“I can’t say,” Pitt admitted. “Something happened up there. Some kind of immense turbulence. We’ve had no time to investigate and don’t have any hard answers.”
“Surely you felt the same shock wave that damaged our submersible.”
“This facility sits in a protected valley off the fracture zone, thirty kilometers away from where we found you and the sunken ship. What was left of any shock wave passed over us. All we experienced was a mild rush of current and a sediment storm as the bottom was stirred into what is known on dry land as a blizzard condition.”
Stacy gave Pitt an angry look indeed. “Do you intend to keep us prisoners?”
“Not exactly the word I had in mind. But since this is a highly classified project I must ask you to accept our hospitality a bit longer.”
“What do you call ‘a bit longer’?” Salazar asked warily.
Pitt gave the small Mexican a sardonic stare. “We’re not scheduled to return topside for another sixty days.”
There was silence. Plunkett looked from Salazar to Stacy to Pitt. “Bloody hell!” he snapped bitterly. “You can’t hold us here two months.”
“My wife,” groaned Salazar. “She’ll think I’m dead.”
“I have a daughter,” said Stacy, quickly subdued.
“Bear with me,” Pitt said quietly. “I realize I seem like a heartless tyrant, but your presence has put me in a difficult position. When we have a better grip on what happened on the surface, and I talk with my superiors, we might work something out.”
Pitt paused as he spotted Keith Harris, the project’s seismologist, standing in the doorway nodding for Pitt to talk outside the room.
Pitt excused himself and approached Harris. He immediately saw the look of concern in Harris’ eyes.
“Problem?” he asked tersely.
Harris spoke through a great gray beard that matched his hair. “That disturbance has triggered a growing number of shocks in the seabed. So far, most all are small and shallow. We can’t actually feel them yet. But their intensity and strength are growing.”
“How do you read it?”
“We’re sitting on a fault that’s unstable as hell,” Harris went on. “It’s also volcanic. Crustal strain energy is being released at a rate I’ve never experienced. I’m afraid we could be looking at a major earthquake of a six- point-five magnitude.”
“We’d never survive,” Pitt said stonily. “One crack in one of our domes, and the water pressure will flatten the entire base like leas under a sledgehammer.”
“I get the same picture,” said Harris dismally.
“How long have we got?”
“No way to predict these things with any certainty. I realize it’s not much comfort, and I’m only guessing, but judging from the rate of build I’d guess maybe twelve hours.”
“Time enough to evacuate.”
“I could be wrong,” Harris came back hesitantly. “If we actually experience initial shock waves, the big quake might he only minutes behind. On the other hand, the shocks could taper off and stop just as easily.”
He’d no sooner gotten the words out when they both felt a slight tremor beneath their feet and the coffee cups on the dining table began to clatter in their saucers.
Pitt stared at Harris, and his lips pulled into a tense grin. “It seems that time is not on our side.”
9
THE TREMORS INCREASED with terrifying swiftness. A distant rumbling seemed to move closer. Then came sharp thumping sounds as small rocks tumbled down the canyon slopes and struck against the suboceanic buildings. Everyone kept glancing up at the great arched roof of the equipment chamber, fearful of an avalanche breaching the walls. One tiny opening, and the water would burst inside with the shattering power of a thousand cannons.
All was calm, no panic. Except for the clothes they wore, nothing was carried but the computer records of the project. Eight minutes was all it took for the crew to assemble and ready the deep-sea vehicles for boarding.
Pitt had known instantly that a few must die. The two manned submersibles were each designed to carry a maximum of six people. Seven might be crammed on board for a total of fourteen—the exact number of the project team—but certainly no more. Now they were burdened with the unplanned presence of the crewmen from
The shocks were coming stronger and closer together now. Pitt saw no chance of a sub reaching the surface, unloading survivors, and returning in time to rescue those left behind. The round trip took no less than four hours. The suboceanic structures were slowly weakening under the increasing shocks, and it was only a question of minutes before they would give way and be crushed by the onslaught of the sea.
Giordino read the dire signs in the fixed expression on Pitt’s face. “We’ll have to make two trips. Better I wait for the next—”
“Sorry, old pal,” Pitt cut him off. “You pilot the first sub. I’ll follow in the second. Get to the surface, unload your passengers into inflatable rafts, and dive like hell for those who must stay behind.”
“No way I can make it back in time,” Giordino said tautly.
“Think of a better way?”
Giordino shook his head in defeat. “Who gets the short end of the stick?”
“The British survey team.”
Giordino stiffened. “No call for volunteers? Not like you to leave a woman.”
“I have to place our own people first,” Pitt answered coldly.
Giordino shrugged, disapproval in his face. “We save them and then sign their death warrants.”
A long, shuddering vibration shook the seabed, chased by a deep, menacing rumble. Ten seconds. Pitt stared down at his wristwatch. The shock lasted ten seconds. Then all was silent and still again, deathly silent.
Giordino stared blankly for an instant into the eyes of his friend. Not the slightest fear showed. Pitt seemed incredibly indifferent. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Pitt was lying. There was never any intention to pilot the second sub. Pitt was set on being the last man out.
It was too late now, too late for arguments, no time for drawnout goodbyes. Pitt grabbed Giordino by the arm and half pushed, half heaved the tough little Italian through the hatch of the first submersible.
“You should be just in time to greet the admiral,” he said. “Give him my best.”
Giordino didn’t hear him. Pitt’s voice was drowned out by falling rock that smashed against the dome and reverberated all around them. Then Pitt slammed the hatch shut and was gone.
The six big men stuffed inside seemed to fill every square centimeter of the interior. They said nothing, avoiding each other’s stares. Then, as if all eyes were following a thrown football in the last seconds of a game, they watched expectantly as Giordino weaved like an eel through their packed bodies into the pilot’s seat.
He swiftly switched on the electric motors that ran the submersible over rails into the air lock. He rushed through the checklist and had just programmed the computer when the massive interior door closed and water began surging through special restriction valves from the ice-cold sea outside. The instant the lock was filled and equalized with the immense water pressure, the computer automatically opened the exterior door. Then Giordino took over manual control, engaged the thrusters to maximum power, and drove the sub toward the waves far above.
While Giordino and his passengers were in the lock, Pitt quickly turned his attention to the boarding of the second submersible. He ordered the NUMA team women to enter first. Then he silently nodded for Stacy to follow.
She hesitated at the hatch opening, shot him a strained, questioning look. She was standing quite still as though stunned by what was happening around her.
“Are you going to die because I took your place?” she asked softly.
Pitt flashed a madcap smile. “Keep a date open for rum collins at sunset on the lanai of the Halekalani Hotel in Honolulu.”
