by Robin Cook
Suzanne sat down in the starboard pilot’s seat. Soon she began flipping toggle switches and calling out the results to Donald. It was apparent the two worked as a team. Once Suzanne joined in the predive check, haunting pinging sounds began reverberating through the confined space. It was a unique sound that Perry associated with old World War II submarine movies.
Perry shivered again. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to think about his childhood trauma of being pinned under the covers by his brother. But the ploy didn’t work. He looked out the view port to his left and struggled to comprehend why he felt he was making the worst decision in his life by taking this short, routine dive. He knew it wasn’t a rational feeling since he recognized he was with professionals for whom this dive was commonplace. He knew the submersible was reliable and that he’d recently paid for an overhaul.
All at once Perry started. A masked face had materialized literally before his eyes. An involuntary, pitiful squeak escaped from Perry’s lips before he realized he was looking into the face of one of the submersible’s handlers who’d entered the water with scuba equipment. A moment later Perry saw other divers. In a slow-motion underwater ballet the divers quickly detached the handling lines. There was a knock on the outside of the hull. The Oceanus was on its own.
“All-clear signal received,” Donald said into the radio mike. He was talking to the launch team supervisor on the fantail. “Request permission to power away from the ship.”
“Permission granted,” a disembodied voice responded.
Perry felt a new linear motion add to the passive roll, yaw, and pitch of the sub. He pressed his nose against the view port and saw the Benthic Explorer move out of his field of vision. With his face still pressed against the Plexiglas he looked down into the oceanic depths where he was about to descend. The sunlight did strange visual tricks as it refracted off the undulating water surface above, making him imagine he was staring into the maw of infinity.
With another shiver Perry acknowledged he was as vulnerable as an infant. A combination of vanity and stupidity had drawn him into this alien environment in which he had no control of his destiny. Although he was not religious, he found himself praying that the little underwater cruise would be short, sweet, and safe.
CHAPTER FOUR
“No contact,” Suzanne said in response to Donald’s question whether the sonar echo sounder showed any unexpected obstacles beneath the Oceanus. Even though they were bobbing around in open ocean, part of the predive check was to make sure no other submarine craft had surreptitiously moved under them.
Donald took the VHF radio mike and established contact with Larry Nelson in the diving van. “We’re clear of the ship. Oxygen is on, scrubbers are on, hatch is closed, underwater phone is on, grounds are normal, and the echo sounder is clear. Request permission to dive.”
“Is your tracking beacon activated?” Larry’s voice questioned over the radio.
“That’s affirmative,” Donald said.
“You have permission to dive,” Larry said with a small amount of static. “Depth to the well head is nine hundred ninety-four feet. Have a nice dive.”
“Roger!” Donald said.
Donald was about to hang up the mike when Larry added, “The DDC is nearing depth so the bell will be starting down ASAP. I’d estimate the divers will be at the site in half an hour.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Donald said. “Over and out.” He hung up the mike. Then to his fellow submariners he added, “Dive! Dive! Vent the main ballast tanks!”
Suzanne leaned forward and threw a switch. “Venting the ballast tanks,” she repeated so there was no chance for misunderstanding. Donald made an entry on his clipboard.
There was a sound like a shower in a neighboring room as the cold Atlantic water rushed into the Oceanus’s ballast tanks. Within moments the craft’s buoyancy plummeted, and once negative she silently slipped beneath the surface.
For the next few minutes both Donald and Suzanne were totally occupied, making sure all systems were still operating normally. Their conversation was restricted to operational jargon. In a rapid fashion they went through most of the predive checklist for the second time while the submersible’s descent accelerated to a terminal velocity of a hundred feet per minute.
Perry occupied his time by looking out the view port. The color went from its initial greenish blue to rapidly advancing indigo. In five minutes all he could see was a blue glow when he looked upward. Downward it was dark purple fading into blackness. In stark contrast, the interior of the Oceanus was bathed in a cool electronic luminosity from the myriad monitors and readout devices.
“I believe we’re a little front heavy,” Suzanne said once all the electronic equipment had been checked.
“I agree,” Donald said. “Go ahead and compensate for Mr. Bergman!”
Suzanne threw another switch. A whirring noise could be heard.
Perry leaned forward between the two pilots. “What do you mean, ‘compensate’ for me?” His voice sounded funny even to himself. He swallowed to relieve a dry throat.
“We have a variable ballast system,” Suzanne explained. “It’s filled with oil, and I’m pumping some of it aft to make up for your weight forward of the center of gravity.”
“Oh!” Perry said simply. He leaned back. As an engineer he understood the physics. He was also relieved they weren’t referring to his timidity, which his self-consciousness had irrationally suggested.
Suzanne turned the variable ballast pump off when she was satisfied with the boat’s trim. Then she turned around to face Perry. She was eager to make his dive to the seamount as positive as possible. Once they were back on ship, she hoped to present him with a case for conducting purely exploratory dives on the guyot. At the moment, the only time she got down there was to change the drill bit. She’d had no luck persuading Mark Davidson of the value of research-inspired dives.
Adding to Suzanne’s anxiety was the widespread rumor that the drilling operation would be scrapped because of technical problems. Sea Mount Olympus would be abandoned before she could get a closer look. That was the last thing she wanted, and not only because of her professional interests. Just before leaving on the current project, she had what she hoped was the final breakup of an unhealthy, volatile relationship with an aspiring actor. At the moment returning to L.A. was the last thing she wanted to do. Perry Bergman’s sudden appearance on-site was serendipitous. She could take her case right to the top.
“Comfortable?” Suzanne asked.
“I’ve never been more comfortable in my life,” Perry averred.
Suzanne smiled despite the obvious sarcasm in Perry’s response. The situation was not looking good. The Benthic Marine president was still tense as evidenced by his gripping the arms of his seat as if he were about to leap out of it. The books that she’d made the effort to bring were lying unopened on the floor grate.
For a moment Suzanne studied the taut president whose eyes looked everywhere but into hers. What she could not tell was whether Perry’s anxiety was from apprehension of being in the submersible or just a reflection of his basic personality. Even on her first meeting with the man six months ago, she had found him a mildly eccentric, vain, and nervous guy. He was obviously not her type in addition to being short enough for her to look directly in the eye in her tennis shoes. Yet despite having little in common with him especially since he was an engineer-cum-entrepreneur and she a scientist, she trusted that he’d be receptive to her arguments. After all, he’d already responded positively to her request to bring the Benthic Explorer back to Sea Mount Olympus even if it was only to drill into the supposed magma chamber.
Sea Mount Olympus had been Suzanne’s main preoccupation for almost a year, since she’d stumbled on its existence by switching on the side-scan sonar on the Benthic Explorer out of boredom when the ship was heading back to port. Initially, her curiosity only involved her inability to explain why such a massive, apparently extinct volcano had not been
detected by Geosat. But now, after making four dives in the submersible, she was equally fascinated by the geological formations on its flat crown, especially since she’d only been afforded the opportunity to explore in the immediate vicinity of the well head. But then the most intriguing fact emerged when she took it on herself to date the rock that had been brought up with the broken drill bit.
To Suzanne the results were startling and a lot more intriguing than the rock’s apparent hardness. From the seamount’s position near the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, she expected the rock sample’s age to register in the seven-hundred-thousand-year range. Instead it had tested to be around four billion years old!
Knowing that the oldest rocks ever found on earth’s surface or on the ocean floor were significantly less ancient than this figure, Suzanne had thought that either the dating instrument was out of whack, or she’d made some stupid procedural error. Unwilling to risk ridicule, she decided to keep the results to herself.
With painstaking care she spent hours recalibrating the equipment, and then running additional samples over and over. To her disbelief, the results were all within three or four hundred million years of each other. Still believing there had to be a dating instrument malfunction involved, Suzanne had Tad Messenger, the head lab tech, recalibrate it. When she ran the sample again, the result was within a few million years of the previous one. Still in doubt, Suzanne reconciled herself to waiting until she got back to L.A. so she could use the university lab’s equipment. Meanwhile the results were hidden away in her ship’s locker. She tried to reserve judgment, but her interest in Sea Mount Olympus soared.
“We have hot coffee in a Thermos aft if you’d like some,” Suzanne said. “I’d be happy to get it for you.”
“I think I’d be happier if you stay at the controls,” Perry said.
“Donald, how about turning on the outside lights for a moment,” Suzanne suggested.
“We’re only passing through five hundred feet,” Donald said. “There’s nothing to see.”
“It’s Mr. Bergman’s first open ocean dive,” Suzanne said. “He should see the plankton.”
“Call me Perry,” Perry said. “I mean, why be formal while we’re packed in here together like so many sardines in a can?”
Suzanne acknowledged Perry’s offer of informality with a smile. She was only sorry he so clearly was not enjoying the trip.
“Donald, as a favor to me, turn on the lights,” Suzanne said.
Donald complied without further comment. He reached forward and snapped on the external halogen lamps on the port side. Perry turned his head and glanced out.
“Looks like snow,” he said.
“It’s trillions of individual plankton organisms,” Suzanne explained. “Since we’re still in an epipelagic zone, it’s probably mostly phytoplankton, or plant plankton that can carry on photosynthesis. Along with the blue-green algae, those are the guys who are at the bottom of the entire oceanic food chain.”
“I’m glad,” Perry said.
Donald switched the lights off. “No sense in using up valuable battery power with that type of reaction,” he explained to Suzanne sotto voce.
In the ensuing darkness, Perry witnessed twinkling bursts of muted neon green and yellow sparkles. He asked Suzanne what it was.
“That’s bioluminescence,” Suzanne said.
“Is it the plankton?” Perry asked.
“It could be,” Suzanne said. “If so, it would probably be dinoflagellates. Of course, it could also be tiny crustaceans or even fish. I’ve put a yellow bookmark in the marine life book marking the bioluminescence section.”
Perry nodded but made no attempt to pick up the text.
Nice try, Suzanne thought glumly. Her optimism about ensuring Perry’s enjoyment sagged appreciably.
“Oceanus, this is Benthic Explorer,” Larry’s voice sounded in the acoustic phone speaker. “Suggest a course two hundred and seventy degrees at fifty amps for two minutes.”
“Roger,” Donald said. He quickly made the course adjustment with the joysticks and changed the power output to the propeller to the suggested fifty amps. He then noted the changes on his clipboard.
“Larry has plotted our position by tracking our pinger and relating it to the bottom hydrophones,” Suzanne explained. “By powering forward while descending we’ll reach bottom directly at the well head. It’s like we’re gliding to the target.”
“What will we do until the divers arrive?” Perry asked. “Just sit and twiddle our thumbs?”
“Hardly,” Suzanne said. She forced another smile along with a shallow laugh. “We’ll unload the drill bit from the tray along with the tools we’re carrying. Then we’ll back off. At that point we’ll have about twenty to thirty minutes to explore around the site. That’s the part I think you are going to truly enjoy.”
“I can’t wait,” Perry said with the kind of sarcasm Suzanne was beginning to dread. “But I don’t want you doing anything out of the ordinary on my behalf. I mean, don’t try to impress me. I’m already impressed enough.”
Suddenly the monotonous pinging of the sonar changed. The sub was nearing the bottom, and the forward short-range sonar had a solid contact. The tiny screen showed the well head and the pipe snaking down from above. Donald jettisoned several of the descent weights and the craft’s gliding plunge slowed. He then began a careful adjustment of the variable ballast system to achieve neutral buoyancy.
While Donald was busy pumping oil, Suzanne reached behind her and turned on a small CD player. It was part of her master plan. All at once the sound of Igor Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring filled the sub’s interior. Taking the music as a cue, Donald leaned forward and switched on the outside lights.
Perry’s eyes widened as he glanced out the view port. The planktonic snow had all but disappeared, and the clarity of the icy water was more than he imagined. He was able to see for several hundred feet, and what he saw left him flabbergasted. He’d expected a flat, featureless plain similar to what the bottom looked like on his dive off Santa Catalina Island. At most he thought he might see a few sea cucumbers. Instead he was gazing at a misty tableau the likes of which he’d never imagined: huge, dark gray, columnar forms with flat tops dotted the landscape, jutting up in a stepwise fashion like the frozen pistons of an enormous engine. The haunting shapes extended out as far as Perry could see. A few long-tailed, big-eyed fish lazily darted in and around them. On some of the rock ledges sea fans and sea whips waved sinuously in the current.
“Good God!” Perry exclaimed. He was mesmerized, especially with the dramatic music in the background.
“Rather exceptional, eh?” Suzanne said. She was encouraged. Perry’s reaction to the scenery was his first auspicious response.
“It looks like some ancient temple area,” Perry exclaimed.
“Like Atlantis,” Suzanne suggested. She was intent on milking the situation for all it was worth.
“Yeah!” Perry blurted. “Like Atlantis! Jeez! Can you imagine bringing tourists down here and telling them that it was Atlantis? What a freaking gold mine this could be.”
Suzanne cleared her throat. Bringing tourists down to her precious seamount was the last thing she wanted to see happen, but she appreciated Perry’s enthusiasm. At least he was engaged.
“Current is less than an eighth of a knot,” Donald said. “Coming up on the well head. Prepare to off-load the drill bit.”
Suzanne swung around to attend to her duties as copilot. She powered up the servos for the manipulator arms. Meanwhile Donald set the Oceanus down expertly on the rock floor. While Suzanne prepared to lift the drill bit and tools from the submersible’s tray, Donald used the UQC phone.
“On the bottom,” Donald said. “Off-loading the payload.”
“Roger,” Larry said in reply over the speaker. “I guessed as much when I heard Suzanne’s music. Is that the only freaking CD she has?”
“It’s the best one for the scenery down here,” Suzanne interjected.
&n
bsp; “If we make any more dives I’ll loan you some New Age CDs,” Larry answered. “I can’t stand that classical stuff.”
“Am I looking at basaltic dikes out here?” Perry questioned.
“That’s my guess,” Suzanne said. “Have you ever heard of the Giant’s Causeway?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Perry said.
“It’s a natural rock formation on the northern coast of Ireland,” Suzanne said. “It looks something like what you’re seeing here.”
“How big is the top of this seamount?” Perry questioned.
“I’d estimate about four football fields,” Suzanne said. “But, unfortunately, that’s nothing but a guess. The problem is we haven’t had enough bottom time to explore the whole thing.”
“Well, I think we ought to,” Perry said.
Right on! Suzanne said to herself. She had to resist the temptation to yell out to ask if Larry and Mark had heard Perry’s comment over the UQC.
“Does the whole top of the mountain look just the same as it does here?” Perry asked.
“No, not entirely,” Suzanne said. “On the limited amount we’ve seen there are some areas of more typical undersea lava formations. On the last dive, though, we caught a glimpse of what might be a transverse fault, but we were called back before we could check it out. The mount remains largely unexplored.”
“Where was the fault in relation to the well head?” Perry asked.
“Due west from here,” Suzanne said. “Just about in the direction you’re looking right now. Can you see a particularly high row of columns?”
“I think so,” Perry said. He pushed his face against the Plexiglas to try to look slightly behind the sub. There was a row of columns at the edge of his visibility. “Would finding a transverse fault be significant?” he asked.
“It would be astounding,” Suzanne responded. “They occur up and down the Mid-Atlantic Ridge system, but finding one at such a distance from the ridge, and through the middle of what we assume is an old volcano, would be quite unique.”
