Abduction (3 page)
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Onbekend, #Unabridged Audio - Fiction, #Suspense & Thriller
Larry eyed each man in turn, who averted his gaze. No one contested the terms of the arrangement.
"I'm going to take this rare silence as acquiescence," Larry said. "Now, Adams, you'll be red diver. Donaghue, you'll be green diver. Mazzola, you'll be bell diver." Richard and Michael cheered and then leaned across to one another and high-fived. Louis blew out disgustedly through pursed lips. The bell diver's job during the dive was to remain inside the PTC to play out the tethers for the red and green divers and watch the gauges; he did not enter the water except in an emergency. Although this position was safer, it was looked down upon by divers. The designations of red and green diver were used to avoid any confusion in communications with topside that might occur if given or surnames were used. On the
Benthic Explorer
red diver was recognized to be the on-site leader.
Larry reached down on his desk and picked up a clipboard. He handed it over to Richard. "Here's the predive checklist, red-diver. Now get your asses in DDC1. I want to start compression in fifteen minutes."
Richard took the clipboard and led the way out of the van. Once outside, Louis began a long lament about being bell diver, complaining that he'd been bell diver on the last dive. "I guess the chief thinks you're the best at it," Richard said while giving Donaghue a wink. He knew he was goading Louis. But he couldn't help it. He felt relieved that he'd not been selected, since it was his turn.
As the group passed the occupied DDC3 each man took the time to glance through the tiny viewing port and give a thumbs-up sign to the three occupants, who still had several more days of decompression ahead of them. Divers might fight with each other at times, but they also shared a close camaraderie. They respected each other because of the inherent risks. The isolation and danger of being on a saturation dive was ironically similar in certain respects with being in a satellite circling the globe. If a problem occurred it could be hairy, and it was difficult to get you back home. At DDC1 Richard was first through the narrow round entrance port on the cylinder's side. It required him to grasp a horizontal metal bar, lift his legs, and enter feet first by wiggling through the aperture. The interior was utilitarian, with the bunks at one end and emergency breathing apparatuses hanging from the walls. All the diving gear, including the neoprene suits, weight belts, gloves, and hoods, and other paraphernalia, was in a pile between the bunks. The diving masks were up in the diving bell with all the hoses and communication lines. At the other end of the DDC was the exposed shower, toilet, and sink. Saturation diving was a communal affair of the first order. There was no privacy whatsoever. Louis and Michael entered right after Richard. Louis climbed directly up inside the diving bell while Michael started sorting through the material on the floor. As Richard called out the names of individual pieces of equipment, either Louis or Michael would yell out whether it was present or not, and Richard would check it off on his list. Anything not present was immediately handed through the open port by one of the watch standers.
When the four pages of checklist were completed, Richard gave a thumbs-up to the dive supervisor via the camcorder mounted on the ceiling.
"Okay, red diver," the supervisor said over the intercom, "close and dog the entrance hatch and prepare
"I'm going to take this rare silence as acquiescence," Larry said. "Now, Adams, you'll be red diver. Donaghue, you'll be green diver. Mazzola, you'll be bell diver." Richard and Michael cheered and then leaned across to one another and high-fived. Louis blew out disgustedly through pursed lips. The bell diver's job during the dive was to remain inside the PTC to play out the tethers for the red and green divers and watch the gauges; he did not enter the water except in an emergency. Although this position was safer, it was looked down upon by divers. The designations of red and green diver were used to avoid any confusion in communications with topside that might occur if given or surnames were used. On the
Benthic Explorer
red diver was recognized to be the on-site leader.
Larry reached down on his desk and picked up a clipboard. He handed it over to Richard. "Here's the predive checklist, red-diver. Now get your asses in DDC1. I want to start compression in fifteen minutes."
Richard took the clipboard and led the way out of the van. Once outside, Louis began a long lament about being bell diver, complaining that he'd been bell diver on the last dive. "I guess the chief thinks you're the best at it," Richard said while giving Donaghue a wink. He knew he was goading Louis. But he couldn't help it. He felt relieved that he'd not been selected, since it was his turn.
As the group passed the occupied DDC3 each man took the time to glance through the tiny viewing port and give a thumbs-up sign to the three occupants, who still had several more days of decompression ahead of them. Divers might fight with each other at times, but they also shared a close camaraderie. They respected each other because of the inherent risks. The isolation and danger of being on a saturation dive was ironically similar in certain respects with being in a satellite circling the globe. If a problem occurred it could be hairy, and it was difficult to get you back home. At DDC1 Richard was first through the narrow round entrance port on the cylinder's side. It required him to grasp a horizontal metal bar, lift his legs, and enter feet first by wiggling through the aperture. The interior was utilitarian, with the bunks at one end and emergency breathing apparatuses hanging from the walls. All the diving gear, including the neoprene suits, weight belts, gloves, and hoods, and other paraphernalia, was in a pile between the bunks. The diving masks were up in the diving bell with all the hoses and communication lines. At the other end of the DDC was the exposed shower, toilet, and sink. Saturation diving was a communal affair of the first order. There was no privacy whatsoever. Louis and Michael entered right after Richard. Louis climbed directly up inside the diving bell while Michael started sorting through the material on the floor. As Richard called out the names of individual pieces of equipment, either Louis or Michael would yell out whether it was present or not, and Richard would check it off on his list. Anything not present was immediately handed through the open port by one of the watch standers.
When the four pages of checklist were completed, Richard gave a thumbs-up to the dive supervisor via the camcorder mounted on the ceiling.
"Okay, red diver," the supervisor said over the intercom, "close and dog the entrance hatch and prepare
to start compression."
Richard did as he was told. Almost immediately there was the hiss of the compressed gas, and the needle on the analog pressure gauge began to rise. The divers happily took to their bunks. Richard pulled the worn deck of playing cards from his long johns pocket. CHAPTER THREE
Perry emerged from the interior of the ship and stepped out onto the grate that formed the deck of the fantail. He was dressed in a maroon jogging suit over sweats--Mark's suggestion. He told Perry it was what he'd worn the last time he'd been in the submersible. The quarters were tight, so the more comfortable the clothes, the better, and layers were good because it could be cool. The outside water temperature was only around forty degrees, and it was foolish to expend too much battery power on heat.
At first Perry found walking on the metal grate disconcerting since he could see down into the ocean surface some fifty feet below. The water had a cold, gray-green look. Perry shivered despite the pleasant ambient temperature, and he wondered if he should go on the dive after all. The strange foreboding that he'd awakened with returned, raising the hackles on the back of his neck. Although he wasn't claustrophobic per se, he'd never been comfortable when he found himself in a tight space like the interior of the submersible. In fact one of Perry's most horrid memories as a child was having been caught hiding under the covers by his older brother. His brother pounced on him instead of pulling the covers back and, for a time that seemed like an eternity, wouldn't let him out. Occasionally Perry still had nightmares that he was back in that cloth prison with the desperate sensation he was about to smother. Perry stopped and stared at the little submarine, which was sitting on chocks at the very stern of the ship. Angled over it was a large derrick capable of swinging the vessel out over the water and lowering it to the surface. Workers were swarming around the craft like bees hovering around a hive. Perry knew enough to recognize they were participating in the predive check before launch. Perry was relieved that the vessel looked considerably larger than it had when it was in the water, a fact that appeased his recently awakened claustrophobia. The submersible was not as tiny as many were. It was fifty feet long with a twelve-foot beam, and bulbous in shape, like a bloated, HY-140 steel sausage with a fiberglass superstructure. There were four view ports made of eight-inch-thick, conical sections of Plexiglas: two forward and one to either side. Hydraulic manipulator arms, folded up under the bow, made it look like an enormous crustacean. The hull was painted scarlet with white lettering along the sides of the sail. Its name was
Oceanus,
after the Greek god of the outer sea. "Handsome little devil, isn't she?" a voice said. Perry turned. Mark had come up behind him. "Maybe it'd be better if I didn't go on the dive after all," Perry said, trying to sound casual. "And why is that?" Mark asked.
"I don't want to be a bother," Perry said. "I came out here to be a help, not a hindrance. I'm sure the pilot would prefer not to have the equivalent of a tourist tagging along." "Poppycock!" Mark said without hesitation. "Both Donald and Suzanne are thrilled you're coming. I
Richard did as he was told. Almost immediately there was the hiss of the compressed gas, and the needle on the analog pressure gauge began to rise. The divers happily took to their bunks. Richard pulled the worn deck of playing cards from his long johns pocket. CHAPTER THREE
Perry emerged from the interior of the ship and stepped out onto the grate that formed the deck of the fantail. He was dressed in a maroon jogging suit over sweats--Mark's suggestion. He told Perry it was what he'd worn the last time he'd been in the submersible. The quarters were tight, so the more comfortable the clothes, the better, and layers were good because it could be cool. The outside water temperature was only around forty degrees, and it was foolish to expend too much battery power on heat.
At first Perry found walking on the metal grate disconcerting since he could see down into the ocean surface some fifty feet below. The water had a cold, gray-green look. Perry shivered despite the pleasant ambient temperature, and he wondered if he should go on the dive after all. The strange foreboding that he'd awakened with returned, raising the hackles on the back of his neck. Although he wasn't claustrophobic per se, he'd never been comfortable when he found himself in a tight space like the interior of the submersible. In fact one of Perry's most horrid memories as a child was having been caught hiding under the covers by his older brother. His brother pounced on him instead of pulling the covers back and, for a time that seemed like an eternity, wouldn't let him out. Occasionally Perry still had nightmares that he was back in that cloth prison with the desperate sensation he was about to smother. Perry stopped and stared at the little submarine, which was sitting on chocks at the very stern of the ship. Angled over it was a large derrick capable of swinging the vessel out over the water and lowering it to the surface. Workers were swarming around the craft like bees hovering around a hive. Perry knew enough to recognize they were participating in the predive check before launch. Perry was relieved that the vessel looked considerably larger than it had when it was in the water, a fact that appeased his recently awakened claustrophobia. The submersible was not as tiny as many were. It was fifty feet long with a twelve-foot beam, and bulbous in shape, like a bloated, HY-140 steel sausage with a fiberglass superstructure. There were four view ports made of eight-inch-thick, conical sections of Plexiglas: two forward and one to either side. Hydraulic manipulator arms, folded up under the bow, made it look like an enormous crustacean. The hull was painted scarlet with white lettering along the sides of the sail. Its name was
Oceanus,
after the Greek god of the outer sea. "Handsome little devil, isn't she?" a voice said. Perry turned. Mark had come up behind him. "Maybe it'd be better if I didn't go on the dive after all," Perry said, trying to sound casual. "And why is that?" Mark asked.
"I don't want to be a bother," Perry said. "I came out here to be a help, not a hindrance. I'm sure the pilot would prefer not to have the equivalent of a tourist tagging along." "Poppycock!" Mark said without hesitation. "Both Donald and Suzanne are thrilled you're coming. I
spoke with them not twenty minutes ago, and they said as much. In fact that's Donald on that scaffolding,
supervising the connection to the launching crane. I understand you've never met him." Perry followed Mark's pointing finger. Donald Fuller was an African American with a shaved head, a neat pencil-line mustache, and an impressively muscled frame. He was dressed in crisply ironed dark blue coveralls with epaulets and a shiny name tag. Even from a distance Perry could appreciate the man's martial bearing, especially when he heard his deep, baritone voice and his clipped, no-nonsense manner as he called out commands. During the current operation there was no doubt who was in charge. "Come on," Mark urged before Perry could respond. "Let me introduce you." Reluctantly, Perry allowed himself to be led over to the submersible. It was painfully obvious that he would not be able to get out of diving on the
Oceanus
without a significant loss of face. He'd have to admit to his fears, and he hardly thought that would be appropriate. Besides, he had enjoyed his first ride on the sub even though that had been done in only a hundred feet of water just outside of the harbor on Santa Catalina, a far cry from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Once Donald was satisfied with the submersible's connection to the hoisting cable, he swung down from the scaffolding and began walking around the boat. Although the topside dive team had responsibility for the exterior predive check, Donald wanted to make his own visual check on all the penetrations through the pressure hull. Mark and Perry caught up to him at the bow. Mark introduced Perry as the president of Benthic Marine.
Donald responded by clicking his heels and saluting. Before Perry knew what he was doing, he saluted back. Only Perry didn't really know how to salute; he'd never executed the gesture in his life. He felt as pathetic as he probably looked.
"Honored to meet you, sir," Donald said. He was standing ramrod straight with his lips pressed together and his nares flared. To Perry he appeared like a warrior about to do battle. "Pleased to meet you," Perry said. He gestured toward the
Oceanus.
"I don't want to interrupt you." "No problem, sir," Donald snapped back. "I also don't have to go on this dive," Perry said. "I don't want to be in the way. In fact . . ." "You won't be in the way, sir," Donald said. "I know this is an operational dive," Perry persisted. "I wouldn't want to take your attention away from your job."
"When I am piloting the
Oceanus,
no one takes my attention away from my job, sir!" "I appreciate that," Perry said. "But I won't be at all offended if you feel I should stay topside. I mean, I'll understand."
"I'm looking forward to showing you the capability of this craft, sir." "Well, thank you," Perry said, recognizing the futility of trying to excuse himself graciously. "My pleasure, sir," Donald snapped.
supervising the connection to the launching crane. I understand you've never met him." Perry followed Mark's pointing finger. Donald Fuller was an African American with a shaved head, a neat pencil-line mustache, and an impressively muscled frame. He was dressed in crisply ironed dark blue coveralls with epaulets and a shiny name tag. Even from a distance Perry could appreciate the man's martial bearing, especially when he heard his deep, baritone voice and his clipped, no-nonsense manner as he called out commands. During the current operation there was no doubt who was in charge. "Come on," Mark urged before Perry could respond. "Let me introduce you." Reluctantly, Perry allowed himself to be led over to the submersible. It was painfully obvious that he would not be able to get out of diving on the
Oceanus
without a significant loss of face. He'd have to admit to his fears, and he hardly thought that would be appropriate. Besides, he had enjoyed his first ride on the sub even though that had been done in only a hundred feet of water just outside of the harbor on Santa Catalina, a far cry from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Once Donald was satisfied with the submersible's connection to the hoisting cable, he swung down from the scaffolding and began walking around the boat. Although the topside dive team had responsibility for the exterior predive check, Donald wanted to make his own visual check on all the penetrations through the pressure hull. Mark and Perry caught up to him at the bow. Mark introduced Perry as the president of Benthic Marine.
Donald responded by clicking his heels and saluting. Before Perry knew what he was doing, he saluted back. Only Perry didn't really know how to salute; he'd never executed the gesture in his life. He felt as pathetic as he probably looked.
"Honored to meet you, sir," Donald said. He was standing ramrod straight with his lips pressed together and his nares flared. To Perry he appeared like a warrior about to do battle. "Pleased to meet you," Perry said. He gestured toward the
Oceanus.
"I don't want to interrupt you." "No problem, sir," Donald snapped back. "I also don't have to go on this dive," Perry said. "I don't want to be in the way. In fact . . ." "You won't be in the way, sir," Donald said. "I know this is an operational dive," Perry persisted. "I wouldn't want to take your attention away from your job."
"When I am piloting the
Oceanus,
no one takes my attention away from my job, sir!" "I appreciate that," Perry said. "But I won't be at all offended if you feel I should stay topside. I mean, I'll understand."
"I'm looking forward to showing you the capability of this craft, sir." "Well, thank you," Perry said, recognizing the futility of trying to excuse himself graciously. "My pleasure, sir," Donald snapped.
"You don't have to call me sir," Perry said.
"Yes, sir!" Donald responded. Then his mouth formed into a thin smile when he realized what he'd said. "I mean, yes, Mr. Bergman."
"Call me Perry."
"Yes, sir," Donald said. Then he allowed himself a second smile when he realized he'd slipped again in so many seconds. "It's hard for me to change my ways." "I can see that," Perry said. "I guess it's not a wild guess that you got your experience for this type of work in the armed forces."
"That's affirmative," Donald said. "Twenty-five years in the submarine service." "Were you an officer?" Perry asked.
"Indeed. I retired as a commander."
Perry's eyes wandered to the submersible. Now that he'd reconciled himself to the upcoming dive, he wanted reassurance. "How's the
Oceanus
been performing?" "Flawlessly," Donald answered.
"So it's a good little ship?" Perry asked. He patted the cold steel pressure hull. "The best," Donald said. "Better than anything I've ever piloted, and I've been in quite a few." "Are you just being patriotic?" Perry asked. "Not at all," Donald said. "First of all, it can go deeper than any other manned craft I've piloted. As I'm sure you know, it's got a certified operating depth of twenty thousand feet and a crush depth not until thirty-five thousand. But even that's deceiving. With the built-in safety margin, we could probably dive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench without a hitch." Perry swallowed. Hearing the term
crush depth
brought back the shiver he'd experienced a few minutes before.
"Why don't you give Perry a quick rundown on the rest of the
Oceanus
's statistics," Mark said. "Just to refresh his memory."
"Sure," Donald said. "But stand by for a second." He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to one of the workmen completing the predive check: "Have the TV camcorders been checked out on the inside?"
"That's an affirmative!" the worker responded. Donald directed his attention back to Perry. "The craft's sixty-eight tons with room for two pilots, two observers, and six other passengers. We have lockout capability for divers, and we can be mated to the DDCs if the need arises. We've got life support for a maximum of two hundred sixteen hours. Power
"Yes, sir!" Donald responded. Then his mouth formed into a thin smile when he realized what he'd said. "I mean, yes, Mr. Bergman."
"Call me Perry."
"Yes, sir," Donald said. Then he allowed himself a second smile when he realized he'd slipped again in so many seconds. "It's hard for me to change my ways." "I can see that," Perry said. "I guess it's not a wild guess that you got your experience for this type of work in the armed forces."
"That's affirmative," Donald said. "Twenty-five years in the submarine service." "Were you an officer?" Perry asked.
"Indeed. I retired as a commander."
Perry's eyes wandered to the submersible. Now that he'd reconciled himself to the upcoming dive, he wanted reassurance. "How's the
Oceanus
been performing?" "Flawlessly," Donald answered.
"So it's a good little ship?" Perry asked. He patted the cold steel pressure hull. "The best," Donald said. "Better than anything I've ever piloted, and I've been in quite a few." "Are you just being patriotic?" Perry asked. "Not at all," Donald said. "First of all, it can go deeper than any other manned craft I've piloted. As I'm sure you know, it's got a certified operating depth of twenty thousand feet and a crush depth not until thirty-five thousand. But even that's deceiving. With the built-in safety margin, we could probably dive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench without a hitch." Perry swallowed. Hearing the term
crush depth
brought back the shiver he'd experienced a few minutes before.
"Why don't you give Perry a quick rundown on the rest of the
Oceanus
's statistics," Mark said. "Just to refresh his memory."
"Sure," Donald said. "But stand by for a second." He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to one of the workmen completing the predive check: "Have the TV camcorders been checked out on the inside?"
"That's an affirmative!" the worker responded. Donald directed his attention back to Perry. "The craft's sixty-eight tons with room for two pilots, two observers, and six other passengers. We have lockout capability for divers, and we can be mated to the DDCs if the need arises. We've got life support for a maximum of two hundred sixteen hours. Power
comes from silver zinc batteries. Propulsion is from a varivec propeller, but maneuverability is also
enhanced with vertical and horizontal thrusters directed by twin joysticks with top-mounted thumb balls. There's short-range, narrow-beam, and side-scan sonar, ground-penetrating radar, proton magnetometer, and thermistors. Recording equipment includes silicon-intensified target video camcorders. Communications are with FM surface radio and UQC underwater telephone. Navigation is inertial."
Donald paused while he let his eyes roam around the submersible. "I think that covers the basics. Any questions?"
"Not for the moment," Perry said quickly. He was afraid Donald might ask him a question. The only thing Perry retained out of the entire monologue was the thirty-five-thousand-foot crush depth figure. "Ready to launch the
Oceanus
!" a voice crackled over a loudspeaker. Donald herded Perry and Mark away from the sub. The hoisting wire became taut. With a creak the submersible lifted from the deck. It was kept from swinging by multiple launching lines attached at key points along the hull. A high-pitched squeak heralded the movement of the davit as it swung the boat out off the stern of the ship and started lowering it toward the water. "Ah, here comes the good doctor," Mark said. Perry turned briefly to look behind him. A figure was emerging through the main door into the ship's interior. Perry did a rapid doubletake. He'd only seen Suzanne Newell once before and that was when she'd presented the original seismic studies on Sea Mount Olympus. But that had been in L.A., where there was no dearth of beautiful people. Out in the middle of the ocean on the utilitarian
Benthic Explorer
with its nearly hundred percent frowzy male crew, she stood out like a lily in a patch of weeds. In her late twenties, she was vibrant and athletic looking. Dressed in coveralls similar to those worn by Donald, she gave off a stunning gender message which was the absolute antithesis of Donald's. A dark blue baseball cap, with a gold braid embroidered on the visor and BENTHICEXPLORERsewn across the crown, was perched on top of her head. Out of the back of the hat just above the adjustment band protruded a ponytail of thick, shiny chestnut hair.
Suzanne saw the group and waved, then headed in their direction. As she approached, Perry's mouth slowly dropped open, a response that was not lost on Mark. "Not bad, huh?" Mark said.
"She's rather attractive," Perry admitted. "Yeah, well, wait a few days," Mark said. "She gets better the longer we're out here. Quite a shape for a geophysical oceanographer, wouldn't you say?" "I haven't met too many geophysical oceanographers," Perry said. Suddenly he thought that maybe the dive wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Too bad she isn't a medical doctor," Mark said under his breath. "I wouldn't mind her doing a hernia check on me."
"If you'll permit me, I'll continue getting the
Oceanus
ready for the dive," Donald said.
enhanced with vertical and horizontal thrusters directed by twin joysticks with top-mounted thumb balls. There's short-range, narrow-beam, and side-scan sonar, ground-penetrating radar, proton magnetometer, and thermistors. Recording equipment includes silicon-intensified target video camcorders. Communications are with FM surface radio and UQC underwater telephone. Navigation is inertial."
Donald paused while he let his eyes roam around the submersible. "I think that covers the basics. Any questions?"
"Not for the moment," Perry said quickly. He was afraid Donald might ask him a question. The only thing Perry retained out of the entire monologue was the thirty-five-thousand-foot crush depth figure. "Ready to launch the
Oceanus
!" a voice crackled over a loudspeaker. Donald herded Perry and Mark away from the sub. The hoisting wire became taut. With a creak the submersible lifted from the deck. It was kept from swinging by multiple launching lines attached at key points along the hull. A high-pitched squeak heralded the movement of the davit as it swung the boat out off the stern of the ship and started lowering it toward the water. "Ah, here comes the good doctor," Mark said. Perry turned briefly to look behind him. A figure was emerging through the main door into the ship's interior. Perry did a rapid doubletake. He'd only seen Suzanne Newell once before and that was when she'd presented the original seismic studies on Sea Mount Olympus. But that had been in L.A., where there was no dearth of beautiful people. Out in the middle of the ocean on the utilitarian
Benthic Explorer
with its nearly hundred percent frowzy male crew, she stood out like a lily in a patch of weeds. In her late twenties, she was vibrant and athletic looking. Dressed in coveralls similar to those worn by Donald, she gave off a stunning gender message which was the absolute antithesis of Donald's. A dark blue baseball cap, with a gold braid embroidered on the visor and BENTHICEXPLORERsewn across the crown, was perched on top of her head. Out of the back of the hat just above the adjustment band protruded a ponytail of thick, shiny chestnut hair.
Suzanne saw the group and waved, then headed in their direction. As she approached, Perry's mouth slowly dropped open, a response that was not lost on Mark. "Not bad, huh?" Mark said.
"She's rather attractive," Perry admitted. "Yeah, well, wait a few days," Mark said. "She gets better the longer we're out here. Quite a shape for a geophysical oceanographer, wouldn't you say?" "I haven't met too many geophysical oceanographers," Perry said. Suddenly he thought that maybe the dive wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Too bad she isn't a medical doctor," Mark said under his breath. "I wouldn't mind her doing a hernia check on me."
"If you'll permit me, I'll continue getting the
Oceanus
ready for the dive," Donald said.
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