Dirk Pitt 1 - Pacific Vortex

"No, a fracture zone is a crack in the earth, a seam that allows movement during ocean spreading. There are hundreds of them between here and the California coast"

"I see what you mean by the depth. According to the chart, the seabed should be over fifteen thousand feet deep hereabouts." Stanley underlined the nearest depth reading to their position.

"It's possible that we're near a seamount," Pitt said.

"The bottom is rising on our port side," Boland said quietly. "Two hundred fifty feet in one mile. Nothing strange about that One of the smaller seamounts might do it"

Pitt shook his head. "Except that none show on the chart."

"Probably hasn't been sounded and marked yet."

"Yet, if the slope is still rising, the summit can't be too far away. It's your ship, Paul, but I think an investigation is in order. The Starbuck's message capsule was sent by persons unknown after she disappeared. It stands to reason that she's resting in a depth that's within reach."

Boland tiredly rubbed his eyes. "Sounds logical, but this can't be the only uncharted seamount in the area. There might be fifty more."

"We can't afford to overlook even one."

Boland looked thoughtful. Then he straightened and faced Stanley. "Lieutenant, program a course toward the high ground. Feed the sensor readings into the computer and place the helm on centralized control. Keep me informed of any sudden changes of depth. I'll be in my cabin." He turned to Pitt "Now then, how about that drink?"

The TV camera sled and sonar sensors were reeled out on tow lines, the centralized control system was engaged on the computer, and within ten minutes the Martha Ann was underway on a slow, wide swing to the east The helmsman on the bridge stood idly smoking in the doorway of the wheelhouse, the spokes of the wheel slowly turning back and forth as if guided by an invisible hand. The ship pushed through the swells, her crew busy scanning and checking a paneled sea of wavering dials, colored lights, and monitors.

Pitt and Boland remained in the captain's cabin through the midafternoon, the time pa.s.sing with agonizing slowness as the sonar sensors reported an ever-rising seafloor. One hour, two, then three. Pitt kept himself buried in reports and data on the Star-buck, while Boland concerned himself with salvage plans if and when the Martha Ann got lucky. Four-thirty in the afternoon. The idle conversation of the men on deck and down in the engine room turned inevitably to women; only the men in the detection room remained silent, intent on their monitors and instruments. Stanley's occasional "bottom still rising" over the intercom, kept a degree of normalcy about the ship. There was no more tedious routine than searching for a shipwreck.

Suddenly at five o'clock, Stanley's voice fairly burst from the speakers. "Bottom up nine hundred feet in the last half mile!"

Pitt stared at Boland. Without a word, they both jumped to their feet and hurried to the detection room. Stanley was bent over the chart table making notations. It's unbelievable, Skipper. I've never seen anything like it Here we are hundreds of miles from nowhere, and the seafloor has suddenly risen to only twelve hundred feet from the surface. And it's still coming."

"That's one h.e.l.l of a steep rise," Pitt said.

"Could be part of the Hawaiian Islands slope," Boland ventured.

"We're too far north. I'doubt if there's any connection. This baby stands all by herself."

"Eleven hundred feet," Stanley said loudly.

"Good Lord! It's got a rising gradient of one foot in height for every two in length," Pitt said softly.

Boland spoke barely above a whisper. "If it doesn't level off soon, we'll run aground." He spun around to face Stanley. "Disengage the computer. Return to manual."

Five seconds was all it took for Stanley to reply. "Running on manual, sir."

Boland picked up the intercom mike. "Bridge? Boland here. What do you see eight hundred yards dead ahead?"

A metallic voice came back over the speaker. "Nothing, sir. Horizon's clear."

"Any sign of white water?"

"None, Commander."

Pitt looked up at Boland. "Ask him for the color of the sea."

"Bridge. Any change in the color of the sea?"

There was a brief hesitation. "It's turning more of a green, sir, about five hundred yards off the port bow."

"Eight hundred and still rising," Stanley said.

"The plot thickens," Pitt said. "I expected a lighter blue as the summit neared the surface. Green indicates underwater vegetation. Mighty strange for sea plants to grow around here."

"Seaweed doesn't take kindly to coral?" Boland said questioningly.

"That, and the warmer temperatures common to this part of the ocean,"

"I've got a solid reading on the magnetometer." This from a blond, curly haired man. at a console.

"Where?" Boland demanded.

"Two hundred yards, bearing two hundred eighty degrees."

"Might be paydirt," Boland said elatedly.

"A second reading three hundred yards, bearing three hundred fifteen degrees. Another two contacts. G.o.d, they're all around us."

"Sounds like a bonanza," Pitt grinned.

"Stop all engines," Boland yelled into the intercom.

"The bottom contour is jumping off the readout sheet," Stanley said excitedly. "Four hundred fifty feet and she hasn't stopped yet."

Pitt peered at the TV monitors. Nothing showed on the screens yet, and nothing would, with visibility limited to a hundred feet. He took a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped his neck and face. He found himself wondering why he was sweating. The detection room was fully air-conditioned. He shoved the now damp handkerchief carelessly back into his pocket and aimed his eyes at the monitors.

The microphone was still in Boland's hand. He lifted it to his lips and Pitt could hear his voice echoing through the ship. "This is Boland. We've made a touchdown on the first pa.s.s. All indications are that we're over the graveyard of the Pacific Vortex. I want every man on full alert. We have no picture of the danger here, so we don't want to get caught with our defenses down. As a point of interest, we may well be the only ship on record ever to reach these waters in one piece."

Pitt's eyes never left the monitors. The bottom began showing as the momentum of the Martha Ann carried her forward. The diffused brilliance of the water when struck by the sun's rays, broke the surface light into thin beams of yellow shafts which reached downward, displaying an indistinct carpet of colors. A trigger fish was visible now, hanging motionless in the three-dimensional fluid, cautiously eyeing the huge shadow of the hull as it drifted overhead.

Boland placed his hand on the shoulder of the man seated at the magnetometer. "As we pa.s.s over the first of the wrecks, sing out a heading for the next one in line." He turned to Stanley. "Signal Lieutenant Harper in the engine room. Keep it down to bare steerageway."

The atmosphere of the detection room was tense. Two minutes pa.s.sed; two interminable minutes, while they waited for the dead and buried remains of a long-lost ship to come into view.

The seafloor could be clearly seen on the monitors now. The plant life was strange and lush when it should have been as barren as an underwater lunar landscape. There was no sign of coral, only wide frond kelp and delicately colored seaweed clung to a rocky, uneven bed, constantly changing tint in the tremulous light filtering down from the surface. Pitt was fascinated. It was like looking at a flourishing Oriental garden that had sunk beneath the sea.

A long-haired youngster who manned the sonar spoke with an utter lack of excitement. "Coming up on a wreck, Commander."