"End of rescue," Pitt said. "The Sea Slug is the only submersible we've got that's equipped with a heavy-duty manipulator arm, and without it, there is no way of making a hookup with the cable."
Gunn rubbed his eyes wearily. "After thousands of manhours poured into the planning and construction of every back-up safety system conceivable, and the calculating of concise emergency procedures for every predictable contingency, the unforeseen rose up and smacked us below the belt with a beyond-the-bounds-of-probability, million-to-one accident the computers didn't count on."
"Computers are only as good as the data fed into them," Pitt said.
He moved over to the radio and took the microphone from Drummer's hand. "Deep Fathom, this is Pitt. Over."
"Nice to hear your cheery voice again," Merker came over the speaker as calmly as if he were on the telephone lying at home in bed. "Why don't you drop down and make up a fourth for bridge?"
"Not my game," Pitt answered matter-of-factly. "How much time left before the water reaches your batteries?"
"At the rate she's rising, approximately another fifteen to twenty minutes."
Pitt turned to Gunn and said what needed no saying. "When their batteries go, they'll be out of communication."
Gunn nodded. "The Sappho II is standing by to keep them company. That's about all we can do."
Pitt pressed the mike button again. "Merker, how about your life-support system?"
"What life-support system? That crapped out half an hour ago. We're existing on bad breath."
"I'll send you down a case of Certs."
"Better make it fast. Chavez has a malignant case of halitosis." Then a trace of doubt surfaced in Merker's tone. "If the worst happens and we don't see you guys again, at least we'll be surrounded by good company down here."
Merker's abrupt reference to the Titanic's dead left every man in the operations room a shade paler; every man that is, except Pitt. He touched the transmit button. "Just see to it you leave a clean ship. We may want to use it again. Pitt out."
It was interesting to see the reaction to Pitt's seemingly callous remark. Giordino, Gunn, Spencer, and the others just stared at him. Only Drummer displayed an expression of anger.
Pitt touched Curly, the radio operator, on the shoulder. "Patch me into the admiral on the Bomberger, but use a different frequency."
Curly looked up. "You don't want those guys on the Deep Fathom to hear?"
"What they don't know won't hurt them," said Pitt coldly. "Now hurry it up."
Moments later Sandecker's voice boomed over the speaker. "Capricorn, this is Admiral Sandecker. Over."
"Pitt here, Admiral."
Sandecker wasted no time on niceties. "You're aware of what we're up against?"
"'Gunn has briefed me," Pitt replied.
"Then you know we have exhausted every avenue. No matter how you slice it, time is the enemy. If we could stall the inevitable for another ten hours, we'd have a fighting chance of saving them." '
"There's one other way," Pitt said. "The odds are high but mathematically, it's possible."
"I'm open to suggestions."
Pitt hesitated. "To begin with, we forget the Deep Fathom for the moment and turn our energies in another direction."
Drummer came close to him. "What are you saying, Pitt? What goes on here? 'Forget the Deep Fathom'," he shouted through twitching lips. "Are you mad?"
Pitt smiled a disarming smile. "The last desperate roll of the dice, Drummer. You people failed, and failed miserably. You may be God's gift to the world of marine salvage, but as a rescue force, you come off like a bunch of amateurs. Bad luck compounded your mistakes, and now you sit around whining that all is lost. Well all is not lost, gentlemen. We're going to change the rules of the game and put the Deep Fathom on the surface before the six-hour deadline, which, if my watch serves me, is now down to five hours and forty-three minutes."
Giordino looked at Pitt. "Do you really think it can be done?"
"I really think it can be done."
47
The structural engineers and the marine scientists huddled around in small circles, mumbling to themselves as they frantically shoved their slide rules back and forth. Every so often, one of them would break away and walk over to the computers and check the readout sheets. Admiral Sandecker, who had just arrived from the Bomberger, sat behind a desk gripping a mug of coffee and shaking his head.
"This will never be written into the textbooks on salvage," he murmured. "Blowing a derelict off the bottom with explosives. God, it's insane."
"What other choice do we have?" Pitt said. "If we can kick the Titanic out of the mud, the Deep Fathom will be carried up with her."
"The whole idea is crazy," Gunn muttered. "The concussion will only expand the cracked seam in the submersible's hull and cause instant implosion."
"Maybe. Maybe not," Pitt said. "But even if that occurs, it's probably best that Merker, Kiel, and Chavez die instantly from the sea's crush than suffer the prolonged agony of slow suffocation."
"And what about the Titanic?" Gunn persisted "We could blow everything we've worked for all these months all over the abyssal landscape."
"Score that as a calculated risk," Pitt said. "The Titanic's construction is of a greater strength than most ships afloat today. Her beams, girders, bulkheads, and decks are as sound as the night she sank. The old girl can take whatever we dish out. Make no mistake about it."
"Do you honestly think it will work?" Sandecker asked.
"I do."
"I could order you not to do this thing. You know that."
"I know that," Pitt replied. "I'm banking on you to keep me in the ball game until the final inning."
Sandecker rubbed his hand across his eyes, then shook his head slowly as if to clear it. Finally he said, "Okay. Dirk, it's your baby."
Pitt nodded and turned away.
There were just five hours and ten minutes to go.
Two and a half miles below, the three men in the Deep Fathom, cold and alone in a remote, uncharitable environment, watched the water creep up the cabin walls inch by inch until it flooded the main circuitry and shorted out the instruments, throwing the interior of the cabin into blackness. Then they began to feel the sting of the thirty-four-degree water in earnest as it swirled around their legs. Standing there shivering under the torment of certain death, they still nurtured the spark to survive.
"As soon as we get topside," Kiel murmured, "I'm going to take a day off, and I don't care who knows it."
"Come again?" Chavez said in the darkness.
"They can fire me if they want to, but I'm sleeping in tomorrow."
Chavez groped for and found Kiel's arm, gripping it roughly. "What are you babbling about?"
"Take it easy," Merker said. "With the life-support system gone, the carbon-dioxide buildup is getting to him. I'm beginning to feel a bit giddy myself."
"Foul air on top of everything else," Chavez grumbled. "If we don't drown, we get crushed when the hull bursts, and if we don't get mashed like eggshells, we suffocate on our own air. Our future looks none too bright."
"You left out exposure," Merker added sardonically. "If we don't climb above this freezing water, we won't get a chance at the other three."