Summer pointed out the viewport. “Take us down along the starboard hull.”
Dirk descended the submersible over the side rail. A dozen yards back from the bow, a gaping oval hole presented itself just above the seafloor.
“The naval reports say she sank after striking a mine,” she said.
“The reports didn’t lie. Looks to be the open barn door to exactly where we want to go.” He guided the submersible to the opening, then set the submersible onto the floor and powered off the thrusters.
Summer took over from there, activating a small cabled ROV affixed to a front rack. As she drove the vehicle into the hole, Summer focused on a video monitor that showed a live feed from the device.
The camera showed a jumbled mass of steel beams and plates that had collapsed in all directions, impeding any movement.
Dirk checked the diagram. “The hold looks to be another ten or fifteen feet aft.”
“I’m not sure I can go another ten inches.”
She reversed course and butted the ROV against an anchor chain. She followed the chain up until she found a gap beneath the overhead deck. She threaded the vehicle aft, past another maze of jagged metal.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll get us aft, but I’m not sure about getting back out.”
“I’m sure we’ve got a pair of scissors around here somewhere,” Dirk said, knowing the ROV and its cable could be jettisoned if it became snagged inside the wreck.
Summer eased the ROV over a crumpled bulkhead and into a large open bay on the other side.
“That has to be the hold,” Dirk said, straining to make out details on the monitor.
Summer smiled as she circled the ROV around the hold and descended to its base. The vehicle’s lights revealed two large mounds on the deck, the remnants of once crated and stacked cargo. Summer brought the ROV alongside the first mound and let its thrusters blow away the silt. The water cleared to reveal an irregular mass of metal, with several tube-shaped pieces sticking out from the pile.
“They’re rifles,” Dirk said. “The wooden stocks have long since disintegrated, along with the crates they were stored in. Some of the barrels have rusted together, as has the congealed mass containing the bolt and trigger mechanisms.”
Summer saw it now and nodded. She guided the ROV to the second mound and cleared away its silt, revealing a similar mass. She scoured the rest of the bay without results. “I think that’s all that’s here.”
“I agree. Probably best to bring her home.”
Summer retraced the ROV’s path, extricating it from the wreck with considerable effort and returning it to the submersible’s cradle.
“Nicely done,” Dirk said. He checked the battery reserves. “I don’t think we have the juice to get into the stern holds. I suggest we surface and swap batteries.”
“Okay by me.” Summer appeared visibly stressed from operating the ROV in such tight quarters. She remained silent as Dirk purged the ballast tanks and the submersible began a slow ascent.
“Given up hope?” he asked.
“I don’t think the gold is here.”
“We haven’t checked the stern holds yet.”
“I know. It’s just a feeling. That, and the fact the ship is carrying a load of weapons. Doesn’t really make sense if the Sentinel was on its way back to England with the gold.”
“True, but the ship might have been diverted to meet the Pelikan with the weapons already aboard.”
Summer stared into the darkness beyond the reach of the submersible’s lights. “You’re right. We’ll reboot and take another dive. You don’t suppose the Russians are collecting the gold off the Pelikan as we speak?”
“Not a chance.”
Dirk’s suspicion was borne out an hour later after they were hoisted aboard the Iberia. The seas had eased and the weather cleared, making visible on the horizon an approaching gray salvage ship that flew the flag of Greece.
70
Mansfield stared at the NUMA ship through a pair of binoculars, focusing on a work crew hovering about its submersible.