“Maybe,” Pitt said, “but why would somebody haul a barge of sand halfway across the Atlantic?”
“It might have come over empty and they took the sand on somewhere in Virginia.”
Pitt gazed at Giordino, considering the idea, when the answer came to him. “No, Al. This is a different barge. They’ve been switched.”
“How d
o you know?”
Pitt pointed to the two bollards securing the tow line. “Because you’re sitting on the proof.”
81
Hiram Yaeger confirmed the satellite image of the tug taken the day before showed it pulling a barge with three forward hawser bitts. Detailed analysis also revealed differences in the paint and rust markings between the two barges.
The news set off a full-blown dragnet along the Potomac, with every available Coast Guard and local law enforcement boat and helicopter deployed in the search. Pitt and Giordino aided the cause, flying the Robinson as far south as the Chesapeake before backtracking up the river.
Obtaining permission to land at the Marine Corps Air Facility along the river at Quantico, Pitt brought the chopper down for refueling. As they waited for a fuel truck, they heard a loud underwater explosion from an inlet beyond the airfield. A Marine ground crewman noticed their interest.
“Just some Force Recon boys practicing underwater demolitions,” he said. “The runway’s going to smell like dead fish for the next week now.”
“We’ll make sure not to go for a dip,” Giordino said.
Pitt paced around the helicopter until the fuel truck finally arrived. “We need to expand the search area,” he said. “They could have gone to Norfolk, up the Chesapeake, or maybe even stayed in the Atlantic to hit Philadelphia or New York.”
“That’s a lot of real estate to cover—” Giordino paused to take a call from Gunn at NUMA headquarters.
Pitt oversaw the refueling as another explosion sounded from the inlet. He stepped away from the helicopter and watched a small fountain of water erupt on the far side. The upheaval reminded him of the sinking barge in the Black Sea. Suddenly, it all came together: the connection between the Bosphorus, Sevastopol, and Washington.
“Al, do you still have Rudi on the line?”
Giordino nodded and handed him the phone.
“Rudi, I need you to find out where there are anoxic zones in the waters around here, be it the Potomac, the Chesapeake, or Delaware Bay. A dead zone near a highly populated area might be the actual target.”
“I’ll get Hiram right on it. What’s the draw of a dead zone?”
“Hydrogen sulfide gas.”
“Sure, anoxic waters are loaded with hydrogen sulfide. We’ve surveyed subsurface concentrations of the stuff off the Mississippi River delta and the Oregon coast . . . and in the Chesapeake.”
“That’s the key, Rudi. The crew of the Crimean Star were killed by hydrogen sulfide gas and Mankedo was attempting to release a cloud of it outside Sevastopol.”
“Create a cloud of hydrogen sulfide? Yes, it could kill thousands.”
“Think what an atomic bomb set off in a concentrated dead zone could do.”
Gunn fell silent at the thought.
“Find us the anoxic zones, Rudi,” Pitt said, “and I’ll find us that barge.”
Pitt and Giordino were back in the air when Gunn responded minutes later, with a call patched through to the helicopter’s radio.
“Hiram just laid in a regional map of known dead zones, based on past water samplings combined with current data points. As you know, large portions of the Chesapeake Bay become oxygen-deprived in the summer months when nitrogen and phosphorous pollutants combine with warm water temperatures to create algae blooms. Unfortunately, the timing is perfect, as we are approaching the peak season.”
“Where are the key hot spots?” Pitt asked.
“It might be easier to define what’s not,” Gunn said. “A major seam runs nearly the length of the Chesapeake, beginning near the mouth of the Potomac and stretching up to Annapolis. It’s centered on the western side of the bay. There are some additional pockets farther north we’ll identify once Hiram finishes loading the data.”