And finally the surface wave monitor indicated decreasing surface activity. Almost as quickly as it came, the storm left, and the chaotic surface settled into a series of long, shallow rollers heading into the Gulf of Shelikhov.
Josh relieved me before we got underway. That was just as well, because I didn't look forward to the slow back-and-forth search across the featureless bottom, looking for the small humps that indicated the prize pieces we were looking for.
If the Skipper and I were right, in about ten hours we could expect visitors, so the sooner we found the debris field, the better.
There really is nothing to tell about the search: one leg after the other with a couple of hundred yards between runs. Six hours into the run we hit pay dirt on Larry's watch. Sonar pulled us into the middle of a debris field with literally thousands of hits. It was time.
Larry put us on the bottom right at the southern edge of the field. Ten minutes later, Bill, Ski, and Harry were clambering out of the Can. Their umbilicals were twice as long as normal, giving them a much larger range, but also making them more vulnerable to any currents. They met at the Aquarium with Devon and the Basketball looking over their shoulders. Well, looking was a bit of an exaggeration, actually, given the turbidity following the storm. Visibility was a couple of feet at the most, so the Basketball concentrated on Harry.
Harry retrieved three mesh bags from the Aquarium, each with its own lift bag. From my perspective, I watched Harry pass each bag into the swirling turbidity. It was almost ghostly. The only way I knew anyone else was there was the chatter from each diver. Ham allocated the divers into three sections, Harry would search out from the port beam halfway to the bow, while Bill took the starboard beam forward, and Ski operated off the bow. They were to fan out, moving left to right and then back, picking up anything of interest.
Devon followed Ski for a couple of minutes, and then traced his umbilical back and picked up Harry. Devon was moving back along Harry's umbilical when Sonar called Control and Dive Control simultaneously.
"This is Sonar — stop everything right now!" It was Chief Barkley, and he sounded worried.
"Take over, Ham," I said, and left for Control. ""Have the divers hold their positions," I added over my shoulder.
I arrived at Control with the Skipper. Chief Barkley was waiting.
"What is it, Chief?" the Skipper asked.
"There's something out there, Sir, in front of us. I'm taking about mechanical sounds that don't belong there."
"The Whiskey?" I asked.
"No Sir. No submarine sounds… I don't really know what it is, but it's nearby."
"Go to ultra-quiet, Nav," the Skipper ordered. Then he turned to me.
"Mac, have your divers proceed with caution."
"Yes Sir," I said, and returned to Dive Control.
I explained to the guys that something was out there, but we had no idea what it was, except that it was making mechanical noises. I told the guys to continue their survey, and to continue collecting pieces — no reason not to take treasure just because something was out there somewhere.
The survey was a slow process, since visibility was so bad. Every once in a while, however, the water would clear up for a time — a few seconds to a couple of minutes. As the divers progressed, they were reporting an increasing number of the clear moments. I also noticed that general visibility from the Basketball was improving as well.
Suddenly Ski piped up with, "Whoa… we got company, guys!"
"Green Diver," that was Ski, "say again."
"We got company. I saw a brief flash of a brightly-lighted diving bell suspended over the bottom. I didn't see no divers, but what the fuck they doin' here?"
"Green Diver," I wanted to be sure I had heard correctly, "say again, say again."
"Dive Control, Green Diver, I saw a bell, a diving bell maybe ten feet off the bottom; lights all around, clear as anything. Now it's gone, visibility closed back up."
"How far away, Green Diver?" I asked.
"Hundred, two-hundred feet — hard to tell. Nothing for reference."
"Extinguish your light and proceed with caution, Green Diver," I said. "Red Diver, extinguish your light and swing to your right; Blue Diver, extinguish your light and swing to your left. Both of you join Green Diver. Once you locate him, report to me, and keep together."
On the sound-powered phone I told Devon to douse the light on the Basketball and get about twenty-five feet off the bottom, and then to proceed away from us on our axis. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to see the Skipper standing behind me. I had no idea how long he'd been there. Normally, Ham, Jack, or Jimmy would have alerted me — and everyone else — of his presence, but we were too intently focused on what was out there. None of us noticed his arrival.
"Your thoughts, Mac," the Skipper said to me, ignoring the lapse in protocol.
"They don't have six-hundred-foot lock-out capability on any sub that I know of, Sir. The entire saturation diving concept is pretty new. The French and Swedes are doing it." I paused in thought. "I suppose it's reasonable to assume that Ivan has his own research going." I paused again, scanning the monitor for anything new.
"Red, Blue Divers — anything yet?" I asked generally.
"Red Diver, negative."
"Blue Diver, negative."
I turned back to the Skipper. "The Soviets have a fairly advanced submersible program, but that's one atmosphere, not ambient lock-out. They've got a well-known oceanographer and submersible expert, Anatoly Sagalevitch, who's working on some state-of-the-art one-atmosphere rigs. No mobile lock-out capability that I know of. But if Ski is right, they got a lock-out bell right here."
The Skipper stood silently, absorbing my information. "They're not looking for us," he said, "that would be totally inefficient. They're cleaning house. They know we were here, and they're removing everything they can before we return."
I had to admit, it made a lot of sense.
The sound-powered phone chirped. "I got something, Dive Control," Devon said. I looked up at the monitor.
At first I didn't see anything. I asked Jack to dim the lighting, and then it began to come into focus, a glowing smudge at the middle of the monitor, near the bottom.
"Move in slowly," I told Devon. "Stay just at the edge of visibility, and see if you can find their SPCC, or whatever they use." The likely answer was that this was a Soviet "Strength-Power-Communications Cable," a combined cable about the thickness of the human wrist that served as a lifting cable while providing electricity to a Personal Transfer Capsule used by hard-hat divers.
The glow moved slowly to the exact center of the monitor, and then moved back and forth, up and down just a bit.
"I got it," Devon said in my ear. "How about if I go up a hundred feet, turn on my light so we can examine it?"
I turned to the Skipper. He nodded, looking intently at the monitor.
"Make it so, Devon, but don't point the light down under any circumstances — got that?"
"Aye, Sir."
The smudge disappeared on the monitor, and we saw nothing at all for a couple of minutes.
"Dive Control, Red Diver, the other guys are with me, and we can just make out a glow ahead of us."
"Roger that, I said. Move back until it just disappears. Then hold your positions."
Suddenly, the Basketball monitor lit up. Right in the center was a shiny cable — probably stainless steel.
"How thick is it?" I asked Devon.
"'Bout as thick as my thumb," he answered.