“You’re on, Jon Huslid. I’d like to give my folks a decent portrait of me for the holidays.”
“With a face like yours, it won’t be hard to do,” remarked the grinning photographer. He unbuckled his harness and turned for the main cabin.
Karl Skollevoll was blushing as she watched him exit.
“Good luck, Jon. Don’t let the Chief talk you into doing anything that he wouldn’t do himself.”
NUEX’s co-founder flashed her a thumbs-up as he disappeared into the helicopter’s fuselage. Waiting for him in the main cabin were Jakob Helgesen and Arne Lundstrom. The black-haired Lapp was in the process of reaching for his dive bag, stored in an overhead bin, while his bearded coworker was stretched out on the cabin floor, sound asleep.
“Come on, Arne. Rise and shine,” prompted Jon.
Oblivious to this request, the bearded Telemark native continued his snoring unabated.
“Damn, Jakob. I hope that you didn’t have to put up with this racket all the way from Lake Tinnsjo,” remarked Jon.
The Lapp shook his head and pointed to his ears like he couldn’t hear the photographer’s words. Only then did he reach up and pull out his earplugs.
“You industrious northerners never fail to amaze me,” said Jon, who bent over to shake his sleeping colleague’s shoulder.
“Come on, sleeping beauty.
Snap out of it. We’ve got a job to do.”
This served to do the trick, and Arne groggily stirred and opened his eyes.
“Where the hell are we?” he questioned with a wide yawn.
Jon answered this query by grabbing hold of the cabin door and sliding it backward. A gust of cool, salty air surged inside, while the distant crashing of the North Sea swells against the Falcon’s hull provided an appropriate backdrop.
Jon and Jakob climbed outside onto the helipad, with their groggy coworker slowly bringing up the rear. The rotors of the Bell 212 were still spinning above them, and they instinctively ducked until they were well clear.
No sooner did they step off the helipad when the roar of the chopper’s engines intensified. A deckhand in a silver fire-fighting suit stood alertly beside the foam gun, and Jon Huslid turned to watch the orange and white vehicle take off into the overcast sky.
“Welcome home, NUEX,” broke a deep voice from behind.
Jon pivoted and set his eyes on the rugged face and figure of their diving supervisor, Magne Rystaad.
“Hello, Chief,” replied the photographer.
“It’s good to be back, although if you would have just given us another day or so, we could have brought back one of the greatest treasures to have ever been pulled from Norwegian waters.”
Not paying this remark much attention, Magne surveyed the deck area and inquired, “Where’s Knut?”
Jon inhaled a deep breath and answered.
“He’s back at Lake Tinnsjo, along with the first piece of salvage ever brought up from the ferry, Hydro” His voice betrayed his excitement.
“We’ve got one of the sealed drums, Chief! And if all goes well, Knut will have the other thirty-two up by this time tomorrow.”
This revelation commanded Magne’s full attention.
“You mean to say that you managed to actually locate and begin salvaging the heavy water?
Why, that’s fantastic news, lad! But unfortunately, a matter of even greater importance has come up that requires your immediate attention.”
Stepping to the side, Magne briefly turned his head and beckoned forward a tall, lanky, bearded stranger, who was dressed in orange coveralls. He appeared to be about Magne’s age, and had his same no-nonsense expression.
“Jon, I’d like you to meet David Lawton. David’s a friend of mine from Houston, Texas, who has his own group of oil-service divers to supervise.”
As the two shook hands, Magne continued.
“David was with me in the Falcon’s control room when Solo discovered a hazardous object on the seafloor, one that could very well jeopardize the entire Ice Field’s gas pipeline project.”
“What in the world could possibly block the route of the pipeline?” asked Jon.
“Especially in these waters.
Why, with all the other pipelines that we’ve already placed here, the seafloor west of Utsira has to be one of the most carefully charted areas on the planet.”
“I thought the very same thing,” replied Magne.
“But as all of you know, just when you take the sea for granted, it has a way of surprising you. I learned this lesson once again two days ago, when we chanced upon a World War I mine that was supposed to have been long ago cleared from these waters. David arrived on the Falcon just as we were in the process of detonating the mine.
“It was while Solo was inspecting the aftereffects of this explosion, that we discovered another military relic. This one is from World War II, and is a bit more complicated to get rid of than that mine. 283 meters below the hull of the Falcon, smack in the middle of the new pipeline’s proposed route, is a sunken German U-boat.”
“It’s a Type XXI to be exact,” added David Lawton.
“Such vessels only became part of the German fleet in the latter years of the war, and were the most advanced underwater vessels to have ever sailed beneath the seas in those days.”
Magne nodded.
“David’s our current resident expert in the matter, since as a U.S. Navy SEAL, he actually explored the wreck of a Type XXI that had been sunk off the coast of Georgia.”
Not really too concerned with the nature of this obstacle, Jon Huslid questioned, “Can’t Noroil merely route the pipeline around this U-boat?”
“That’s impossible, lad,” responded Magne.
“Our safety margin on the pipeline’s corridor is only five hundred meters wide. To reach the main pumping facility at Karsto, it has to circumvent the boulder-strewn seafloor on this side of Utsira island, so this route has to be followed exactly. And since the laying barges are forced to haul themselves along on anchors, we have to make absolutely certain that there is no unexploded ordinance inside that sub’s hull” “Then I guess that’s why we’re here,” remarked Jon matter-of-factly.
“When do we get started?”
Magne looked at his watch.
“The bell will be ready to go in another ten minutes. Since you left Knute behind, I hope you won’t mind taking along David in his place.”
The photographer didn’t like the idea at all.
“With no offense meant toward Mr. Lawton, we’re a team, and NUEX works best by itself. The three of us can manage very well on our own.”
Magne briefly caught the Texan’s glance before replying to this.
“I understand, Jon. But I’d feel much better with four divers down there. This will be a bounce dive, so one of you is going to have to remain behind in the bell. The rest of you will only have an hour to get into that sub and give it a complete once over. I seriously doubt that two of you can do it. Since David’s already familiar with this class of U-boat, and has almost more hours at that depth than all three of you combined, I’d appreciate it if you’d make an exception in this instance.”
Knowing very well that this was as close as Magne would ever come to actually coming out and ordering them to take along the stranger, Jon looked to his teammates for support. Arne didn’t appear to be too concerned one way or the other.
And when Jakob merely shrugged his shoulders, Jon reluctantly gave in.
“Very well, you can come along, Mr. Lawton. But please, no show boating
The Texan looked to his host, and stifling a grin, responded to this request.
“You don’t have to worry about any such behavior from me, young man. And by the way, I want all of you to just call me David.
I’ve been in this game for more years than I’d like to remember, and I’ve got nothing to prove but my desire to stay alive.”