Lost City (NUMA Files 5)

"Thanks. The Searcher's gear can spot a dime at a thousand fathoms. We've covered the entire Lost City and some of the outlying areas where we discovered more fields of hydrothermal vents. The Atlantis has been checking out the ridge as well. The capabilities of the Searcher are awesome, if I say so myself." He shook his head. "Can't figure it. The Alvin % one of the toughest little subs in the world. She's gone down hundreds of times without a problem." "No sign of the submersible so far?" "~No Alvin, but that's not the end of the story." Gutierrez handed Austin a printout showing the bottom as seen on the sonar monitor. "Once we covered the Lost City, we began to look beyond the immediate area. There are at least three other vent cities of comparable or larger size located on the ridge. Check out what we found in one of them, which we're calling "LC II." It's got us baffled as hell."

Austin borrowed a magnifying glass. Years of survey work had given him a skilled eye in reading sonar, but the markings he saw were puzzling. "What are these strange double lines?"

"We wondered the same thing. So we sent down an ROV and shot these pictures."

Austin studied the glossy eight-by-ten photos. The tall columns of

the Lost City were clearly defined, as were the tracks that wound through the towers.

"They look like tread marks from a big bulldozer or a tank," Austin said.

"Very big," the captain said. "When we used the columns for scale, we estimated that the treads must be at least thirty feet apart." "What's the depth here?" "Twenty-five hundred feet."

Zavala whistled. "A respectable engineering feat, but not impossible. Remind you of something, Kurt?"

"Big John," Austin said with a smile. In answer to the captain's quizzical expression, he explained that Big John was the nickname for a bottom-crawling vehicle NUMA had developed several years before as a moving deep-ocean lab. He pointed to a photo that showed the tracks coming to an abrupt end. "Whatever was down there seems to have lifted off. Unlike Big John, this mechanical turtle can swim as well as crawl."

"And my guess is that it took the Alvin with it," Zavala said. "It seems too much of a coincidence having the Alvin disappear near these tracks," Captain Gutierrez said with a nod of his head.

"There is another strange coincidence," Austin said. "I understand you were attacked at about the same time as the Alvin % disappearance."

"As we were starting to panic about the Alvin, we were approached by a strange ship," Gutierrez said. "It was an old rust bucket of a freighter. The name on the hull was the Celtic Rainbow and it was out of Malta. They called in a Mayday. When we returned the call there was no answer. Only the distress call, repeating over and over again. Then we sighted smoke, apparently coming from a hold." "Did anyone try to abandon the ship?" "That's what was crazy. No one. Not a soul on the deck. I was

going to send a boat to investigate, but Captain Beck volunteered to go over with a party of his men." "Beck?"

"He ran an ocean security outfit. As you may know, pirates have attacked or threatened research vessels around the world. The institution was working with Beck to set up security procedures for its research vessels. He had three men, all former SEALs like himself, on board for a training mission. They'd been teaching crew and scientists how to react to a pirate attack. He struck me as a very capable man."

"None better," said a man in a navy uniform who had stepped into the pilothouse. "From what I've heard, Beck was a real pro. I'm Ensign Pete Muller. That's my ship over there," he said, pointing to the cruiser. Austin extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Ensign."

"Always a pleasure to talk to folks from NUMA."

"What happened to Captain Beck and his men?" Austin said.

"I'm afraid they were all killed," the ensign said.

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"We found the captain's body in the water, but no sign of his men or the ship," Muller said.

"How could a freighter simply disappear?"

"Our ship was the closest vessel when the Atlantis sent out the SOS. By the time we arrived, the attackers were gone. We secured the situation here, then we chased after the attackers. We knew their direction and with our superior speed we would have overtaken them. We had them on radar when the blip disappeared. We found debris and an oil slick, but no ship."

"I don't get it," Austin said. "SEALs are among the most highly trained special warfare people on the face of the earth. Boarding a potentially hostile ship is one of their specialties."

"I'm afraid they ran into something they never trained for." Austin noticed something in Ensign Muller's expression that he rarely saw in the face of a military man. It was the look of fear.

"I have the feeling that there is more here than I've been told. Maybe the captain can tell us about the attack."

"I can do better than that," Gutierrez said. "I'll let you see it."

THE SHAKY IMAGES on the video screen jumped spastically making it obvious that they had been shot with a handheld camera under unsteady circumstances. The camera showed three men seen from behind. They were wearing bandannas wrapped around their heads and automatic weapons were slung over their shoulders. The men were in a moving inflatable boat, and the scene rose and dipped with the waves as the boat approached a rusty freighter of medium size. A hard-edged voice could be heard over the buzz of the outboard motor.

"Approaching target. Heads up, boys, this isn't a joy ride. We'll try a false insertion to see if we can draw fire."

The man closest to the lens turned and gave a thumbs-up. Then the picture froze.

Ensign Muller rose from his chair and stood beside the flat wall screen. He pointed to the dark-skinned man grinning into the camera lens.