Poseidon's Arrow

forward. They traveled only a short distance before a large white object appeared to their left. Pitt swung the submersible to port and closed on the sunken boat.

In its underwater world, the Cuttlefish appeared like a lost alien. Still pristine and gleaming under the submersible’s lights, it appeared in stark contrast to the dark, lifeless bottom. Pitt brought the submersible in tight, slowly circling the boat’s perimeter. Sitting perfectly upright, she showed no signs of major damage.

“I think she might be breached underneath,” Pitt said, noticing a hairline crack in the hull.

“We’ll see when we raise her,” Giordino replied. “Looks like there’ll be no problem sliding under a pair of slings fore and aft. We should be able to get her up in a jiffy.”

Pitt guided the submersible to the Cuttlefish’s stern, then ascended to peer over the side.

Ann gasped. Wedged against the transom was the body of a man. His pale skin was bloated and shredded in spots where sea creatures had fed on the flesh. A small school of rockfish floated above his face, nibbling at his features.

“Joe Eberson?” Pitt asked in a low tone.

Ann nodded, then averted her eyes.

Pitt took a closer look. Monofilament line was tangled around Eberson’s feet and ankles. The line had looped around a deck cleat, securing the body to the boat when it sank. No wounds or burn marks were readily apparent on the DARPA scientist, but then Pitt saw Eberson’s hands.

They were bloated to nearly double their normal size, the skin discolored with charcoal blotches. It was just as Pitt had seen in Chile.

Like the dead crewman on the Tasmanian Star, Joe Eberson had died a horrific and unexplained death.

12

IT TOOK TWO MORE DIVES FOR THE SUBMERSIBLE TO remove Eberson’s body. A large canvas tarp, hastily sewn into an oversized body bag, was carried to the sunken boat. Using a pair of articulated arms that protruded from the base of the submersible, Pitt slid the bag over Eberson’s head and torso. The monofilament line was cut and the bag brought gently to the surface. Ann insisted on remaining aboard the submersible during the gruesome business of removing and transporting Eberson to the Drake. Once back on deck, Pitt and Giordino set about laying out the slings they would use to raise the Cuttlefish. Soon a decrepit-looking barge with a massive crane arrived at the worksite. Gunn had found the barge in San Diego Harbor, where it was used to support municipal dredging operations. Pitt returned the wave of a friendly-faced man with a gray beard, who was steering the powered barge from a small pilothouse.

Ann joined the two men on deck after she and Gunn briefly examined the body.

“Is that your man?” Giordino asked.

Ann nodded. “We found a waterlogged wallet in his pocket that confirmed as much. We’ll have to leave it to the coroner for a definitive ID and cause of death.”

“A week underwater won’t make that an easy job,” Pitt said.

“At least it appears that his death was accidental. Perhaps they had trouble with the boat and simply drowned.”

Pitt kept silent about Eberson’s hands as he locked one of the slings into the submersible’s steel claws.

Ann observed his work. “Is there much danger of damaging the boat when it’s lifted?”

“We can’t really tell the extent of any structural damage, so the answer is yes. There’s a chance she could collapse on us—but I suspect she’ll pop up without a hitch.”

“Just in case,” Ann said, “I’d like to examine the deck and interior before you make the attempt.”

“We’re about set to make the next dive, so hop aboard.”

The Cuttlefish came into view a short time later, somewhat less menacing without Joe Eberson’s body aboard. Pitt hovered the submersible just above the rear deck, then slowly rotated it to let the exterior floodlights expose the sunken craft.

“Stop!” Ann cried, pointing out the view port. “That box, there.”

Pitt froze the controls, allowing them to study an oblong box strapped to the starboard bulwark.

“Something of importance?” Pitt asked.

“Might be, judging by the padlock.” She was angry with herself for not spotting the box earlier. “Let’s take it up.”

“It looks pretty secure where it is,” Giordino said.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to risk damaging it while lifting the boat.”

Pitt shrugged. “Suits me, but we’ve got to empty our hands first.”

He rotated the submersible’s manipulator arms, showing Ann the sling they contained. He maneuvered away from the boat, dropped the sling in the sand, and stretched it around the vessel’s bow. He grabbed one end and pulled it under the hull as far as it would go, then raised the looped end and deposited it on the cabin roof. He then repeated the process with the sling’s opposite end. Piloting the submersible above the rear deck, he set about extricating the hardened plastic box. With some effort, he loosened the straps with one of the manipulator claws until the box fell free. Clutching a handle with one claw, he worked the second arm beneath the box as a cradle. Giordino purged seawater from the ballast tanks, and the submersible floated to the surface.

Gunn was waiting for them at the Drake’s rail and pulled the submersible aboard. “How goes the initial lasso?” he asked as they climbed out.

Giordino smiled. “As easy as roping a baby calf.”

“The stern will be a bit harder,” Pitt said. “We’ll have to dig some to get the sling under her.”

Gunn noticed the long box held by the manipulator arms. “So, you brought me a present?”

“That would be Miss Bennett’s.” Giordino raised his brows to warn Gunn to keep his hands off.

As Giordino removed the box from the steel arms and set it on a protected section of the deck, Ann followed his every move. Gunn helped Pitt secure the second sling, then mounted a thick section of PVC pipe with an attached hose to the forward ballast relief valve.

“How’re your battery reserves holding up?” Gunn asked.

“If we can get this second sling on without too much trouble, we should have enough juice for one more dive to attach the lift cable.”

“I’ll tell the barge operator to stand by.”

Pitt and Giordino were lowered into the ocean, this time without Ann. Once they reached the seafloor, Pitt proceeded to the boat’s stern and set the submersible down adjacent to the port quarter. Using the manipulator arms, he set down the sling and grabbed the PVC pipe, which he inserted into the sand along the boat’s seam.

“Ready for suction.”

“At your pleasure.” Giordino released a small stream of compressed air from the forward ballast tank, which fed through the flexible hose and into the lower third of the PVC pipe. Air bubbles sailed up the pipe and out the open end, expanding as they rose and generating suction at the bottom end of the pipe. The soft sand beneath the boat began swirling up the pipe, disgorging in a brown cloud behind the submersible that dissipated with the current. It took just a few minutes to clear a large enough gap beneath the boat’s stern quarter to insert the sling.

Giordino killed the air release, and they moved to the opposite side of the boat and repeated the process. Then they pulled the sling under the exposed corners and gathered the free ends above the cabin. As Pitt held them in place, Giordino retrieved a heavy D ring and snapped the four ringed ends of both slings into it. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked the manipulator claws to clasp the last ring in place. Now they just needed to attach a lift cable from the barge’s crane to the D ring and it could hoist away.

“Performed with the delicate hands of a surgeon,” Giordino said, securing the manipulator arms.

Pitt glanced at his partner’s meaty paws and shook his head. “A surgeon who moonlights as a butcher, perhaps. Nicely done, all the same.”