Deep Six (Dirk Pitt 7)

The watch officer tapped a dial on the instrument console. "One hundred forty feet and rising."

"How far can you see on that thing?" Dover asked Pitt.

"We read the seabed six hundred meters on either side of our hug."

"Then we're cutting a swath nearly two thirds of a mile wine."

"Close enough," Pitt admitted.

"We should have detected the ship by now," Dover said irritably.

"Maybe we missed it."

"No need to get uptight," Pitt said. He paused, leaned over the computer keyboard and fine-tuned the image. "Nothing in this world is more elusive than a shipwreck that isn't ready to be found.

Deducing the murderer in an Agatha Christie novel is kindergarten stuff compared to finding a lost derelict under hundreds of square miles of water. Sometimes you get lucky early. Most of the time you don't."

"Very poetic," Dover said dryly

Pitt stared at the overhead bulkhead for a long and considering moment. "What's the visibility under the water surface?"

"The water turns crystal fifty yards from shore. On the flood tine I've seen a hundred feet or better."

"I'd like to borrow your copter and take aerial photos of this area."

"Why bother?" Dover said curtly. "Semper Paratus, Always Ready, is not the Coast Guard's motto for laughs." He motioned through a doorway. "We have charts showing three thousand miles of Alaskan coastline in color and incredible detail, courtesy of satellite reconnaissance."

Pitt nodded for Giordino to take his place in front of the hydro scan as he rose and followed the Catawba's skipper into a small compartment stacked with cabinets containing nautical charts.

Dover checked the label inserts, pulled open a drawer and rummaged inside. Finally he extracted a large chart marked "Satellite Survey Number 2430A, South Shore of Augustine Island." Then he lain it on a table and spread it out.

"Is this what you have in mind?"

Pitt leaned over and studied the bird's-eye view of the sea off the volcanic island's coast. "Perfect. Got a magnifying glass?"

"In the shelf under the table."

Pitt found the thick, square lens and peered through it at the tiny shadows on the photo survey. Dover left and returned shortly with two mugs of coffee.

"Your chances are nil of spotting an anomaly in that geological nightmare on the seafloor. A ship could stay lost forever in there."

"I'm not looking at the seafloor."

Dover heard Pitts words an right, but the meaning didn't register.

Vague curiosity reflected in his eyes, but before he could ask the obvious question the speaker above the doorway crackled.

"Skipper, we've got breakers ahead." The

watch officer's voice was tense. "The Fathometer reads thirty feet of water under the hull-and rising damned fast."

"All stop!" Dover ordered. A pause, then: "No, reverse engines until speed is zero."

"Tell him to have the sonar sensor pulled in before it drags bottom," Pitt said offhandedly. "Then I suggest we drop anchor."

Dover gave Pitt a strange look, but issued the command. The deck trembled beneath their feet as the twin screws reversed direction.

After a few moments the vibration ceased.