White Death (NUMA Files 4)

Therri skewered Austin with a leveled gaze of her laser-bright eyes. "Henry David Thoreau, John Muir and Edward Abbey were considered radical nut cases in their times. But I concede your point. SOS tends to be too activist for the taste of many. Okay, you say you don't endorse radicals. Do you endorse injustice, because that's exactly what's involved here."

"In what way?"

"Marcus did not ram that Danish ship on purpose. I was in the pilot- house when it happened. He and the others did everything they could to avoid that collision."

"Have you told this to the Danish authorities?"

"Yes. They said they didn't need me to testify and told me to leave the country."

"Okay," Austin said. "I believe you."

"Just like that? You don't seem like someone who accepts the world at face value."

"I don't know what else to say without offending you."

"Nothing you say can offend me."

"Glad to hear that. But what gives you the idea that I would care whether the case against Ryan is just or not?"

"I'm not asking you to care about Marcus." Therri's tone hinted that there was a bit of hard steel behind her soft features. Austin suppressed a smile. "What exactly do you want from me, Therri?"

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She brushed a lock of hair out other face and said, "I'd like you to make a dive on the Sea Sentinel"

"What purpose would a dive serve?"

"It might prove that Marcus is innocent." "In what way?"

She spread her hands. "I don't know. But you might find some- thing', all I know is that Marcus is telling the truth. To be honest, much of his radicalism is hot air. He's really a hard-nosed pragma- list who calculates the odds very carefully. He's not the kind of per- son who goes around ramming navy ships in a fury. Besides, he loved the Sea Sentinel. He even picked the ridiculous psychedelic color scheme himself. No one on the ship, including me, intended for any- one to get hurt."

Austin leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and stared at Therri's earnest face. He liked the way her perfect lips turned up in a Mona Lisa smile even when she was serious. Her girl- next-door appearance couldn't disguise the sensuous woman who lurked behind remarkable eyes. There were a thousand reasons why he should simply thank her for the coffee, shake her hand and wish her good luck. There were maybe three good reasons why he might consider her request. She was beautiful. She might have a case. And, right or wrong, she was passionate about her cause. His plane flight was two days away. There was no reason his short stay in the Faroes had to be boring.

Intrigued, he sat forward, and ordered another round of coffees.

"Okay, then," Austin said. "Tell me exactly what happened."

8

A FEW HOURS LATER, Austin was a world away from the

warmth of the coffee shop, encased in the bulbous protective armor of his aluminum Hardsuit, sinking once more into the cold Faroese sea. As he dropped into the deep, he smiled as he pictured how Becker would react if he knew that a Danish vessel was being used to help Marcus Ryan and the SOS. It would serve the conniv- ing little bureaucrat right, Austin thought, his chuckle echoing inside the helmet.

After taking leave of Them Weld, he had gone back to the hotel, called Captain Larsen and asked permission to make another dive from the Thor. He said he wanted to shoot pictures of the rescue scene for a report, which was partially true. Larsen didn't hesitate to say yes and even sent a shuttle boat in to bring Austin back to the ship.

Since Becker had asked Austin to leave the Hardsuit, it was all ready for him.

Austin's fathometer told him he was nearing bottom. He slowed his descent with short bursts of the vertical thrusters and came to a hummingbird hover about fifty feet above the bow section of the cruiser. The sea had wasted no time gathering the ship to its bosom. A shaggy coat of marine growth covered the hull and superstructure like an alpaca blanket. Schools ofdeepwater fish nosed in and out of the portholes, drawn by sea life that had made its home in the shad- owed nooks and crannies of the vessel.

Using a digital still camera, Austin shot pictures of the hole that the Sea Lamprey had made during the rescue mission and of the three-sided gash where the Sea Sentinel had punctured the hull. Austin had quizzed Captain Larsen about the last known position of the Sea Sentinel, relative to the cruiser. Using an undersea dead reck- oning, he headed in the general area of the sinking.

He used a standard search pattern, running a series of roughly parallel courses until his lights picked out the psychedelic paint job on the ship's hull. Like the cruiser, the SOS ship was already grow- ing a fur coat of marine growth. The combination of sea grass and tie-dye effect was startling. The Sea Sentinel had landed right-side- up on the bottom, and except for its smashed pug nose, the ship ap- peared to be in sound condition.

Austin surveyed the crushed bow and recalled Ryan's testimony. The engines had gone haywire, Ryan said, and failed to respond to controls. There was no way to check out the engines without going inside the wreck, but the steering system might more easily be in- vestigated, because part of it was external. The steering of a modern ship is done with a combination of electronics and hydraulics. But even with computers, GPS positioning and autopilot, the concept is no different than it was when Columbus set sail to look for India. At one end is a wheel or a tiller. At the other is a rudder. Turn the wheel, and the rudder pivots, sending the vessel in the appropriate direction.

Austin soared above the stern, executed a hairpin turn, then dropped several yards until he was facing the man-tail rudder. Curious.

The rudder was intact, but something was out of sync. Bolted to the rudder were two cables that led forward from the blade to each side of the hull. Austin followed the starboard cable to a steel box about the size of a large suitcase that was welded to the hull. An elec- trical conduit led from the box through the hull.