Ronnie frowned. "The Captain didn't rate a separate cabin?"
"Nope. No privacy on a Nazi sub. It wasn't fun. The crew wore the same clothes the whole time they were out. Regulations allowed one change of underwear and one extra pair of socks. No one bathed for three months at a stretch. Their Navy issued cologne to cut the stink."
"What are we looking for?" Selena brushed hair back from her forehead.
Carter looked at the plans. "Anything that could tell us why the sub was in Antarctica. A log book or record of the voyage, or any cargo she carried. Someplace they'd keep important records, like a locker or a safe."
He still thought this was a waste of time. Nothing on paper could have survived after all those years under water.
"No way we'll get into a safe," Lamont said. "We don't even know if we can find the wreck, let alone get into it."
"Maybe it's a little late to ask," Nick said, "but you sure you've got the gear you need for this?"
"Yeah, we're set. Full face masks with transceivers good to five hundred meters and voice activated mikes. The electronics on the rebreathers adjust the mix according to pressure and demand. We won't have to sweat oxygen toxicity."
Ronnie said, "Oxygen is toxic? I thought you needed it to breathe."
"You do, but at 50 meters, the pressure drives oxygen in the blood stream to toxic levels. The deeper you go, the less oxygen you need. Too much and you get oxygen narcosis. First thing you know, you're in trouble. That's one reason the full masks are good. You can't spit out the mouthpiece and drown if you have a convulsion. The gear will feed us the right amount of breathing gas as we need it."
"Sounds easy."
"Nothing's easy two hundred feet down." Lamont scratched his nose.
"How long do we stay on the bottom?" Selena asked.
"Deep is always dangerous. I think we ought to limit it. Say ten or fifteen minutes max. That will speed up the decompression stops also."
Nick looked at them. "Anything else?"
No one spoke. He looked at his watch. "Let's hit the rack. Long day tomorrow."
They went to their separate rooms.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The harbor at Mar del Plata was big and crowded with bright yellow fishing boats. The waterfront was busy. Hundreds of screeching gulls circled and dived above the docks. The sea air smelled of fish and diesel and food cooking in stands and restaurants along the waterfront. The sun cast little warmth and the spring weather was clear and cold. Nick pulled up the collar of his jacket against the breeze sweeping in off the ocean.
He didn't want a local captain along asking questions. He could handle a moderate sized boat and read the charts and had the certifications with him to prove it. Some fancy talking and extra hard cash got them an older wooden boat with a high, glass enclosed wheelhouse. The engine might have been new when Peron was in power. The boat was painted red and white. It was equipped with radio, a fish finder, gasoline generator, a small galley and a bilge pump that clanked with an ominous sound.
The team headed east and south, past Cape Corrientes and out onto the Argentine Sea. Ronnie and Selena laid the gear out on deck. Lamont set up the underwater communications station in the wheelhouse, an Aquacom STX transceiver designed for military use. Once in the water, Selena and Lamont would have continuous contact with the surface.
Two hours later, Nick throttled down at the coordinates posted in the Admiralty report. Whatever was left of U-886 waited somewhere below. Lamont fired up a deep scan sonar unit he'd brought from the States. Nick set up a grid pattern. They started a slow search of the area.
Two and a half hours later they hadn't found anything.
"I hate this part." Lamont watched the sonar screen.
"Waiting?" Nick rubbed his ear. It was tingling.
A cold chill swept over him. A flat humming started in his ears.
"We're close," he said. He shook off the chill. He could almost hear his grandmother muttering.
"What? Hey, wait a sec." Lamont peered at the screen. "There's something coming up."
The depth indicator read two hundred and thirty feet to the ocean floor. A scattering of small black blips appeared on screen. Then a long, cigar shape. Nick throttled down.
Lamont gave Nick a strange look. "That's got to be it! How did you know? That's a debris field. She opened up when she went down. Keep us over the wreck."
He stopped as if he were about to say something, shook his head and went aft. He dropped a mooring line with markers and an ascension ladder over the side. The line was a crucial safety factor for Selena and Lamont underwater. If it wasn't on target they'd have to come back up and start over again.
Lamont and Selena got their gear on. Nick listened to them talking.
"Down there, you follow my lead. We clear?"
"Got it."
"If you have to bail out, don't mess around, you won't have a lot of time. Head for the surface, remember your stops, don't panic. I'll be right behind you."
She nodded and donned her face mask. She made a minor adjustment and gave a thumbs up. Her voice came over the speaker.
"It's good."
Lamont buttoned up, adjusted his mask. "Comm okay?"
Nick spoke into his headset. "Loud and clear."
Lamont and Selena entered the water. They surfaced for a moment. Seconds later they were gone from sight beneath the waves.
"How's the signal?" Nick said into the microphone.
"Five by five." Lamont's voice came back.
"Five by five," Selena said.
He tugged on his ear. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The water was cold and clean. Selena matched Lamont's steady, rippling movement as they followed the mooring line down. There was plenty of light. It was a stroke of luck to get a bright, sunny day. Even at 70 meters, there would still be light to see by. Selena felt the tug of the Falkland current, but it was only an annoyance. Something to be aware of and compensate for.
The sub was somewhere out of sight below. The blue of the water deepened as they passed 30 meters. She breathed easily with the full mask. She felt a little lightheaded. She checked the mix, but it was only the thrill of it, the love of the unexplored.
And the danger.
Selena loved diving. This was the dive of a lifetime.
She didn't know the names of the fish swimming around her, but there were a lot of them. So far she hadn't seen any sharks. Sharks didn't bother her; she'd seen plenty in the past. There were supposed to be sea lions in the area. She felt for the razor sharp knife at her side. She wasn't sure she wanted to see a sea lion. They were aggressive and territorial, nothing to fool with. This was their world, not hers.
"Selena." Lamont's voice sounded in her headset. "Coming up on fifty meters. Check your oxygen level."
"Roger."
Selena looked at the meter that measured oxygen partial pressure level. It was well away from the 1.4 bar that meant narcosis and possible death. Everything was working. Closed circuit rebreathers were the only way to go for deep dives. At least they were the way to go if everything kept working.
The water was getting darker. Bits of floating sediment drifted all around. The sea floor came into view. Selena began to see objects scattered about. A layer of greenish-brown silt covered everything, softening the outlines of debris spewed from the submarine when she'd plunged to her death. She saw a cook stove lying on its back. A large and ugly fat lipped fish peered out at her from the open oven. Selena thought of pans of eggs and sausage and soups and cakes being cooked on that stove.
They swam over a scattered string of phallic shapes, artillery shells for the guns. There were box like outlines, unidentifiable mounds. Then a pair of boots, the toes splayed outward. She wondered what his thoughts had been, this German seaman, in those last seconds when the water rushed in.