Valhalla Rising (Dirk Pitt 16)

"You know, of course, Mr. Pitt, that we can't make a connection," said Turner, his face gray like a rain cloud.

"Yes, yes, I know all that," Pitt said impatiently. "How soon before you can be pumping air?"

Turner looked across the bridge at McKirdy. The chief stared down at the deck as if he were contemplating what was beneath it. "We can have it ready to go in three hours."

"Make it two or you can forget it."

"What good will it do? We can't make a connection."

"Your pump, will it overcome the surrounding water pressure at this depth?"

"She puts out five hundred pounds per square inch," answered McKirdy. "Twice the pressure of the water at your depth."

"So far so good," rasped Pitt. He was beginning to feel lightheaded. "Get the air hose down here fast. People are beginning to drop. Be prepared to use the vehicle's manipulators."

"Do you mind telling us what you have in mind?" asked Turner.

"I'll explain in detail when you're on site. Call me when you arrive for further instructions."

O'Malley had stumbled groggily into the control room in time to hear Pitt's conversation with the Alfred Aultman. "What have you got up your sleeve?"

"A grand idea," said Pitt, with growing optimism. "One of the best I ever had."

"How do you intend to get air in here?"

"I don't."

O'Malley looked at Pitt as if he had already expired. "Then what's so grand about your idea?"

"Simple," Pitt explained casually. "If Mohammed won't go to the mountain ..."

"You're not making sense."

"Wait and see," said Pitt mysteriously. "It's the most elementary high school physics class experiment in the book."

The Golden Marlin was on the verge of becoming an underwater crypt. The air had deteriorated to a frightening extent, and the atmosphere had become so foul that passengers and crew were only minutes away from becoming unconscious, the first step before coma and then death. The carbon dioxide level was rapidly reaching limits that could no longer support life. Pitt and O'Malley, the only ones left on the bridge, were hanging on by the skin of their teeth.

Because their minds were numbed by the lack of oxygen, the passengers were becoming zombies, no longer capable of rational thought. No one panicked in the final moments, because no one fully realized their end was near. Baldwin talked to those still sitting in the dining room, encouraging them with words that he knew were meaningless. He was on his way back to the bridge when he sagged to his knees in a corridor and crumpled to the carpet. An elderly couple walked past, looked at the fallen captain through vacant eyes and stumbled on toward their stateroom.

In the control room, O'Malley was still murmuring coherently but not far from the edge of unconsciousness. Pitt was sucking deep breaths to take in what little oxygen was left in the room. "Where are you?" he gasped over the phone. "We're about done in."

"Coming." Giordino's voice sounded desperate. "Look through the port. We're approaching the control room dome."

Pitt staggered to the main port in front of the control console and saw the Mercury descending from above. "Do you have the hose?"

"Ready to pump when and wherever you say," answered Chief Warrant Officer McKirdy. Captain Turner had remained on board the Aultman to command the operation from the surface.

"Drop down until you're scraping the bottom and move toward the break in the hull opposite the engine room."

"On our way," Giordino acknowledged without questioning Pitt's intent.

Five minutes later, Turner reported, "We are level with the gash caused by the explosion."

Pitt found that fighting to breathe was ironic, considering that all the air he'd need in a lifetime was only a few feet away. He gasped out the words. "Use your manipulators and insert the end of the air hose as far back into the engine room as poss

ible."

Inside the submersible, McKirdy exchanged glances and shrugged. Then Giordino went to work moving the hose inside the gash with the manipulators, careful not to slice it open on the jagged and torn hull. Working as fast as possible, it took him nearly ten minutes before he felt the hose reach the far bulkhead and jam itself between the engine mountings.