“It’s a little late to be starting back,” she said. “What do you think, Paul?”
“It would be dangerous trying to navigate that river by night.”
Dieter frowned, then, seeing he was getting nowhere, smiled and said, “Well then, you will be my guests. Tomorrow you will get an early start after a good night’s sleep.”
Gamay half heard his words. Tessa’s head was no longer downcast. She was looking straight at Gamay, her eyes wide open, almost imperceptibly shaking her head. Paul caught the gesture as well.
They thanked Dieter for the refreshing drink and his offer of a place to stay and said they wanted to retrieve some gear from the boat. As they walked toward the river the natives shied away as if the couple were surrounded by an invisible force field.
Gamay made a pretense of checking the engine for oil.
“Did you see Tessa?” she said. “She was warning us.”
“No mistaking the terror in those eyes,” Paul said, examining the dipstick.
“What do you think we should do?”
“We don’t have much choice. I’m not enthusiastic about spending the night here in Camp Happy, but I wasn’t kidding. It would be crazy to run this river in the dark. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Yes, I do,” Gamay said, watching a bat the size of an eagle flit across the river in the failing light. “I suggest that we don’t close our eyes at the same time.”
9
AS AUSTIN SCUDDED through the blue-green Baja waters on the back of a mini-submersible, he wondered how a National Geographic photographer filming a whale migration would react if a man riding a giant boot suddenly appeared in his camera’s view-finder. Perched outside, like a rumble seat passenger in an old roadster, Austin could see Joe’s head and shoulders outlined by the blue light from the control computer screen inside the watertight cockpit.
Zavala’s metallic voice crackled in the headphones of Austin’s underwater communicator. “How’s the weather out there, cap?”
Austin rapped on the Plexiglas dome and curled his finger and thumb in the okay sign.
“It’s fine. This beats muscle power any day,” he said.
Zavala chuckled. “Contos will be pleased to hear that.”
The skipper of the Sea Robin had beamed with pride as he showed Austin the new submersible sitting in its deck cradle. The experimental mini-sub was a marvelously compact vehicle. The operator sat in the dry, pressurized cabin like the driver of a car, legs stretched out into the extended eight-foot-long hull. Two pontoons flanked the miniature cabin, and on the back were the air tanks and four thrusters.
Austin had run his fingers over the transparent bubble dome and said, “I’ll be damned. This thing does look like an old boot.”
“I tried to get you the Red October,” Contos said, “but Sean Connery was using it.”
Austin wisely kept his silence. NUMA people were known to form personal attachments to the high-tech equipment under their command. The uglier the gear, the more intense the relationship. Austin didn’t want to embarrass Contos by explaining how he knew the sub was being field-tested off California where the main components had been assembled. He had commissioned the design and building of the mini-submersible for the Special Assignments Team, and Zavala designed it. NUMA had subs that could go faster and deeper, but Austin wanted a tough little vehicle that would be portable, easily transported by a helicopter or boat. It would have to be unobtrusive as well, Austin specified, so as not to attract attention. Although he had approved the blueprints, this was his first glimpse of the final product.
Zavala was a brilliant marine engineer who had directed the construction of many manned and unmanned underwater craft. For inspiration, Zavala used the DeepWorker, a commercial mini-sub designed by Phil Nuytten and Zegrahm DeepSea Voyages, an adventure expedition cruise company. Zavala extended the range and power and added sophisticated testing capacity. He claimed the instruments aboard the submersible could tell what river or glacier a drop of ocean water came from.
The sub was originally named the DeepSee, an homage to its predecessor and to its intended function as an exploration vehicle. When Admiral Sandecker heard the designation he cringed at the pun. Shown the scale model, he grinned. “It reminds me of one of the brogans I used to wear when I was a kid,” he said, using the old slang term for high-topped workboots. The new name stuck.
The NUMA ship cruised south from San Diego into Mexican waters, staying well offshore. Near Ensenada the Sea Robin began to follow the coast more closely. The ship passed several fishing boats and a couple of cruise ships. Before long the vessel was about a half mile from the open mouth of the cove Austin and Zavala had scouted out earlier from land. Austin scoured the rugged cliffs through powerful binoculars and studied the back of the tortilla factory. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Large signs posted on eit
her side of the lagoon warned of dangerous hidden rocks. Highlighting the warnings were caution buoys strung across the opening.
The Sea Robin sailed beyond the cove and headed into a small inlet. As the anchor slid into the sea, Zavala eased into the mini-sub and made his last-minute checks. With the dome secured the cabin was watertight and carried its own air supply. Zavala was dressed comfortably in shorts and his new purple Hussong’s T-shirt.
Austin, who would be immersed in water, was suited out in full scuba gear and extra air tank. He climbed onto the back of the Brogan with his fins resting on the pontoons and fastened a quick-release harness attached to the sub. The dome was latched tight. At his signal a crane hoisted the sub in the air, then lowered it into the sea. Austin unhooked the slack holding lines and gave Zavala the go-ahead to dive. Within seconds they were sinking into the sea in an explosion of bubbles.
The battery-operated thrusters kicked into action with a high-pitched hum, and Zavala steered for open water. The sub rounded the point of jagged sea-wet rocks and followed a course directly into the mouth of the lagoon. They stayed at a depth of thirty-five feet, moving well under Mach One at a comfortable five knots. They used a combination of Austin’s observations and the mini’s instruments to navigate. Austin kept his head low to reduce water resistance. He was enjoying the trip, particularly the schools of brightly colored fish that scattered like wind-blown confetti at their approach.
Austin was glad to see fish for a less aesthetic reason. Their presence meant the water was still safe for living things. He had not forgotten that unknown forces killed an entire pod of huge creatures that were hardier and more adaptable to their marine environment than a puny human being. Although sensors in the sub’s skin automatically sampled and tested the ambient waters, Austin knew that by the time he learned conditions were unhealthy it might be too late.
“Approaching the mouth of the lagoon. We’re going right up the middle,” Zavala reported. “Plenty of room on either side. Mooring line from a warning buoy off to starboard.”