“What kind of signal?”
“A series of tones, something nonrandom. It only lasted a couple of seconds. If I’d have to guess it was an acoustical activation code sent to switch that thing on and release the gas. Someone was trying to sink us.”
Or sabotage the dive, Mercer thought. “Could you tell where the signal came from?”
“It didn’t last long enough to triangulate. The way sound travels through water, it could have been anywhere. Our radar coverage only goes out eighteen miles. There could be a ship sitting twenty miles away listening to everything we said when you were on the bottom. They could have transmitted an activation code at the critical moment.”
Mercer scanned the horizon again, an unconscious check to see if they were being watched. Of course, there was nothing out there but what his imagination conjured. Tisa had said their organization was huge, numbering in the millions, though many didn’t know they even belonged. It was a secret core that ran things, and within the inner circle was a faction that had gone rogue. Up until this moment he wasn’t sure if he believed her. As far as he had seen, her group was just a handful of gunmen who had no compunction about murder. She could belong to any number of fringe groups with a couple of guns and an excess of hatred. But now he had proof of something else. And not just the tower itself, which was an expensive undertaking beyond the scope of all but the largest multinational companies. No, what he saw as proof was the activation signal sent from another ship. That meant they had access to an oceangoing vessel of some kind and a sophisticated network of informants to let them know when to power up the machinery.
Tisa had sought him out and sent him here so he could see for himself what her group was capable of, and what presumably she was trying to stop. Mercer tried to put his mind around what exactly that was. He couldn’t. She’d made the tower, which must have cost tens of millions of dollars, sound like a small part of what her people could accomplish. This was a mere demonstration. He felt adrift. If this was a sideshow, how much bigger could their main goal be?
“Are you okay?” Jim asked. “You went pale there for a minute.”
“I’m fine,” Mercer said slowly, unable to convince himself or McKenzie that he was okay.
“Something big’s happening, isn’t it? Like maybe what Spirit was talking about. A government conspiracy?”
Mercer tried to shake off the feeling of being overwhelmed. “This is one time I think Uncle Sam’s innocent, but we are in the middle of something big.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Get pissed.” Jim gave him an uncomprehending look. “You don’t need to know any of the details, but since this whole thing started I’ve been a step behind, reacting rather than taking the initiative. It’s like I’m being led around like a bull with a ring through its nose. I get shown clues that only lead to more questions. I’ve got to find a way of taking charge.”
McKenzie still didn’t understand what Mercer was saying, not that it mattered. Mercer knew his feelings. Ira had withheld truths from him and so had Tisa, both using him for their own purposes. He’d forced Lasko to finally come clean, and when he reached Greece, he’d have to do the same with Miss Nguyen.
HONOLULU, HAWAII
A light drizzle fell across the tarmac as Mercer stepped from the air force cargo jet with two dozen rowdy marines ready for their first night on American soil in six months. They’d been part of a counterterrorism team assigned to the Philippine Islands. Mercer had gotten a lift on their flight to Hawaii with a little help from Ira Lasko.
Standing at the bottom of the ramp, Mercer paused as the men filed past, a few he’d spoken with on the plane wishing him well, the rest eager to use up everything in their wallets. A flight-line technician wearing a shiny rain slicker and commercial-quality ear protectors approached.
“Dr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Could you come with me, please? Admiral Lasko is waiting for you.”
Mercer was led to an open-topped utility tractor. The technician hopped behind the wheel, leaving Mercer a tiny perch on the back of the vehicle. He held his bag on his lap as the tractor lurched across the parking apron. Hangars and a control tower lined one side of the vast expanse, while the rest was lost in the darkness.
Twisting so he could see where they were headed, he spotted a Gulfstream jet like the one Ira had procured to fetch him to Area 51. Sheets of rain poured from the aircraft’s swept wing, but the boarding hatch was open and inviting light spilled onto the asphalt. The tractor shuddered to a stop next to the jet. Over the whine of the idling engines, Mercer heard the line worker tell him this was his plane. Mercer jumped from the tractor, gave the man a wave and hauled himself up the boarding steps. Ira was waiting for him just inside the luxury cabin.
Mercer had expected to meet with the admiral for a debrief in Washington. He was grateful for the private plane after eleven hours cooped up with a bunch of rambunctious marines, but he would have preferred to sleep through the flight. He’d spent an additional three days on the
“Almost a week at sea and no tan?” the admiral teased.
Mercer was pale, drawn and exhausted. “Damn ship was dry. I’ve lost my alcohol flush.”
“I made sure this bird’s stocked. First round’s on me.” They shook hands and Ira became serious. “How’d it go? Really?”
Mercer tossed his bag into an overhead and dropped into a plush leather captain’s chair. Ira had the ingredients for a vodka gimlet waiting on the table between them. Mercer mixed them each a drink, took a quick appreciative sip, then downed it. “The more I think about this situation, the worse it gets. I can’t figure out exactly who we’re up against. In Vegas they were a handful of armed goons and a woman with a strange story to tell. Now I see them as a damned army with some serious funding. There was a naval architect on board the
“Any ideas about what it’s designed to do?”
The aircraft commander came over the intercom to tell his two passengers to strap in, they had clearance to take off. The jet engines’ pitch became a shriek as they rolled across the taxiways. Mercer waited until the sleek aircraft had lifted from the ground before answering Ira’s question.
“Obviously it was sited over a previously undiscovered methane hydrate deposit.”
“You were rather circumspect when you called me from the ship,” Lasko interrupted. “What is this stuff? I’ve never heard of it.”
“First, the reason I couldn’t give you any details is that I think that someone was monitoring the
“I can check with the navy. They might have had that area under surveillance by then. If there was a ship close enough to eavesdrop, maybe they have a few pictures of it.”
“Good. Now methane hydrate is nothing less than the future of fossil fuel energy on the planet. It’s basically ice that has trapped methane gas within its crystal lattice. I’m not an expert, but I’ve read there’s more than enough energy locked in these benthic hydrocarbon deposits to fuel our power needs for centuries. In fact, hydrate reserves are larger than coal, oil, and natural gas combined. The best part is the lion’s share is found right off our own coastlines. The major oil companies are scrambling to develop the technology to tap these reserves, but it’s still years away.
“The problem is that these deposits can be unstable. An undersea landslide or an earthquake can cause billions of tons of methane hydrate to vaporize and erupt. That’s what makes exploiting it so difficult. A drill rig could upset the hydrates’ equilibrium and cause an eruption that destroys the rig and releases tons of greenhouse gas. Environmentalists are currently doing everything in their power to prevent further exploration.”
