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The cockpit grew silent as both men considered the awful possi- bilities. The only sound was the hum of electric motors as the un- gainly craft dropped into the depths. Before long, they were at the side of the cruiser. Austin directed Zavala to the penetration point. Then came a soft clunk as the front end of the submersible bumped the curved steel plates. Electric pump motors hummed, and the sub- mersible stayed where it was, glued to the steel by a vacuum.

The escape tunnel, made of a tough but pliable synthetic material, was extended. Eight vertical and horizontal thrusters kept the vehi- cle steady under the direction of computers that monitored its move- ment in relation to the current. The instruments indicated when the seal was complete. Normally, a thin probe would penetrate the hull to look for explosive fumes.

Sensors gauged the pressure within the seal and kept the vacuum on place. Given the safe signal to enter, Austin strapped on a small air tank and a scuba regulator and emerged from the air lock. There was some leakage around the seal, but not enough to worry about. He started to crawl through the escape tunnel.

Inside the cruiser, the crew and captain had slipped into a deathlike sleep. Captain Petersen was roused from his cold slumber by the sound of a giant woodpecker. Damned bird! While one level of his brain cursed the source of the noise, another was automatically ana- lyzing it, grouping the raps into familiar patterns, each the equiva- lent of a letter.

HELLO

He flicked the torch on. The chef had heard the noise, and his eyes were as big as fried eggs. The captain's stiff fingers groped for the wrench by his side and banged it weakly against the hull. Then again, with more force.

The reply was immediate.

MOVE AWAY

More easily said than done, the captain thought. Petersen told the chef to back off from the bulkhead, then followed, rolling out of his bunk. He crawled across the deck and called out to the other men to move. He sat with his back to a locker for what seemed an eternity, not sure what to expect.

Austin crawled back into the Lamprey. "Mission accomplished," he said.

"Turning on the can opener," Zavala said. He hit the switch for the ring of cutting lasers. They sliced through the two-inch metal skin as easily as a paring knife through an orange. A monitor showed the penetration and the brilliant red of the lasers. The lasers automati- cally shut off.

Petersen had been watching as a faint pink circle deepened in color until it was a bright molten reddish-orange. He felt welcome heat against his face. There was a hollow clang as a section of the hull fell

into the cabin, and he had to shield his eyes against a bright disk of light.

Steam filled the escape tunnel, and the edges of the opening were still hot from the laser cutters. Austin pushed a specially made lad- der over the rim and stuck his head through the opening.

"Any of you gentlemen call a taxi?" he said.

Despite his lighthearted manner, Austin wondered if the rescue was too late. He had never seen such a bedraggled bunch. He called out for Captain Petersen. A grease-covered apparition crawled for- ward and croaked, "I'm the captain. Who are you?"

Austin climbed into the ship and helped the captain to his feet. "The introductions will have to wait. Please tell your men who can still move to crawl through that hole."

The captain translated the order. Austin threw a couple of soggy blankets onto the rough edges of the opening, then helped those who couldn't make it under their own power. Petersen collapsed as he was trying to crawl into the submersible, and Austin had to give him a shove, then clambered in behind him. As he entered the air lock, he saw water trickling in through the rim of the seal where Zavala had done a hasty patch job.

He quickly closed the hatch behind him. Zavala had put the con- trols on auto while he pulled the crew through the air lock. The bulky survival suits didn't make the task any easier. It was a miracle that any of the crew was still alive. Amazingly, some had made the trip themselves. The passenger space consisted of two padded benches running the length of the sub, separated by a narrow aisle. The survivors crowded onto the benches or stood in the aisle like commuters on a Tokyo subway.

"Sorry there's no first-class section," Austin said.

"No complaint," said the captain. "My men will agree that it is bet- ter than our former living arrangements."

With the crew settled, Kurt returned to the cockpit. "We had a lit- tle leakage around the seal," he reported.

Zavala indicated a blinking light on a computer-generated dia- gram of the submersible. "More than a little. The 0-ring blew out like a flat tire a second after we closed the air lock."

He retracted the telescopic escape tube, disengaged the sub- mersible from the dead ship and backed off, clearly revealing in its floodlights the round hole where the lasers had cut out the escape route. When the sub was clear of the wreck, he activated the ballast pumps. The electric motors clicked into action with a low hum, ex- cept from the front right pump, where there was a sound like a fork going down a garbage disposal. One ballast tank still had water in it, disrupting the sub's equilibrium as the others filled with com- pressed air.

The Sea Lamprey operated like any other submarine; it pumped water into its ballast tanks to dive, pumped in air to ascend. The computer tried to compensate by giving more power to the vertical thrusters. The submersible lurched into a nose-down angle, and the smell of hot metal came through the vents. Zavala pumped water back into the other tanks, and the Lamprey leveled out, more or less.

Austin stared at the instrument panel. A light was blinking on a schematic troubleshooting diagram. He ran a check on the computer that served as the brains of the vehicle. The trouble system indicated that the warning light had been triggered by an actual mechanical problem, the kind of glitch that could show up with new equipment, and was probably easily repairable. But this was not a test run; it was a deep submergence dive to fifty fathoms. Another light started blinking red.

"Both front motors are gone," Austin said. "Better use the backup pumps."

"Those were the backup pumps," Zavala said.

"So much for redundant systems. What's the problem?"

"I could tell you in a minute if I had this thing up on a lift."


Tags: Clive Cussler NUMA Files Thriller