Ultra Deep (36 page)

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.

In Emry’s absence, Bucky Sanders was handling the temporary chart. It was a large nautical chart of the search area, covered with plastic, and angled against the wall from the top of the workbench. Until the
DepthFinder
was brought aboard for crew and battery changes, and the recorder tapes could be recovered, significant findings were reported orally over the acoustic telephone, and Sanders indicated them on the chart with magic markers. When the recorded data was dumped to computer memory and replayed, it would be entered into the more permanent computer files.

The temporary chart was developed just in case the submersible was never recovered. It was a doomsday policy, but necessary just the same.

A separate video display terminal, controlled by a keyboard in front of Polodka, showed the current status of the submersible. Its time below, battery charges, equipment function levels and other data were listed in neat rows. At the top of the list was the current depth in feet. Otsuka automatically glanced at it: -17,782.

The submersible was on a heading of 090 degrees, due east on her second eastward pass since arriving. They were a third of a mile north of the impact point on this leg, after having run a westward leg a third of a mile south.

Bucky Sanders, wearing a headset so he could hear more clearly, was charting a small ridge that ran parallel to the submersible’s course. The peak of a dormant volcano had been pinpointed a mile to the north at 15,000 feet of depth. A dotted line running south had been labeled as the course of the
Sea
Lion
. The Americans and the Soviets were moving at right angles to each other. Some things did not change, Otsuka thought.

Among the people gathered around Polodka were Brande and Thomas, and Dokey let go of her to slip into the crowd and tap both of them on the shoulder.

They turned to follow Dokey, and he took her hand as he passed, headed for the aft end of the laboratory.

“What did you find out about Kim’s passport status?” Dokey asked.

“The last time I talked to Hampstead,” Thomas said, “he told me that Washington had declined to interfere.”

“Those bastards can start wars, but they can’t even manage a little diplomatic bullying,” Dokey said.

“Okey…” Otsuka started to say.

“What’s up?” Brande asked.

“Her consulate just called to tell her that her passport has been revoked. We are to disembark her on the
Eastern
Flower
.ˮ

“Bullshit!” Brande said.

Thomas’s face reddened, and she said, “All right. Let’s give them the program.”

“No, you must not,” Otsuka said.

“Have we heard anything about the
Flower
?” Brande asked.

“I was given the coordinates,” Otsuka said, “but the ship is not yet operating. The submersible is ready, but the sonar robot is malfunctioning. That is why they want the programming.”

“They’ve come to the show, but can’t perform,” Dokey said. “Well, fuck’em.”

“Can you contact them directly?” Brande asked.

“By radio or telephone.”

“Come on, let’s go find a private line.”

Brande led the way this time, and the four of them went forward to the wardroom and settled into the last booth.

Brande handed her the phone. “Make the call and the translations, would you, Kim?”

She spoke to Paco, who was manning the radio shack, and he made the connection with the
Eastern
Flower
. After a short exchange, she found herself speaking in Japanese to a man named Inouye who claimed he was the expedition leader.

“Tell him we’re prepared to license the robot programming,” Brande said.

She passed it on, then told Brande, “He wants to know the cost.”

“So do I,” Dokey said. “Ream them out, Chief.”

“The cost is the immediate restoration of Kim’s passport and the requirement that the
Eastern
Flower
report to, and follow the orders of, the
RV
Kane
for the duration of the search.”

“Get two million bucks, too,” Dokey said.

“Amen,” Thomas added.

“No,” Brande told them.

Otsuka let her eyes widen as she repeated Brande’s demand in Japanese.

The response was short.

“The cost is too high.”

“That’s it, Kim. Tell him all or nothing.”

She translated, then waited.

And waited.

Finally.

“They agree,” she said, feeling the relief wash over her. Dokey took her free hand and squeezed it.

“As soon as we have word from your consulate that your passport has been restored, and as soon as we receive a telex confirming the arrangements, you can transmit the program to them,” Brande told her.

“Thank you, Dane.”

“We’ve got more important things to do than worry about money,” he said. “Right, Rae?”

She grimaced, but said, “Right.”

Otsuka relayed the instructions on to Inouye.

Dokey said, “Can I call the
Kane
and tell them we’ve forced a surrender?”

“Go ahead,” Thomas said. “Cartwright will be glad to hear from you.”

“Don’t be profane, please,” Otsuka told Dokey.

“Well, hell, hon, you’re talking all the fun out of it. And we didn’t even reach our next defensive position.”

“What was that?” she asked.

“We could have had olʼ Mel marry us.”

She looked up at him. “What? You don’t mean that?”

“Scout’s honor. Supreme sacrifice, and all that.”

From the look on Brande’s face, Otsuka was certain that Brande was also unsure about how serious Dokey was.

And Thomas’s face was immobile. Kaylene was trying to be so inscrutable since she had begun sleeping with Brande.

*

1255 HOURS LOCAL, 26° 20' 12" NORTH, 176° 10' 50" EAST

The
DepthFinder
was aboard for a crew and battery change, and Brande was aft in the laboratory. He, Otsuka, and Connie Alvarez-Sorenson — who had only made one previous dive — would crew the next stint.

Thomas was in the wardroom with the last of the lunch-break crowd. She was making a chocolate malt last. For some reason, on expeditions, but never ashore, she always got a craving for chocolate malted milk, and she stocked the galley accordingly.

Ingrid Roskens came out of the galley with a steaming cup of cocoa. “Hey, Kaylene!”

“Hi, Ingrid. Welcome back.”

“It was a breeze.”

“You look tired”

“I am tired. I was going to ask if I could use our cabin, but I guess it’s free until Dane gets back, right?” She winked at Thomas.

“Ingrid!”

“Ta ta, sweetie.” Roskens headed for the door.

Carrying her tall glass, she picked up her plate and silverware and returned them to the galley. She was about to leave the lounge and go check on Brande — was her silliness showing to everyone? — when she saw Dokey stretched lengthwise on one bench of the first booth. He was reading.

She crossed the wardroom and slid into the bench opposite him, placing her glass on the table.

He looked up, “Hi, Kaylene.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get through all of the material Miriam Baker gave me for homework.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“Actually, it’s not too bad. Some good stuff here.”

“Good for us?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

She sipped from her straw.

Dokey had his head resting on a wadded-up parka, and he had a Coke resting on his stomach. He moved the Coke and sat up.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” she said.

“You know me. I like disturbances.”

“I’m never sure if I
do
know you.”

“That’s a relief. If I get predictable, nobody will love me”

“Are those lyrics?”

“Hmmm,” he said. “Could be. I’ll have to find someone who can pound a piano with gusto and try it out. You want to talk, Kaylene?”

“Well, no. I just had a minute…”

“About Dane?”

“What about Dane?”

“We could switch places.”

“You and Dane switch places?”

“No, you and me switch places. I’ll move in with Ingrid. She’ll love it.”

“What
are
you talking about?”

“Come on, love. It’s a small ship.”

“Okey…” 

“And believe me, no one gives a damn, Kaylene. Roll with it.”

“Okey, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Sure you do. You just haven’t realized it, yet.”

Thomas swung her head from side to side.

“Okay, let’s talk about nukes.”

“This particular nuke?” she asked.

“No. I don’t have any material on it. But,” he said, leafing through some photocopies and coming up with a stapled sheaf of paper, “I do have some data on the Topaz Two that I got from the Navy.”