Blue Gold (NUMA Files 2)

They rose high above the fog-filled valleys that stretched off in every direction and began to drift like a milkweed seed, wondering if they had simply exchanged one set of dangers for another.

11

“SEÑOR? SEÑOR!”

Austin’s eyes blinked open to see a white stubble of whiskers covering leathery cheeks and a gap-toothed mouth stretched wide in a jack-o’-lantern grin. It was the face of the Mexican fisherman he and Joe had met on the cliffs the day before. Austin lay on his back in an open wooden boat, his head cushioned by a coil of rope. He was still in his wet suit, but his scuba gear was gone. He pushed himself upright with his hands, a task of no small difficulty because his joints were sore and he was sprawled on a slimy pile of fish.

A fisherman who strongly resembled the first man, right down to the cleft in his dental work, sat at the other end of the boat keeping watch over Zavala. Joe’s hair, normally so neatly combed, sprouted in a hundred different directions, and his shorts and T-shirt were dripping wet. He looked dazed but awake.

“You okay?” Austin called out.

A fish flopped onto Zavala’s lap. He carefully picked up the creature by the tail and tossed it with the others. “No broken bones. Now I know what it’s like to be shot out of a cannon. How about you?”

“A few aches and pains.” Austin rubbed the throbbing muscles of his shoulder, then went to work on his legs. “I feel like I’ve gone through a car wash and a telephone keeps ringing in my ear.”

“Your voice sounds like it’s still coming over an underwater communicator. Do you know what happened? I was coming to get you in the Brogan when all hell broke loose.”

“There was an underwater explosion.” Austin glanced at the mirror-flat sea. The boat lay off the cove entrance. The Sea Robin was nowhere in sight. Austin couldn’t figure it. Contos and his crew would have heard the blast. Why hadn’t they come out to investigate?

He turned his attention back to their own predicament. “Would you ask our friends how we got here?”

Zavala questioned the fishermen in Spanish. One of them did most of the talking, speaking in rapid fire as his brother nodded in agreement. Zavala thanked him and translated the exchange.

“This man’s name is Juan,” Zavala said. “He remembers us from yesterday up on the cliffs. The other guy is his brother Pedro. They were fishing when they heard a big muffled roar and the water bubbled and foamed in the inlet.”

“Sí, sí, la bufadora,” Juan said. He threw his hands expansively into the air like an orchestra conductor calling for a crescendo.

“What’s with the theatrics?” Austin asked

“He says the noise was like the blowhole outside Ensenada where the sea comes into a cleft in the rocks and makes a big boom. Only it was many times louder. The cliff split away behind the tortilla factory. There were big swells, and the boat almost capsized. Then we popped out of the water. They pulled u

s in like a couple of overgrown sardines, and here we are.”

Austin scanned the sea again. “Did they mention seeing the Sea Robin?”

“They saw a ship earlier. From their description it must have been the Robin. It went around to the other side of the headland, and they haven’t seen it since.”

Austin was starting to worry about Contos and his crew. “Please thank our benefactors for their kindness and ask if they would mind taking us around the point.”

Zavala relayed Austin’s request, and the fishermen started the old Mercury outboard in a cloud of blue smoke. Coughing like an asthmatic corn popper, the motor effortlessly moved the boat through the silken sea. With Juan manning the tiller, they rounded the headland and immediately saw why the Sea Robin hadn’t left its mooring. The NUMA ship wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

The deck was covered with a small mountain of dirt and boulders, and the vessel listed heavily to the starboard. The A-frame at the stern and the free-standing cranes on the aft deck had been twisted as easily as pretzels by the debris. Above the boat, the steep cliff face was layered with yellow strata exposed by the rockslide. Crew members were attacking the rubble with shovels and crowbars, tossing what debris they could manage over the side. A forklift was moving the bigger rocks.

Juan maneuvered the fishing boat alongside the NUMA vessel. Contos came to the rail and leaned over. His hands and face were caked with dirt, and he looked as if he had crawled out of a mine.

Austin cupped his hands and called out, “Anyone hurt?”

“A few cuts and bruises,” Contos yelled back. “Luckily the aft deck was clear. We had heard a loud boom from the cove and were about to check it out. Then the whole side of the cliff came down before we could weigh anchor. Where the hell have you two been?”

“I like your new makeup,” Austin said.

Joe chimed in, “Is it Estee Lauder?”

Contos’s attempt to rub the dirt off his nose only made it worse. “It’s evident from your wise-ass comment that you’re hale and hearty. When you’re through being obnoxious, would you mind telling me what happened?”

“That boom you heard was an underwater explosion,” Joe said.

Contos shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know of any volcanic activity along here. What caused it?”