“Ah, I see. Well, I’m not too good at this crap, Penny. That’s why I have you.”
She smiled at him. The truth, of course, was that the bottom of the hole tested out almost exactly the same as the surface of the hole.
“How much longer is the testing going to go on?” Deride asked her.
“We’re close to the end of the blasting phase,” she said. “Four more to go.”
She dug through two of the stacks of paper before she found what she was looking for. He had completely messed up her paper organization, and probably, when she went to check on them, her files. He was better on a drilling rig or in an office making decisions. When he got his hands into areas he didn’t understand, chaos resulted.
“Here.” She handed him the revised blast schedule, which she had practically memorized.
Test Hole A:32° 39’ 26”N137° 32’ 16”WCompleted
Test Hole B:32° 45’ 15”N137° 50’ 34”WCompleted
Test Hole C:32° 52’ 42”N138° 8’ 23”WCompleted
Test Hole D:33° 14’ 51”N138° 37’ 16”WCompleted
Test Hole E:33° 27’ 23”N138° 52’ 21”WCompleted
Test Hole F:33° 39’ 48”N139° 9’ 57”WCompleted
Test Hole G:34° 1’ 54”N139° 36’ 17”WCompleted
Test Hole H:34° 25’ 19”N140° 1’ 3”WCompleted
Test Hole I:34° 50’ 2”N140° 21’ 2”WNov 20
Test Hole J:35° 21’ 13”N140° 45’ 16”WNov 21
Test Hole K:35° 50’ 2”N141° 2’ 7”WNov 22
Test Hole L:36° 17’ 52”N141° 16’ 31”WNov 23
Test Hole M:36° 58’ 12”N141° 28’ 10”WNov 24
“So,” he said, “four more to go after today.”
“That’s correct. We’ll be doing Test Hole J in the morning.”
“Well, that should get some people off our back, we get finished with the blasting.”
“Have you talked to Anthony?”
“Yes. There’s been no response from anyone relative to the court filings. And the injunction is a bit of a moot point, now, wouldn’t you say?”
She felt a tiny stab, a pinprick, to her heart. “I suppose so.”
“The most important thing, Anthony says, is that we had the injunction on record before Marine Visions barged in on our operation.”
Marine Visions?
She hadn’t been thinking in terms of the company as an entity, only of Dane Brande. There was every chance in the world that he hadn’t been piloting DepthFinder himself. It could have been anyone.
Perhaps Kaylene Thomas.
Penny Glenn felt much better.
Mark Jacobs had spent the morning on the flying bridge, alternating with Freelander, Lane, and Folger on the helm, staying close to the Orion. It was something of a relief to get away from Overton for awhile; he had been uncommunicative since returning from the research ship. He had told Jacobs he could read it after he had written it up.
And he had been banging away on a typewriter in the salon all morning.
About nine o’clock, the Orion had taken off like a bat out of hell, and Jacobs had engaged his own propellers, slammed the throttles to the forward stops, and pursued. He wasn’t alone, the American warships were right with them, as well as the tugboat that had shown yesterday.
It wasn’t raining anymore, but visibility was still limited to about a mile by fog and overcast, and the seas were running at around ten feet. Several times, he had lost sight of his quarry, panicked a little, then found her again.
A couple times, when he had gone below for coffee, Overton had complained about the stability of the yacht; he was having difficulty typing. At Jacob’s suggestion that he phone it in, he had bristled. This was his story, he was writing it his way, and he would fax it.
Freelander was at the helm now, and they were making small talk when the Orion suddenly cut power.
“Hey, Mark, back off,” he said.
Freelander eased off the throttles.
It appeared as if everyone on board the research ship was now on the deck. They were standing on all sides, and there were people on the bridge extensions as well as two standing atop the bridge, hanging onto antennas. They were all scanning the ocean in forward and to their sides. Many of the observers clutched binoculars to their eyes.
“Debbie,” he said, “go down and get Overton.”
A few minutes later, Overton climbed from the ladder hatch and said, “What’s going on?”
“You tell me.” Jacobs pointed toward the Orion.
“Jesus. They lost something.”
“The submersible,” Jacobs said.
“In these seas, she’s going to be awfully hard to spot,” Lane said.
“I’d guess they don’t have radio contact with the sub,” Jacobs said. “Mark, let’s go right and put on some power. Debbie, get everyone up here to help look.”
Before she had a chance to go below, the radio sounded off on channel nine.
“Orion, this is the California.”
A few seconds elapsed.
“California, Orion here. Captain Mel Sorenson.”
“Captain Sorenson, I am Captain Mabry Harris. We have your submersible on our radar. Your heading three-four-one, two-and-a-half miles.”
“Captain Harris, I am much obliged.”
“Is she in trouble?” Harris asked.
“We don’t know, Captain. We lost voice contact several hours ago.”
“We wish you well, and if you need assistance, call on this channel.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
The Orion got underway again.
“Hit it, Mark,” Jacobs said.
In the pitching of the sea, they were almost on top of the Orion, fifty yards off her starboard side, when they finally spotted the sub.
Freelander eased off the power as the research vessel closed on the submersible. Taking a look through the starboard windows, Jacobs saw that the Navy ship was still with them. A group of officers stood out on their port bridge wing, brandishing binoculars.
The sub disappeared, dropping low in a trough.
When she reappeared, riding the crest of a wave, there was a figure standing in the enclosure of the sail.
“That’s Brande,” Overton said.
Brande waved lazily at the Orion and gave a thumb’s-up signal.
The people crowding the deck cheered loud enough to be heard across the wind-swept gap between the vessels.
“What the hell is going on?” Jacobs asked Overton.
“It’s a long story. Come on downstairs and I’ll let you read it.”
“Below, Wilson.”
“What?”
“We go below, not downstairs.”
“Whatever.”
Angie poked her head through his open doorway.
“You find Unruh yet?” Hampstead asked.
“I’ve left messages everywhere, boss. He’s bound to run into one of them sometime.”
“Okay, go on home.”
“Night-night.”
Hampstead called Alicia and told her he would be late, then frustrated, he looked up the number in the government directory and called Pam Stroh at Justice.
She was in.
“Miss Stroh, I’m Avery Hampstead, in the Commerce Department.”
“Yes, Mr. Unruh has mentioned your name. What can I do for you, Mr. Hampstead?”
“I’ve tried to reach Carl, but in lieu of finding him, I thought I’d better call you. We’ve got a bit of a situation with Brande.”
“Describe it to me, please.”
Unruh had characterized her to Hampstead as a shaggy dog, but she sounded fairly alert to Hampstead. He gave her the gist of the report he had had from Brande.
“What? Are you saying they set off an atomic bomb on the DepthFinder?”