparaging gesture. 'No, I'm satisfied. You and your people are doing a remarkable job.'

'If we don't come up with the treaty, you'll know we did all that was technically possible.'

'I gather you're not too hopeful.'

'Frankly, Mr. President, I think we have about as much chance as a titmouse in a buzzard's beak.'

'What are your feelings concerning the treaty on the Manhattan Limited?'

'I'll save any comment until we find the train.'

'At least I know your position,' the President said, smiling.

Вы читаете Clive Cussler
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