by Steve Alten
Celeste kissed him hard on the mouth, then ran from the room.
* * *
Two hours passed before Mac slowed the airship, circling above an expanse of grassland spotted with wildflowers. A snowcapped mountain range sculpted the horizon to the northeast, a forest of pine trees blanketed the south.
The chopper touched down.
“Where the fuck are we?” Maren yelled.
“Ever hear of a town called Bethel?”
“No.”
“Me neither, but according to the map, it’s somewhere south of here, maybe thirty, forty miles.” Mac pulled open the cargo-bay door, then tossed the cardboard box out.
“What? Now what are you doing?”
“I just thought you’d like your personal belongings with you. I took the liberty of clearing the stuff out of your cabin. Don’t bother thanking me, it was my pleasure.”
“You’re not leaving me here?”
“Why not? It’s pretty country, though you may want to keep an eye out for bears.”
“I’ll die out here.”
Mac untied the rope from the support, dragging Maren from the chopper.
Maren dropped knees first onto the half-frozen. muddy ground. “Mackreides, wait. Okay, I confess. I was the one who removed the firing pin from Taylor’s weapon. But I swear, I didn’t cut that rope.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know—”
Mac walked back to the chopper and shut the cargo-bay door.
“Wait, Mackreides, don’t leave! If you don’t believe me, ask Celeste. I was banging her the night Taylor was attacked.”
“Sounds like a motive to me. Celeste’s been coming on to Jonas. You became jealous and tried to kill him.”
“No, I mean, yes, I was jealous, but I didn’t cut the rope.”
Mac studied Maren’s face. He pulled out his bowie knife.
Maren flinched.
Mac grabbed him by the wrists and cut his bonds. He reached inside the cockpit and pulled out a knapsack, tossing it at him. “There’s a map inside, along with matches and a few other supplies. If our paths ever cross again, I’ll kill you.”
Mac climbed back into the cockpit.
Maren ran to the cockpit door, finding it locked. “Mackreides, don’t do this!”
Mac turned, his smile widening across the square-cut jawline. “Have a nice walk.”
Desperate, Maren grabbed onto the landing struts. The chopper lifted, tossing him to the ground.
Maren sat up and watched the helicopter disappear over a cluster of pine trees. A brisk northern wind howled through the trees, the cold air sending shivers down his spine.
He looked around, the seriousness of his predicament finally sinking in.
“Goddamn you, Mackreides,” he screamed, running after the chopper, his voice echoing in the distance. He stumbled over a hollow log, righted himself, then started kicking it, cursing and yelling.
He stopped after several minutes when his foot started throbbing. He opened the knapsack and pulled out the map Mackreides had left him, unfolding it.
“You son of a bitch!”
It was a map of Cleveland.
Maren ripped it in half and started walking, limping noticeably.
* * *
Jonas opened his eyes. Celeste was gone, the room dark. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace. In his mind he imagined what he would say to Terry. He would offer to move, sell the house, just pick up and start their lives anew anywhere she desired. He’d get a job with normal hours, be home on weekends, whatever it took, as long as they could be together.
A deep rumbling interrupted his thoughts, shaking the room around him. He sat up as the window rattled in its frame. A cup of water spilled across his tray.
Seconds later, the vibrations ceased.
The nurse reentered, smiling. “You okay?”
“Was that an earthquake?”
“Just a minor tremor. We get them all the time. Most people just ignore them. You should’ve seen the last time ol’ Makushin erupted, my goodness. Ash all over everything.”
“I didn’t realize there was a volcano on this island.”
“There’s active volcanoes all over the Aleutians. After all, we are part of the Pacific Rim.”
Jonas stiffened, a terrible thought racing through his mind.
“Are you okay, Mr. Taylor?”
“No, nurse, wait, please. I need your help . . . I need access to a computer.”
“My son has a laptop—”
“Could I use it? Please, this is very important. It’s a matter of life and death!”
Mousetrap
Mariana Trench
Benedict Singer leaned over the circular light table, his emerald eyes looking more animal than human in the fluorescent glow. To his left was Vladislav Prokovich, newly appointed captain of the Benthos; to his right, Dr. Liu Kwan, professor of plasma physics. The three men stood before the huge computerized bathymetric map of the Trench and the surrounding Marianas Islands.
The volcanic island chain appeared as a long arcing landmass running north to south. Millions of years ago, the islands had risen from the ocean floor, driven upward as the Pacific tectonic plate subducted beneath the Philippine Plate. Shadowing the islands to the east was the world’s deepest Trench, the snaking gorge divided by a rising shelf that served to separate the deeper northern and southern halves of the abyss by an expanse of some thirty miles.
A blue dot within the southern region marked the present location of the Benthos. Benedict placed an X in red marker over an area in the northern Trench. “According to Celeste, Jonas Taylor indicated this area to be the site of the Seacliff dives. Vladislav, at full speed, how soon could we arrive?”
Vladislav Prokovich fingered the permanent eye patch covering his left eye socket, a lasting remnant of the Afghan war. “It will take us thirty hours just to reach the canyon wall. The Benthos must then ascend thirteen thousand feet to exit the gorge, then travel another twenty-eight miles north along this stretch of seafloor before descending into the northern region of the abyss. From there, another twenty hours to Devil’s Purgatory . . . Seventy-two hours, perhaps less depending on the currents.”
“It would be helpful to have the Goliath begin gas chromatography readings of the Devil’s Purgatory before we arrive,” Kwan suggested.
Prokovich shook his head. “Nyet. It’s not wise to allow the Goliath to move ahead while these creatures continue to attack us.”
“Why not?” Kwan asked. “The hull of the Benthos is impregnable.”
“True, but the gasoline tanks and ballast attached to the cowling beneath the ship are quite vulnerable, as is the Epimetheus,” Prokovich said. “The additional hours do not justify the risk.”
“The creatures will abandon us once we begin our ascent,” Benedict said. “Instruct the Goliath to continue to shadow us until that time.”
“What about the girl?” Prokovich asked. “With Sergei dead, is it wise to allow her free rein of the ship?”
“What you call free rein is only an illusion,” Benedict corrected. “My eyes follow her everywhere.”
“Then why did you allow her to kill Sergei?”
“I merely permitted the situation to play itself out. The girl was cunning, Sergei careless. Alcohol ruined him long ago. He deserved to die.”
“We could post a guard—”
Benedict patted the side of the younger man’s carrot-red crew cut. “Don’t worry yourself, Vladislav. The girl is my subject, a desperate mouse trapped in an inescapable maze. As a student of human nature, I am observing her without her knowing it, studying her responses to stress.”
“She knows too much,” Kwan said.
“But who can she tell?” Benedict asked. “While she’s alive, the option remains to use her as a hostage, should an unexpected situation arise. Upon completing our mission, my little mouse will be dissected and properly disposed of. Until then, allow her to roam wit
hin her cage.”
3:20 A.M.
Terry paused, her heart racing as she listened to muffled voices from the nuclear-reactor room on F level. Unsealing the watertight door, she climbed down, closing the hatch behind her, finally emerging on G deck.
She entered the deserted corridor. Heart pounding in her throat, she moved quickly down the hall to a set of security doors guarding the entrance of what she had been told was a storage facility. Pulling out Sergei’s pass card, she swiped the magnetic strip.
The door clicked open.
Terry entered a dimly lit small corridor. She allowed the door to seal shut behind her, then followed a narrow walkway, leading to a door on her right. She listened, then opened it, revealing an empty locker room. Along three of the walls were a dozen semiprivate changing areas. Hanging from hooks within each cubicle were one-piece bodysuits similar to those she had discovered aboard the Goliath.
Moving through the empty locker room, Terry followed a carpeted passage past a tiled bathroom and shower stalls, finally arriving at a steel door. A warning sign in English, Russian, Korean, and Arabic was posted above the door:
“AIR SHOWER REQUIRED
BEFORE ENTERING FUSION LAB.”
Ignoring the warning, she entered, closing her eyes as a gust of air blew hard against her face. It subsided as she moved beyond the threshold, entering the small antechamber. Benches lined either side of the ten-by-fifteen-foot room, a windowed door situated at the far end. Pressing her face against the dark glass, she peered inside.
It was a lab, but like none she had ever seen. At the center of the room was an object that resembled a six-foot black glass cube. Surrounding the apparatus was a myriad of computers and vacuum pumps. Positioned along the ceiling, high above the cube, was a device that looked like a powerful industrial laser.
Seeing no one inside, Terry pushed open the door, experiencing another blast of air as she entered the air-conditioned lab. Moving past the computers, she noticed rows of aluminum examination tables, covered with piles of potato-shaped black rocks. Terry picked one up, examining it.
“Manganese,” she whispered, recognizing the nodule.
“Correct.”
Terry spun around, startled to find herself face-to-face with Benedict Singer. Caught in the act, she stood defiantly before him, waiting to receive her punishment for misbehaving.
“You seem to be making a habit of these early morning strolls,” Benedict said “In the future, I’ll thank you to observe our rules of hygiene before breaking into our secured facilities, a courtesy you extended when you broke into the Tokamak lab aboard the Goliath.”
Terry felt herself losing her nerve. “What are you doing, Benedict? Are you going to kill me?” That was stupid...
“Kill you? For breaking and entering? A bit harsh, don’t you think—oh, but then you did murder Sergei, didn’t you?”
“He was raping me!”
“Attempted rape justifies murder?”
“He would have killed me, just like he killed Captain Hoppe.”
“Sancta simplicitas, is that it, my dear?” Benedict circled her like a vulture. “It’s unimportant. Your heinous act shall remain a secret.”
“What do you want with me?” she said, fighting to remain in control of her emotions.
“What do I want?” Benedict repeated, as if contemplating the question. “You know, to be honest I’m not quite sure. I suppose I’m still gauging your value. Your physical prowess in the hangar certainly impressed me, to say nothing of your daring aboard the Goliath. What say we test your intelligence? Tell me, what is my true interest in the Mariana Trench?”
She stared into his eyes, refusing to shirk. “The Mariana Trench falls within the boundaries of the Exclusive Economic Zoning laws. You’re using the deployment of the UNIS systems as cover while you illegally mine manganese nodules from the abyss.”
Benedict’s eyes flashed their approval. “Very good. But why am I going to such an elaborate expense just to mine some polymetallic nodules?”
“You’re obviously not after the manganese, or even nickel or cobalt, for that matter. There must be something contained within these nodules that relates to fusion.”
“Bravo. Walk with me.” Benedict swept her along with his right arm, leading her toward the ovoid chamber. “Tell me, have you ever heard of Helium-3?”
“Only that it’s extremely rare.”
“Rare would be an understatement. Most scientists believe there is only enough of the isotope on Earth to fill several cups, although much of the element has been discovered on the Moon. Of course, lunar mining would obviously be a vast undertaking.”
“Why is Helium-3 important?”
Benedict smiled. “Because it’s the key, my dear, the key that unlocks the secret of fusion energy, the greatest technological challenge of all time. Although mankind has come far since Einstein first deduced that mass can produce energy, our major challenge has been to contain the hot plasma required to reach fusion temperatures of one hundred million degrees.”
“And you’ve resolved the problem?”
Benedict leaned back against one of the aluminum tables. “Not I, but two brilliant physicists, Professors Dick Prestis and Michael Shaffer, the former being a onetime colleague of mine.”
“Prestis and Shaffer—those names sound familiar.”
“They should. They were the two men who died aboard the Seacliff, a Navy submersible your husband was piloting eleven years ago in this very Trench. Fortunately for me, they took their fusion secret with them to the grave.”
“Does Jonas know about any of this?”
“God, no. Not even the Navy was aware of what these physicists were really up to.”
“Jonas told me they were measuring abyssal currents in order to bury used plutonium rods.”
Benedict grinned. “A clever cover story, but far from the truth. Years earlier, Prestis and Shaffer had made a startling discovery while analyzing manganese nodules, these particular specimens having been dredged from the seafloor more than one hundred years ago by the H.M.S. Challenger.”
Benedict pressed a button on the control panel next to the cube-shaped machine, causing one entire side to hiss open. Taking a manganese nodule from one of the piles, he placed it on an elevated tray within the machine. Terry looked up to see the barrel of the laser protrude away from the ceiling.
“Put these on,” Benedict instructed, handing Terry a pair of protective eye wear. After sealing the glass box, he returned to the computer console and activated the laser.
A brilliant beam ignited within the chamber, visible through the transparent black glass. The nodule, immersed within the intense beacon, began heating up. A suction pump inside the chamber began to draw out the gas.
“Although we don’t fully understand how these nodules complete their enrichment process, we know that primordial gases are vented from certain hydrothermal vents in the Pacific. One of these gases is Helium-3, which has been degassing from the earth ever since our planet was formed. As the manganese, minerals, and superheated waters are pumped out of the hydrothermal vents, nodules are formed, often trapping inert gases within the rock.”
Data began flashing across the computer monitor, listing the metals and chemical compounds found in the nodule.
“Prestis and Shaffer used a process similar to the one you’re witnessing on the manganese nodules retrieved by the H.M.S. Challenger in the 1870s. What they found must have startled them. Trapped within the rock was a unique blend of Helium-3 and deuterium, a fuel mix the physicists soon discovered to be compatible with a long-burning fusion reaction.”
Benedict switched off the laser. “All of the nodules we’ve collected over the last month are useless. Unfortunately, the Challenger nodules were dredged from a precise location known only to Prestis and Shaffer, a remote area within the Mariana Trench they jokingly referred to as Devil’s Purgatory. For their secret dive, the Seacliff was equipped with a long suction device designed to colle
ct the nodules from the seafloor. I suspect it may have been the vibrations given off by this vacuum pump that attracted the Megalodon to their sub in the first place.”
“My God—”
Benedict shut off the computer. “Prestis managed to collect a half-dozen nodules before the creature showed up and attacked. The Navy confiscated the nodules, but had no idea as to their value. It would be years after the two scientists’ deaths before I finally managed to obtain a few of these particular rocks, testing them in my own lab to reveal their secrets.”
Benedict picked up another rock. “Searching for the Devil’s Purgatory in the vastness of this Trench has been the equivalent of locating a needle in a haystack. Unfortunately, the coordinates were made known only to a handful of Naval officers—and, of course, the pilot of the Seacliff.”
“Jonas? Jonas would never tell you.”
“He already has, or, to be precise, he’s told my protégée.” Benedict lashed a triumphant smile. “Don’t be so surprised, Celeste can be quite persuasive.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe it. We’re on the way to Devil’s Purgatory as we speak.”
Terry shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why all the secrecy?”
“You answered that question already. The EEZ laws prevent other nations from mining the nodules. Forbidden fruits are the sweetest, n’est-ce pas?”
“So who benefits from all this? Who do you really work for?”
“Benedict Singer works for no one. My ‘partners’ happen to be a small coalition of Arab investors who have generously provided GTI with the human resources and financial means to complete a venture of this scope.”
“Investors? You mean terrorists, don’t you?” Terry blurted out the words, wishing she could retract them.
Benedict’s eyes locked on hers. “I see I’ve underestimated you again. No matter. In response to your statement, labeling one a terrorist or freedom fighter depends more on one’s politics than actions. Were the British colonists of the late 1700s any less violent? My new Arab affiliates allow me to monopolize the world’s new power source in ways the Western world never would. I am, by nature, an explorer. I desire access to new frontiers. As such, I have no interest in seeing my resources bound by judicial and legislative branches.”
