Deep Fathom (21 page)

As the ship heaved and rolled, the admiral chewed on the stubby end of his thick stogie, oblivious, and sighed out a long stretch of smoke. The old sailor was rapidly depleting Jack's Cuban cigar stock. “You really should have told us sooner about this discovery,” Houston said.

Jack bowed his head. Earlier, he had played the secret recordings of the crystal spire and the strange hieroglyphics. After the close call with the giant squid, he knew he could no longer keep silent about his discoveries. “I know, but at first I didn't think it was important to the investigation.”

“And you sought some way to snub your nose at the Navy.”

Jack grimaced. He never could put anything past the old man.

The admiral continued, “Your discovery may explain the magnetization of the wreckage's parts. If the crystal was giving off some form of radiation, it may have affected the wreck. Weintraub will want to know about this.”

Jack nodded. He had been surprised to hear about the magnetization of the plane's metal sections.

“Is there anything else you've been hiding?” Houston
asked.

“No, not really.”

Houston's look bore in on Jack. “Not really?”

“Just a few thoughts…nothing concrete.”

“Like what?”

“It's not important.”

Houston drilled Jack with his steely eyes. Even after twelve years, it still made Jack cringe inside. “Let me decide what's important and what isn't.”

Jack felt backed into a corner. “I don't know. Don't you think it's a strange coincidence that most of the wreckage just happened to land by the pillar?”

“Strange? No doubt. But who knows how many of these spikes may lie down there on the ocean floor? Only a small fraction of the deep seabed has been investigated.”

“Maybe.” Jack was not convinced.

Silence descended over the pair, except for the distant rumble of thunder. Finally, Houston stretched, stubbing out his cigar. “Well, if that's all…It's getting late. I should get myself to bed before I totally clean out your Cuban supply. Thanks for lending me your cabin.”

Jack took a deep breath. All afternoon he had been mulling over an idea he'd been afraid to verbalize. “Mark…”

The admiral glanced his way, eyebrows raised. It was the first time Jack had addressed him so informally. “What is it?”

“I know this is crazy, but what if…what if the crystal spire had something to do with bringing down Air Force One?”

“Jack, c'mon, now you're really pushing the envelope.”

“Don't you think I know that? But I was the only one down there.” Jack recalled when his sub's titanium arm had touched the crystal's surface. The sense of free falling, the glitches.

“What are you saying?”

Jack spoke earnestly, struggling to put what he felt into words: “I once shipped out on a nuclear sub. I bunked not far from the reactor. Though the power plant was shielded, I
could still somehow sense the immense power behind the bulkhead. It was like my bones were picking up something that no machine could detect. It was like that down below. An immense power, humming along, idling.”

Houston stared silently, then spoke, slowly. “I trust your judgment, Jack. I don't doubt you felt something. If the thing could magnetize the wreckage, then it is damn strong. But to bring down a jet flying at forty or fifty thousand feet…” The admiral's voice died away.

“I know…I know what it sounds like. But I just wanted you to know what I discovered, what I felt down there. All I ask is that you keep your mind open.”

Houston nodded. “I appreciate your candor, Jack. But I always keep my options open.” The old man shook his head tiredly. “All I wish is that Washington would do the same. You know you're not the only one with thoughts about the crash. The new administration seems to have already made up their minds.”

“What are they saying now?” Jack asked.

“Sabotage. Done by the Chinese.”

Jack's brow crinkled. Over the past few days he had been too busy to follow the news. “But that's ridiculous. President Bishop was one of the staunchest advocates for negotiating a long-term relationship with China. Why would they assassinate him?”

The admiral scowled. “It's all politics. Posturing. But in response, the Chinese have already pulled their diplomats out of the U.S. and kicked ours out of their country. Just this morning I learned that the Chinese navy has been out on maneuvers. Just more posturing on their part, but it's still a dangerous game Washington is playing.”

Jack suddenly felt foolish voicing his own wild conjecture. The admiral had enough on his plate. “Then I guess we need the real answer ASAP.”

“No doubt. At least we'll have the Navy's own sub to aid us tomorrow. With two submersibles diving, we should be able to accelerate the pace.”

Jack nodded. The sub was the newest prototype, a part of the Navy's Deep Submergence Unit, rated to the depth of
fifteen thousand feet and a speed of up to forty knots. “I've read about the
Perseus
. A real Ferrari of the fleet.”

“A Ferrari with teeth. It was just outfitted with an array of minitorpedoes.”

Jack's eyes widened.

“It's the latest modification to the
Perseus
. Still classified info.”

“Should you be telling me about it?”

Houston waved off his concern. “You would've found out tomorrow anyway. These little submarine busters should help discourage any hostile sea life from trying to eat you again.”

Jack grinned. “For once, I'm not going to object to the Navy guarding my back.”

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted their discussion. Both men turned. George Klein pushed up into the galley from the lower deck. “I thought I heard voices up here,” the historian said. “I was hoping you were still awake, Jack.”

Jack was surprised by the professor's shabby appearance: dark circles shadowed his eyes, a scraggly gray beard covered his chin. It looked as if he had not slept in a couple days. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen George all day. “What is it, Professor?”

The historian lifted a rolled map in his hand. “Something I wanted to run past you. I've been researching other disappearances in this region. I think you should see this.”

Jack knew George did not voice idle thoughts. The historian remained close-lipped until he was satisfied with his research. And from the condition of the man, Jack suspected he had been digging into something significant.

“What have you discovered?”

“Perhaps the underlying reason for the crash of Air Force One.”

The admiral straightened and looked significantly at Jack. “It seems everyone is coming up with their own theories today.”

George ignored the admiral's words and moved to the galley table. As the historian unrolled his map, Jack caught a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean and a large red-penciled triangle.
Before he could get a better look, a loud boom shook through the ship.

Everyone froze.

As the sound echoed away, Jack heard Elvis barking deeper in the ship's belly.

Wincing, the professor adjusted his glasses. “That was close. That thunderclap must have been—”

Both the admiral and Jack were on their feet. “That wasn't thunder,” Jack said, stepping to the door leading to the stern deck.

Outside, rain lashed the deck. The winds tried to rip the door handle from his grip. The ship rolled deeply under his feet.

Both men followed him from the galley.

Turning, Jack searched the seas. About a quarter mile away he spotted the silhouette of the USS
Gibraltar
. The ship now blazed with lights. From its deck, a small fireball rolled into the dark sky.

“What happened?” George asked, wiping at his glasses.

No one answered—but as Jack followed the fireball, he sensed that their true troubles were just beginning.

Climbing the stairs of Miyuki's building, Karen was thrilled to get back to work. After yesterday's attempted theft, she and Miyuki had spent the entire day holed up with university security. Even though she had used her gun in self-defense, the authorities confiscated her weapon. With Japanese gun laws as strict as they were, it had taken Karen hours to talk her way out of the police station. Afterward, Ryukyu's president, concerned about the attack, had called to reassure the two women and promise them increased security.

Taking extra measures herself, Karen had stashed the crystal artifact in her safe deposit box at her bank in anticipation of another attempted theft.

Even now, as she climbed the building's stairs, she was accompanied by a uniformed security guard. At least the university's president had proven true to his word, she thought. At the top of the stairs she led the way to Miyuki's lab. After she knocked and identified herself, she heard the tumblers in the lock and then the door inched open.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” the guard asked in Japanese.

Miyuki nodded. She pulled the door open, allowing Karen to enter.

“We'll be fine from here,” Karen said in stilted Japanese. “We'll keep the doors locked and will call down when we're ready to leave.”

He nodded and turned curtly.

Karen closed the door and Miyuki locked it again. Sighing, Karen reached over and took her friend's hand. “We're safe,” she said. “They won't be back. Not with the extra security around here.”

“But—”

She gave Miyuki's hand a squeeze. Remembering how calm the leader of the thieves had been, and recalling how he had knocked down his companion's rifle, she said, “I don't think they truly meant us any personal harm. They just wanted the artifact.”

“And are determined to get it no matter who stands in their way,” Miyuki added dourly.

“Don't worry. With it locked in my safe deposit box, they'll have to defeat the Bank of Tokyo's security system to get it.”

“I'm still not taking any chances.” Miyuki waved Karen to the clean suits hanging on their wall. “C'mon. Gabriel has discovered something interesting.”

“Really? About the language?”

“Yes, he finished compiling the other examples of the Easter Island script.”

Karen hurried into her clean suit, zipping it up and standing. “Do you think he has enough information to translate it?”

“It's too soon to say. He's working on it though.”

Tucking her hair into a paper bonnet as she moved toward the door, she asked, “But do you think he can do it?”

Miyuki shrugged and keyed open the door to the main lab. A whoosh of air sounded as the seal broke. “That's not what you should be asking.”

Miyuki, always Japanese stoic, was seldom playful when
she talked business, so the trace of mischief in her voice intrigued Karen. “What is it?”

“You need to see this.”

Clearly, Miyuki had discovered something important. “What? What is it?”

Miyuki led the way to the bank of computers. “Gabriel, could you please bring up Figure 2B on Monitor One.”

“Certainly. Good morning, Dr. Grace.”

“Good morning, Gabriel.” By now Karen was growing accustomed to their disembodied colleague.

The two women sat down. On the monitor before them, Karen saw data scrolling, flowing so rapidly it was almost a blur, but she noted that many of the fluttering images were of the unknown hieroglyphics. Within a few seconds five glyphs were centered on the screen.

She was unimpressed. “Okay. What am I looking at? Can you translate this section, Gabriel?”

“No, Dr. Grace. With the current level of data, a decryption of this language remains impossible.”

Karen frowned, disappointed. “Have you found any other examples of the
rongorongo
script?”

“I have found them all, Dr. Grace.”

Karen's brows shot up. “All twenty-five? So soon?”

“Yes. I contacted 413 websites to obtain all known examples of this language. Unfortunately, three of the artifacts contained identical scripts, and one artifact contained only a single glyph. The amount of data was insufficient to complete a decryption.”

Karen eyed the monitor. “So what is this? Which artifact are these glyphs from?”

“None of them.”

“What?”

Miyuki interceded. “Please explain, Gabriel. Elaborate on your search parameters.” Miyuki turned to Karen and added hurriedly, “He thought of this all on his own.” Her face shone with excitement and pride.

Gabriel spoke. “
After searching under the term
‘Rongorongo,'
I performed a worldwide search under each individual symbol, 120 searches, to be precise. On an archaeology website at Harvard University, I discovered a matching post. It matched three of my search parameters.”
On the screen, three of the five symbols suddenly glowed red.

“What about the other two?” Karen asked, struggling to understand.

“They do not match any known
Rongorongo
glyph.”

“What are you saying?”

Miyuki answered, “They're new symbols. Glyphs no one's seen before.”

“Th-That would mean we've discovered an undocumented artifact.” She sat up straighter. “A new find!”

“The note on the Harvard website was posted two days ago.”

“Can I see the posting?”

“It's right here.” Miyuki slipped out a sheet. “I printed it out.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“I know. Gabriel was able to extend the search parameters on his own. It's true independent thinking. Unbelievable progress.”

“Miyuki, I meant the new symbols.” Karen rattled the paper. “This is the unbelievable part.”

“In your field maybe.”

Karen realized she had slighted her friend's accomplishment. “I'm sorry, Miyuki. Both you and Gabriel deserve my heartfelt appreciation.”

Miyuki, mollified, pointed. “Just read it. There's more.”

Karen touched her friend's wrist. “I
do
appreciate it. Really.”

“Oh, I know. I just like making you admit it.”

Rolling her eyes, Karen turned her attention to the e-mail post.

Karen lowered the paper. Besides the glyphs, she couldn't help but notice the reference to a second crystal. It was too much of a coincidence.

“Do we know where this came from?”

Miyuki nodded. “Gabriel ran a trace. It's from a salvage ship, the
Deep Fathom
. Right now it's located in the middle of the Pacific. Gabriel was able to track its current position by tapping into the GPS system.”

“Where is it?”

“Near Wake Island. But that's not the weird part. Gabriel discovered a news article about the ship. The
Deep Fathom
is currently aiding in the deep-sea salvage of Air Force One.”

“How strange…” Karen frowned, trying to figure out how the two items could possibly be connected. “We need to contact this George Klein.”

“Gabriel is already working on it.”

Jack sat tensely in the leather chair in the long conference room. Though the room was crowded, no one spoke. They all awaited the appearance of Admiral Houston. He was conferring with the Joint Chiefs after last night's explosion. All night long, investigators and military personnel had combed through the damage. Under sodium spotlights, a hundred men dug, shifted, and collected pieces of evidence.

The remains of the chief investigator, Edwin Weintraub, had been found and brought to the ship's infirmary. His body was badly charred and blast-burned. The initial identification was made by his wedding ring. It had been a long and somber night. With security as tight as an angry fist, Jack had been refused admission to the
Gibraltar
until this morning.

But even with the lead ship locked down, rumors had spread to the support vessels, including the
Deep Fathom
. A bomb. Hidden in the Chinese jade bust. Shards had speared everywhere, piercing the tent's tarpaulin, even embedding into the bones of Weintraub's skull and limbs. Additionally, the explosion had ignited a nearby tank of cleaning oil, creating the brilliant fireball that had blasted forth from the shaft of a cargo elevator.

Jack shivered. He had handled the jade bust himself. If the stories were true, what if it exploded while he'd been on the ocean bottom? He pushed away that stray thought.

Around him, in the room, the silence remained tense.
Everyone looked bone-tired and thunderstruck. Not even whispers were shared.

At last the door to the conference room swung open. Admiral Houston stalked into the room, flanked by his aides and trailed by David Spangler. The admiral remained standing, while the other three men took seats. Jack made eye contact with Houston, but the admiral did not acknowledge him. His face was ashen, his eyes as hard as agates.

“Gentlemen,” Houston began, “first let me thank you all for your industrious efforts this past week. The tragedy last night will not minimize your significant contribution.” The admiral bowed his head. “But I must now sadly announce that the remains found last night were positively identified as those of Dr. Edwin Weintraub.”

A murmur spread through the crowd of NTSB personnel.

“I know all who met Dr. Weintraub held him in the highest esteem. He will be missed.” The admiral's tone grew harder. “But his death was not in vain. Amidst the debris, his murderers left evidence of their cowardice. Experts—both here and in San Diego—have confirmed the origin of the electronic timer and detonator. Both were of Chinese manufacture.”

A few of the NTSB men raised angry voices. The Navy and Marine personnel remained stoic, except for a lieutenant sitting near Jack who moaned a quick, “Oh, God.”

The admiral lifted a hand. “It is now believed that Dr. Weintraub accidentally triggered the hidden bomb during the course of his investigation. It is conjectured that similar devices were probably planted throughout the original ten-foot-high sculpture. Such an explosion in the cargo hold is believed to have downed Air Force One.”

A hush settled over the crowd.

“Back home, these findings will break with this evening's news. It cannot be kept from the American people. But once word spreads, worldwide tensions will escalate quickly, especially so soon after the Pacific tragedy. As such, I have just received word that the USS
Gibraltar
has been ordered to the Philippine Sea. En route, we will be offloading both
the NTSB personnel and the wreckage of Air Force One on the island of Guam.”

New murmurs ran through the crowd.

The admiral waited for his audience to quiet down before continuing. “The Navy's salvage and research ship, the
Maggie Chouest
, along with the Navy's Deep Submergence Unit, will continue recovering the last pieces of Air Force One from the ocean floor. Once collected, they'll also be shipped to Guam. This revised mission will be overseen by the current head of security, Commander Spangler.”