Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

The aft deck was a different story. A dozen men and women were clustered around a pair of davits as twin submersibles were being readied for launch.

The subs were called Scarabs, because they resembled the beetles of Egyptian legend. Instead of narrow and tube-shaped, like most submersibles, the Scarabs were flat and wide. They had a large bulbous front, made entirely of three-inch-thick clear polymer, and a rear compartment that tapered to a point, filled with equipment, battery packs, and ballast tanks. Thruster pods housed in short tubes on either side of the body looked like stubby legs, and a pair of large mechanical arms that sprouted from beneath the nose, carrying sampling probes and grabbing appendages, were reminiscent of a beetle’s pincerlike claws.

Scarab One was the older model, painted international orange, the color of life jackets. Scarab Two was bright yellow, the color commonly associated with experimental submersibles. It had come from the factory only a month before, equipped with more power, newer, longer-lasting batteries, and an advanced touchscreen control system.

Standing one deck above the busy crewmen, Paul Trout watched with great interest as the subs were readied for operations, though he had no intention of going down

in either of them.

Paul was the size and shape of a professional basketball player, though even he would admit not as coordinated or athletically gifted. What he lacked in sporting skills Paul made up for with a brilliant mind. A gifted geologist, he and his wife, Gamay, were often called on to run NUMA’s most important scientific studies. While he excelled in geology, Gamay had a Ph.D. in marine biology and had made several important discoveries of previously unknown species.

Paul realized this latest mission would not offer such a positive find.

“Hey, Paul, care to join me?”

The shout came from William “Duke” Jennings, one of NUMA’s most experienced submersible pilots.

“No thanks,” Paul said. “I prefer something with lots of headroom. Or even a convertible, but that’s not going to work a thousand feet under.”

“Good point,” Duke said. His next target was one of the more shapely women on deck. “What about it, Elena? Room for two in there. Can’t beat the view.”

By that, everyone knew Duke was referring to himself. Duke looked like a surfer: young and muscular, with bronzed skin and a mane of blond hair. Even now, he had his shirt off. He was humorous and cocky and pretty good at everything he did to back it up.

“No thanks,” Elena responded. “I’d rather be in a phone booth with an amorous octopus.”

Duke feigned grave injury. “Where are you going to find a phone booth these days?”

As the crew continued working, the hatch swung open behind Paul. Gamay stepped through, headed for his side.

Five foot ten, with hair the color of red wine, and smooth pale skin, Gamay was an athlete and in fantastic shape. She had a sharp wit that was usually used in jest, though you didn’t want to be on her bad side, as she didn’t suffer fools lightly.

“I see we’re almost ready,” she said.

“Just about,” Paul said. “Think we’re going to find anything down there?”

“I don’t know,” Gamay said. “But look at this.”

She handed him a printout from the multibeam sonar scan. It showed the Ethernet lying on the seafloor eight hundred feet below. They were lucky. The ship had landed on a shelf that stuck out like a submerged peninsula in the deeper waters of the Mozambique Channel. Ten miles in either direction and she’d be sitting under four thousand feet of water.

Paul noticed something more significant almost immediately. “She’s in one piece,” he said. “Kurt was told the ship had broken up into several sections on the way down. None of us ever questioned it.”

“I wonder where he got his information,” Gamay replied.

“Or who had sent him the incorrect information,” Paul asked.

“I talked with Ms. Ericsson,” she said. “If the subconscious part of his mind is running with a fantasy or delusion, it will do everything it can to keep the story alive. Knowing the ship didn’t break up would mean the task of confirming the truth was easily done by searching her.”

“Then it was easy for him to take the report at face value. The delusion couldn’t allow that to happen,” Paul guessed.

“I’m told it’s fairly common.”

Paul felt a knot in his stomach. It was hard to fathom one of the people he admired most could be off his game so badly. It made him all the more determined that they should find the answer.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said.

Gamay nodded and made her way to the stairs. “I’ll be in Scarab One.”

“I’ll monitor you from the control room,” Paul said. “Be careful.”