Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

As Kurt stared out across the water, the midafternoon sun was starting to fall. It gave the light a warm bronze hue as the shadows stretched out and the air grew more humid. Beneath this pleasant light, the sea appeared calm and glassy, almost oily in complexion, as if the warm sun had lulled it to sleep like a tiger on the African savanna.

Standing there, Kurt reflected on the strange turn of events. Upon reporting the discovery, Kurt and Joe had been publicly thanked by the Portuguese authorities. And then, in private, they’d been scolded, and immediately ordered not to disturb or take anything from the site or even return to it, as if they were vandals or thieves of some kind.

All kinds of orders came down. Officially, the Portuguese insisted these precautions were for safety reasons. In a way, Kurt could understand that. The fluctuating magnetic properties around the rock formations made subsurface navigation difficult. At times, when the magnetic field was peaking, steel-hulled submersibles, including the Barracuda, were literally drawn toward it as if being reeled in by a cable. Fighting that pull became harder the closer one got to the tower.

On one run, Kurt had found himself in a position where the current and the magnetic pull were acting in the same direction. God help him if he bumped it, he’d thought.

Shortly after Kurt’s experience, a second sub reported electrical problems. And even days after their exposure, the driver and navigator from the XP-4 continued to complain of headaches and strange issues with their vision. All of which added to the mystery of the place and the conspiracy theories already swirling.

As for the Portuguese government, it had no reason to quash the stories. They might even lead to a bonanza in tourist dollars, something every small island could use.

In some ways, that influx was already beginning. The morning after the discovery, only the Argo had been present. Today, three other tenders had joined it, and if the scuttlebutt was to be believed, there would be ten ships out here the next day, all of them filled with tourists waiting to get a look at the now infamous “Underwater Graveyard.”

Tours of the site were being touted, with press releases going out, and a grainy YouTube video already capturing over a million hits.

In a few days, Kurt guessed he’d be looking at a free-for-all, something like trying to snorkel with a thousand other tourists, with their bright bathing suits and Styrofoam noodles, and yet imagining you were getting a “real life” aquatic experience.

As he pondered this, footsteps approached him from behind. Kurt turned to see Joe Zavala, carrying a frosty tall-necked bottle of beer in each hand.

“Bohemia,” Joe said, handing him one. “Best beer in Mexico.”

Kurt took the bottle and tipped it back, savoring the icy taste on such a hot, humid day.

“Where’d you scrounge this up?” Kurt asked.

“From the captain’s private stock,” Joe said. “Supposed to be for our victory celebration.”

“And the captain let you get your paws on it early?” Kurt asked.

Joe nodded.

“That’s a bad sign,” Kurt replied. “Are we to be shot at sundown?”

“Nah,” Joe said. “But we have now been officially kicked out of the competition.”

Kurt had to laugh. Rules were rules, but stopping to rescue a competitor seemed like a good reason to make an exception.

“So how’s it feel to lose ten million dollars?” Joe asked.

Kurt thought about that. Their chances of winning had been excellent. He took another swig from the bottle and leaned back against the rail. “Suddenly,” he said, “I’m very happy that NUMA would have gotten the money anyway.”

Joe laughed, and both men turned at the sound of a helicopter approaching. They watched a gray Mk 95 Super Lynx cruise in from the east, taking a straight line toward the Argo. As it drew closer, the red-and-green insignia of the Portuguese Navy could be clearly seen on its flank.

It slowed to a hover above the fantail and then began to descend toward the helipad.

A crewman popped out of a hatch near where Kurt and Joe stood just as the helicopter was touching down.

“Cap’n wants you guys in his ready room,” the crewman said.

The timing seemed suspicious.

“Did he say why?” Kurt asked.

The crewman hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Something to do with our new arrivals, sir.”

The crewman held the door for them, apparently unable or unwilling to say any more.

Joe looked at Kurt. “Now you’ve done it.”