Serpent (NUMA Files 1)

The Deep Flight broke the surface in an explosion of froth and foam. Through the water-streaked observation bubbles a gray-hulled boat with a white superstructure was visible about a hundred fifty feet away. The minisub was as agile as a minnow underwater. On the surface its flat planes were susceptible to the wave motion, and it rocked in the slight chop being kicked up by a freshening breeze. Austin didn't normally get seasick, but he was starting to feel green around the gills and was happy when the boat got under way and rapidly covered the distance between them.

The boat's design was typical of many salvage and survey ships whose main function is to serve as a platform for lowering, towing, and hauling various instruments and vehicles. It had a snub tugboat's bow and a high forecastle, but most of the sixty five-foot length was open deck. At either side of the deck was an elbow crane. An A-frame spanned most of the twenty-two-foot beam at the stern where a ramp slanted down to the sea. Two men in wetsuits pushed an inflatable down the ramp into the water, jumped into it, and skimmed over the wave tops to the minisub. While one man manned the tiller the other secured the sturdy hook to a grommet at the front of the submersible.

The line led to a deck winch that pulled the minisub closer, the boat maneuvering until the Deep Flight was on its starboard. A crane swung over and lowered tackle that was attached by the men in the inflatable to cleats on the sub. The cable went taut. The sub and its passengers were lifted dripping from the sea, swung over the deck, and lowered onto a steel cradle. The operation was handled with Swisswatch precision and dispatch. Austin would have expected nothing less than perfection from one of his father's boats.

After the revealing session at the Peabody, Austin had called Rudi Gunn to fill him in and request a salvage vessel. NUMA had dozens of ships involved in its farflung operations. That was the problem, Gunn explained. The agency's boats were flung all around the globe. Most carried scientists who had stood in line for a spot on board. The nearest ship was the Nereus, still in Mexico. Austin said he didn't need a fullbl

own salvage ship, but Gunn said the quickest he could get something to Austin was a week. Austin told him to make a reservation and hung up. After a moment's thought he dialed again.

The voice like a bear coughing in the woods came on the line. Austin told his father what he needed.

"Hah!" the older man guffawed. "Chrissakes, I thought NUMA had more ships than the U.S. Navy. Can't the admiral spare you one dinky boat from his fleet?"

Austin let his father enjoy his gloat "Not in the time I need it. I could really use your help, Pop."

"Hmm. Help comes with a price tag, lad," the old man said slyly.

"NUMA will reimburse you for any expenses, Pop."

"I could give a rat's ass about money," he growled. My accountant will find a way to put it down as a charitable donation if he doesn't get sent to Alcatraz before then. If I get you something that floats, does that mean you'll wrap up whatever nonsense Sandecker's got you involved in and get out here to see me before I'm so damned senile I don't recognize you?"

"Can't promise anything. There's a good chance of it."

"Humph. Finding a boat for you isn't like hailing a cab, you know. I'll see what I can do." He hung up.

Austin laughed softly. His father knew exactly where every vessel he owned was and what it was doing, down to the smallest rowboat. Dad wanted to let him wriggle on the hook. Austin wasn't surprised when the phone rang a few minutes later.

The gruff voice said, "You're in luck. Got you an old scow. We've got a salvage vessel doing some work for the navy off Sandy Hook, New Jersey. Not one of your big research vessels, but she'll do fine. She'll put into Nantucket Harbor tomorrow and wait for you."

"Thanks, Pop, I really appreciate it."

"I had to twist the captain's arm, and I'll lose money on this job," he said, his tone softening, "but I guess it's worth it to get my son out here in my declining years."

What an actor! Austin thought. His father could whup his weight in wildcats. True to his word the senior Austin had the boat in Nantucket the next day. The Monkfish was hardly a scow. It was, in fact, a medium-sized, state-of-theart salvage vessel less than two years old. An added bonus was Captain John McGinty, a hard-boned, ruddy-faced Irishman from South Boston. The captain had dived on the Andrea Doria years before and was delighted to work on her again.

Austin was removing the cassette from the mini-sub's video camera when McGinty strode over. "Well, don't keep me in suspense," he said with excitement in his voice. "How's the old gal look?"

"She's showing her age, but you can see for yourself." Austin handed over the cassette. The captain glanced at the mini-sub and chuckled. "That's some hot rod," he said, and led the way to his quarters. He set Austin and Zavala up with soft chairs and hard drinks, then popped the video into his VCR. McGinty sat in uncharacteristic silence, taking in every detail as the sweptback hull and its patina of anemones rolled across the TV screen. When the video ended he punched the rewind button.

"You boys did good work. She looks pretty much the way she did when I last dove on her in 'eightyseven. Except there are more trawler nets. And like you said," he sighed, "she's getting a, little worn around the edges. It's what you can't see that's the problem. I've heard the ship's interior bulkheads are rotting away. Won't be long before the whole thing collapses in on itself."

"Could you give us an idea what we'll be dealing with down there?"

"I'll do my best. Want a refill?" Not waiting for an answer he poured the equivalent of a double shot of Jack Daniel's into each glass and dropped in a couple of token ice cubes. He took a sip, staring at the blank TV screen. "One thing you can't forget. The Doria may look pretty, even with all that scum mucking up her hull, but she's a man-killer. They don't call her the Mount Everest of divers for nothing. She hasn't killed as many as Everest, around ten last time I got counting, but the guys who dive on the Doria are looking for that same adrenaline rush from the danger that mountain climbers get."

"Every wreck has its own character," Austin said. "What are the major hazards on this ship?"

"Well, she's got all sorts of tricks up her sleeve. First of all there's the depth. With a two-hour decompression. You need a drysuit because of the cold. Sharks come to feed on the fish. Mostly blues. Not supposed to be dangerous, but when you're hanging on the anchor line decompressing you just hope some near-sighted shark doesn't mistake you for a fat pollock."

"When I first started diving my father told me to remember that in the water you are no longer the top of the food chain," Austin said.

McGinty grunted in agreement. "None of that stuff would be major except for the other problems. There's always a wicked current. It can be bad all the way down and even runs through the boat. Sometimes it seems like it will pull you right off the anchor line."

"I felt it pushing against the mini-sub," Zavala said.

McGinty nodded. "You saw what the visibility was like."

"We could see pretty well today. We found the wreck without our lights," Austin said.