Magne sensed he was treading on sensitive ground, and was all set to change the direction of their conversa4S tion, when he was paged over the public address system.
He left his guest to his dinner, and stood up to cross the mess hall and pick up a wall-mounted telephone. He was back to their table in less than a minute, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Solo’s made yet another surprise discovery,” he said without bothering to seat himself.
“Would you care to join me back in the diving control room to have a look?”
Without a second’s hesitation, Lawton put down his knife and fork and stood.
“You’d better believe that I’d like to have a look, partner. Is it another mine?”
“Why don’t you wait and see for yourself, David.
From what my assistant says, neither one of us should be too disappointed.”
There was a deliberate vagueness to this answer that immediately aroused Lawton’s curiosity, and he followed his host out of the galley area and aft toward the Falcon’s stern.
This time when they entered the compartment where the Falcon’s diving operations were monitored they found the room buzzing with excitement. Several jumpsuited technicians stood blocking the central console, as they watched the scene unfolding on the video monitor.
Magne impatiently pushed his way through this crowd, with David Lawton close on his heels.
Once the Texan was past this gawking mass, his eyes went at once to the video monitor. The screen was filled with an immense, elongated black, tubular structure, that he assumed to be a shipwreck of some sort. Slowly the ROV’s camera continued its sweep of the mysterious object, and several distinguishing features showed themselves, causing Lawton’s pulse to quicken.
Illuminated beneath Solo’s floodlights was a rust-streaked hull, whose length was perforated by a number of regularly spaced free-flood holes. Yet only when the Texan viewed the streamlined conning tower that had two dual cannons set into each end, was he certain enough to express himself.
“It’s a German Type XXI U-boat!” he exclaimed.
“During my UDT training, we dove on a similar wreck, that had sunk off the coast of Georgia. No other submarine has a fin with two cannons set into each end like the Type XXI. I’m absolutely positive that’s what we’ve got here, Magne.”
Seemingly oblivious to this spirited revelation, Magne Rystaad calmly questioned the technician seated to his right.
“Tell me, Knut, how did Solo make this discovery? Was it by sonar?”
“It was,” replied his associate.
“We were just completing a visual inspection of the debris field generated by that exploding mine, when the side scanning sonar unit made the first contact. At first I thought it was one of the large boulders we’ve previously seen on the seabed here.
But since our bathymetric chart had no mention of such an object positioned in this quadrant, I decided to eyeball it to get a definite I.D.”
“You did well to do so,” said Magne.
“Yet I wonder why a wreck of this size wasn’t previously uncovered by past survey teams?”
“Perhaps it was hidden beneath the same sediment that veiled that mine you found earlier,” offered the Texan.
“He could be on to something, Magne,” added the technician.
“The seabed in this region is mostly comprised of sand and muddy silt that could have shifted during last week’s gale.”
As the pointed bow of the wreck came into view on the video screen, Lawton said, “If that’s the case, now what?
Can you lay the pipeline around it?”
“No chance,” replied Magne.
“Because of the irregular shape of the neighboring seabed, the new pipeline must pass through this corridor. That means we’ll have to thoroughly salvage this wreck to make absolutely certain it doesn’t contain unexploded ordinance.”
“When will you start?” asked Lawton.
“I’d love to have a look inside her myself.”
Magne grinned.
“Perhaps in exchange for that chili recipe and a new Stetson, I could arrange such a thing.
But before we rush into such a dangerous venture, I feel it’s best if we call in some experts. We’ve got a group of young divers who are specialists in this type of thing.
They call themselves NUEX, for Norwegian Underwater Explorers. Their specialty is military salvage, and no matter the degree of danger or difficulty, if a job can be done, they can do it.
“The last I heard, they were working inland beneath the waters of Lake Tinnsjo. Thor, I want you to get a hold of them. And if they balk at our invitation, don’t forget to remind that group of hardheaded misfits who signs their paychecks. We’ve got a multi-billion dollar job on the line here, and as far as I’m concerned, this project takes precedence over all others, no matter what they may think.”
Approximately 175 miles due west of the Falcon, another group of Norwegians were gathered around a shipborne video monitor, intently watching a picture being conveyed by an ROV. Though not as sophisticated as the system deployed on the full-sized North Sea diving vessel, the fiber optic cables of this smaller, portable unit conveyed a sharp, finely tuned portrayal of the black depths of Norway’s Lake Tinnsjo.
“Are you certain that both mercury-vapor lights are working, Knut? It’s so damn dark down there at 350 meters that I can’t make out a thing.”
These comments came from Jon Huslid, NUEX’s chief underwater photographer. Only in his mid-twenties, the red-headed Bergen native already had a reputation as one of the tops in his field. One of the original co-founders of the group calling themselves the Norwegian Underwater Explorers, Jon was the team’s self-proclaimed spokesman, and was not afraid to step into the role of leader if called upon to do so.
“Both lamps are on, all right,” replied Knut Haugen, who was seated before the ROV’s compact control board with one hand on the joystick.
“I sure wish we had that portable sonar unit. Then we’d know just where the hell we were.”
Knut Haugen was in charge of engineering. A soft spoken native of the Telemark region, he was a mechanical genius who was responsible for the operation and upkeep of their gear. His broad-shouldered, six-foot, four-inch frame was currently squeezed into the small trawler’s forwardmost cabin, the only vacant interior space large enough to hold the assortment of gear needed to run their current operation.
Seated beside Knut was diver Arne Lundstrom. Arne was also from Telemark. He was slightly built, and had a full, bushy beard and dark eyes that lit up with enthusiasm when he talked.
“Try taking her deeper, Knut,” suggested Arne.
“Why, I bet we’re still not even on the bottom as yet.”
Quick to heed this advice, Knut pushed forward on the joystick and watched the digital depth gauge begin to drop further.
“Easy now,” warned Jon Huslid.
“Our last scan showed some pretty sharp rock formations down there, and if we were to smash into one of them, that could be the end of everything.”
To ease the photographer’s anxieties, Knut gently eased back on the joystick and lessened the ROV’s forward velocity to a bare crawl. All eyes were glued to the video monitor, that continued showing nothing but a black, watery void.
“I still say that the wreck of the Hydro doesn’t want to be found,” broke a deep voice from the hatchway.
“No matter how hard we look for the ferry, all of our effort is destined to be in vain.”
The speaker of these pessimistic words was another of NUEX’s young divers. Jakob Helgesen was from the far-off northern city ofTromso, the so-called gateway to the Arctic. Lapp blood flowed in his veins, and it was said that Jakob had inherited the gift of foresight from his maternal grandfather, who was a spirit chief of this nomadic people.