“We are making ten knots, and we are on course, Captain. The surface is very rough.”
Gurevenich nodded to the executive officer. When it was so smooth at depth, it was difficult to remember that storms frequently raged over the Pacific Ocean.
“Captain Gurevenich, Dane Brande.”
“Mr. Brande, I believe it is you I must thank for the charts provided earlier. Valeri Dankelov told me so.”
“Exceptionally small compensation for your assistance with the Los Angeles, Captain. We thank you.”
“I am glad we were in a position to assist,” Gurevenich said. “I have been thinking that it is time we should share more information.”
Mostovets’s eyebrow rose.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Brande said.
“We have had magnetometer readings of a mass on the seamount at twenty minutes, twenty-four seconds north, ten minutes, fifty seconds east. It is at one thousand meters depth, and we suspect a shipwreck. Additionally, Mr. Brande, we suspect a seamount five kilometers directly south of the wreck. The depth would be approximately two thousand meters.”
“That is helpful, Captain. Tell you what, though. I’ll give you the radio frequency for the RV Kane, and you can transmit your data directly to them. In exchange, they will provide you with our latest information. How about your submersible, the Sea Lion? Have you heard anything from her?”
Gurevenich had not known that the deep-diving submersible had even been deployed as yet. So much for high-technology communications.
“I have not, Mr. Brande.”
“We’d sure like to swap stories with them. Maybe you could put in a good word for us, Captain?”
“I will speak with General Oberstev.”
“General Oberstev? He’s with Rocket Forces, isn’t he?” Brande asked.
“Yes. He is in charge of this operation.”
Brande did not voice any amazement that an Air Force officer was leading a naval search, so Gurevenich did not share his own resentment.
“Well, we’d sure be happy to talk to him, too,” Brande said, then read off a radio frequency.
“I will tell him. Good day, Mr. Brande.”
Gurevenich released the transmit button and said to Mostovets, “Give that frequency to Kartashkin, then contact the Kane.”
Mostovets shook his head up and down with his approval.
Gurevenich keyed in the task force network frequency used by the Timofey Ol’yantsev and the cruisers and asked for General Oberstev.
He must have been right on the bridge, for the response was rapid. “Yes, Captain?”
“General, we have been traversing the crash area for five days…”
“With a deviation for that incident with the American submarine.”
“I would not do it differently tomorrow, General.”
“Very well, proceed.”
“It is time to quit deceiving ourselves,” Oberstev said, holding his breath. “We must work with the Americans and the Japanese.”
After a long hesitation, Oberstev said, “I will take your recommendation under consideration, Captain.”
Which meant that he would pass it along to Vladivostok and Moscow, no doubt. Then would wait hours and days for the answer, which would most likely be negative.
Gurevenich switched the microphone to the boat’s public address system.
“Your attention, This is the captain. I have information regarding the crashed rocket that I will now share with you. Please listen carefully…”
Kim Otsuka planted her feet wide on the steel deck and stood near the railing, gripping it tightly with both hands. Wind-whipped, cold spray spattered the flesh of her face, but it was refreshing after the time she had devoted to the computer terminal.
The Orion rose and fell with the sea, but was otherwise relatively stable. Her cycloidal propellers were working well. She knew that Mel Sorenson would have locked the autopilot navigation system into the satellite global navigation system, and the research vessel was moving at carefully calculated speeds and directions, staying above the course of the DepthFinder, which was several miles below the surface of the sea.
When she looked behind her, the deck seemed strangely vacant without the submersible in place. She had been down for several hours now, crewed by Emry, Roskens and one of the interns, Rich Bellow. They were reporting new geologic structures, no metallic contacts, and smooth running to the surface operations control now set up in the laboratory.
On the surface, all around Otsuka, was an ocean that was far less smooth. She estimated the wave tops at ten feet, perhaps higher. When the ship went into a trough, the wave peaks were at levels above her head. The noise of the wind competed with that of the sea, when a wave crashed against the hull. There was no sun visible. The skies were overcast in streaky gray and silver. It was not raining, but the impression was that a slanting, wind-driven deluge would begin at any moment.
Also all around her, when the Orion rose high enough for her to see, were six or seven boats and ships. They had converged on the RV almost as soon as she had entered the target zone. Directly abeam was a magnificent 100-foot yacht out of Hong Kong, ablaze with lights in her salon. Yellow-slickered people on the stern deck stared at her, and she could not tell if they were supporters or detractors. They had television cameras, and occasionally trained one on her.
She ignored it.
Aft, promising to interfere with the recovery of the Depth-Finder when it returned to the surface, was a teak-hulled junk, its drab exterior appearance probably in total disagreement with an opulent interior. The Orientals aboard had cheered when the submersible had first been lowered into the depths.
Otsuka absorbed her environment with her peripheral vision. Her eyes were focused into the gray seas as she wrestled with her feelings.
“Kim?”
She turned to find Dokey standing in the doorway to the lab, holding the steel door open against the wind. He stepped out, let the door slam, and stepped across the narrow deck to stand beside her.
“I wish to be alone for a while, Okey.”
“Understandable, with the bunch of people we’ve brought along,” he said. “Not particularly understandable when applied to me.”
She smiled at him. “Please?”
“You tell me the problem, then Iʼll leave you to mull it over.”
For some reason, she did not even try to keep it from him. She told him about her telephone call.
“Well, shit! What assholes!”
“What do I do, Okey?”
He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her hands from the railing, and turned her toward the door.
“First, we get inside where there’s less risk of my having to go over the side to rescue you, which would probably be a flop, anyway.”
She walked with him, lurching once as the Orion’s bow rose to climb the slope of a wave. Dokey pulled the door open, ushered her in, and directed her toward the operations center at the forward end of the lab.
On a long workbench, Larry Emry’s computer terminal for tracking the search and several radio sets had been set up. There was a line direct to the bridge, a radio tuned into the Kane’s command net, a radio for other communications, a telephone tied into the satellite link, and the acoustic telephone that was their only contact with the crew of the submersible.
While they were supposed to rest between deployments of the DepthFinder, most crew and team members not on other duty were gathered around the workbench, kibitzing over Svetlana Polodka’s shoulders. She was the duty officer on the desk, maintaining communications with all of the vessels concerned. From an overhead speaker, Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons was playing at low volume. Polodka had put it on to keep tensions down, she said.