Deep Fire Rising

replied.

Mercer lost all interest in what Dr. Marie had been telling him. “What happened?” His voice cracked in the sudden silence.

“Unknown. A civilian research ship heard the mayday and is just reaching the last known position. Preliminary intel from Pacific Command reports the ship hit an iceberg, but they were in tropical waters. I’m betting she was rammed by a submarine coming to the surface or maybe a large cargo container that had washed off a freighter. Her last radio call said the ocean had caught fire. I think a container carrying volatile materials split open when the ship hit it and ignited somehow.”

How do I convince you that the world is about to end? Again Mercer heard Tisa in his head. Obviously me just blurting it out won’t be enough, so I need to show you some kind of proof. And the only way to make that work is if I gain your trust through incremental steps. Are you with me so far?

This had been late in their conversation. At the time, Mercer still wasn’t sure what to make of the beguiling woman. She seemed rational and totally illogical at the same time. He supposed many mentally ill people sounded the same way. She was trying to convince him, yes, but she didn’t sound as if her world revolved around convincing others of what she believed. Conspiracy addicts needed affirmation to keep themselves from thinking they were nuts. That’s why they fed off each other so much and why the Internet was full of chat rooms concerning the paranormal. But Tisa wasn’t like that. She wanted Mercer to believe her, not because she couldn’t bear him disagreeing. More, it was like she wanted his help and the only way to gain it was to draw him into her world.

Tisa must have known this when she said something unusual was going to happen in the Pacific. By doling out information like breadcrumbs she could convince him to follow the trail to Santorini, where presumably he’d learn another truth, perhaps what she meant by “the world was about to end.” One thing was clear. He had to be involved with the search for the ship if he was to learn anything further.

“There’s another possibility,” he said slowly, looking Ira in the eye. “I held back some information about my escape from the Luxor Hotel. Something rather critical.”

It took fifteen minutes to fill in the details of how Tisa had rescued him, how she appeared to be on the run from her own organization and how she believed the end of the world was coming.

“I’m just as skeptical as you, Ira,” Mercer concluded. “I wouldn’t have even brought this up if too many coincidences hadn’t already fallen into place.” He ticked them off with his fingers. “The cave-in that killed most of your first work crew, which I suspect was Donny Randall’s handiwork, considering his attempt on my life. The fact Tisa knew when the sub re — what was your word? — refocused at Area 51. The gunmen at my hotel. Tisa’s well- timed rescue. And now a navy ship sinks in the Pacific under unusual circumstances.

“There are two ways to read this. Either someone on Dr. Marie’s staff leaked information about their experiment and it somehow fell into the hands of a group that wants to stop it for some reason…” Mercer trailed off.

“Or?” Marie and Lasko said as one.

“Or they detected the sub refocusing, knew the seismic disturbance wasn’t natural and sent a team to investigate. Judging by their organizational sophistication and logistical support, I don’t think this is a new group formed as a result of your work here. They’ve been around for a while, only we’ve never done anything that put us in their sights.”

“Why should my experiment ‘put us in their sights,’ as you say?”

Mercer leaned back in his chair. The wet suit was drying and his entire body itched. “I suspect the answer lies out there where the ship sank.”

“And in Greece?” Ira asked.

Mercer thought about it, considered the pattern Tisa had set out for him. “No, I think there I’m only going to find more questions.”

“You’re still going.” Ira made it sound like an order.

Mercer turned it into a bargaining chip. “Only if you get me to the Pacific to see for myself what happened to the navy’s ship.”

Ira didn’t hesitate. This was exactly the kind of mission he’d expected Mercer to tackle as special science advisor. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“What happens here?” Mercer asked.

“We’ll finish pumping out the mine so Dr. Marie’s people can get to the sub. I guess then they all head back to their drawing boards and the navy writes off a hundred million dollar mistake.”

ABOARD THE SEA SURVEYOR II THE PACIFIC

In the twenty hours since his conversation with Ira, Mercer bounced from Area 51 to Vegas for a commercial flight to Hawaii. From there he hitched a ride on an air force cargo plane headed to Guam. He was met there by navy aircraft carrying crew and mail to the carrier USS Ronald Reagan. An aged Sea King helicopter finished the last leg of his journey to the research vessel. Lasko’s name and position carried considerable weight with the military and the transfers had gone off without a hitch.

From the air, the Sea Surveyor looked like any other scientific vessel, with her superstructure hunched over her bows, a long open deck at the rear and an A-frame derrick hanging from her stern. Two boxes the size of shipping containers ate some of her deck space. Mercer figured these housed science labs and the topside support facilities for the bright yellow submersible that sat below the crane. The ship’s helipad jutted awkwardly from the back of the superstructure two levels above the main deck and required all the pilot’s concentration to land. He held the chopper just long enough for Mercer to dodge out of the aircraft and catch his bag and some other gear from a crewman.

Gale-force rotor wash whipped Mercer as the long-range chopper eased away from the pad and thundered off to rejoin the Reagan. A moment later a man in his late forties appeared from a nearby door. He wore a white tropical-weight uniform with short sleeves and gold epaulets at the shoulder. He had a slender build and wasn’t more than five feet seven, but his graying hair and the steadiness of his gaze gave him a strong physical presence.

“Philip Mercer?” he called a bit suspiciously, as if he was expecting someone else choppering out to the middle of the ocean. “I’m Jon Carlyle, third officer. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you.” They shook hands and Carlyle led him into the superstructure. The air-conditioning beat back the humidity and heat.

“We were startled by the radio message this morning from the navy that they were flying you out. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting a civilian. You are a civilian, right?”

Mercer was still getting comfortable with using his title and the startled looks it invoked, but he needed to establish his credentials early. “Actually, I’m special science advisor to the president.”

“Of the United States?” Carlyle was suitably impressed.

“That’s the man. I’m here under the authority of Admiral Ira Lasko, the deputy national security advisor. Not only were you at the right place and time to monitor the sinking of the USS Smithback, but until the navy can get a salvage ship from San Diego, you’re also the only one with the proper equipment to investigate the wreckage.”

“Ah, we weren’t told you’d commandeer our sub for a survey.”

“Your captain — Jacobi, I think his name is — should be on the ship-to-shore right now getting orders to assist me in any way. And in case you’re wondering, the government’s picking up the tab.”

“What exactly are we supposed to do?”

“You know the circumstances surrounding the Smithback’s sinking?”

“I was on watch when her distress call came through,” Carlyle replied. “She said she hit an iceberg. At first I thought it was a crank, but now, well, I have a theory.”

Mercer waited.

“It was the last words, about the sea catching fire. I think she hit a container that fell off a freighter and