Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

Dirk turned to the communications technician. “Have you been recording the ROV’s video feed?”

“Yes, as per standard procedure.”

“Replay the footage where we stared down the other ROV.”

The technician rewound the feed.

“Freeze it there,” Dirk said. He and Giordino crouched close to the monitor.

“There,” Dirk said, “at the bottom of the ROV. There’s a couple of dangling wires that look out of place, and a small piece of plastic wedged just below.”

Giordino tensed. “That looks like part of the transponder’s housing. And there’s yellow scuffing on the ROV’s frame.”

A shadow of anger descended over Giordino’s normally jovial face. He stood and stepped toward the door. “Let’s get that ROV back on deck now! I think it’s time we pay our neighbors a visit.”

39

The churning cutter head, the internal pumps and conveyors, and the creeping steel tracks all came to a stop. The big mining vehicle spit out a final mouthful of gnarled rocks and fell silent.

Peering out the Starfish’s viewport, Summer felt more unnerved than ever. After a minute, she turned to her father. “Do you think they’ll just hold us here until we run out of air?”

Pitt shook his head as he focused on shutting down all nonessential systems. “It won’t happen. The Sargasso Sea will find us first. Dirk and Al will have an ROV down here before you know it.”

“That monster ROV may try to disable it, too.”

“We’ll just have to hope they see us first.”

The chance never occurred. At the same moment Giordino’s ROV hit the water, the bulk cutter was yanked off the seabed, with the Starfish clutched to its side. Twin cables spooled around a massive drum winch on the surface ship pulled the vehicle up, giving Pitt and Summer the sensation of riding an elevator.

Halfway to the surface, they noticed the lights of the NUMA ROV traveling in the opposite direction. Pitt grabbed a flashlight and clicked an SOS out the viewport, but the ROV quickly vanished from sight.

A short time later, the bulk cutter broke the surface alongside the mining support ship. The large vessel had disengaged its dynamic positioning system after both mining vehicles had left the bottom and drifted over a mile from the Sargasso Sea. The ship turned its starboard side away from view of the NUMA ship.

A massive A-frame, mounted amidships, hoisted the bulk cutter clear of the water. On the opposite side of the deck, a matching A-frame awaited the retrieval of the collecting machine.

Pitt and Summer peered out of the submersible through the glare of dozens of work lights strung above the ship’s deck. Their arrival was met by curious stares from a handful of crewmen in hard hats who guided the bulk cutter across the deck and into a semi-enclosed hangar. A contingent of soldiers in green fatigues quickly surrounded the submersible, armed with AK-47s.

“Not the welcoming committee I was hoping to see,” Pitt said.

“Cuban Army soldiers?” Summer asked.

“I believe so,” he said, noting a white star over a red diamond insignia on one of the uniforms.

A soldier shone a flashlight into their faces, motioning them to exit the submersible. Pitt followed Summer to the hatch, stopping at a tool locker and slipping a small folding knife into his pocket before climbing out.

They were greeted silently by the soldiers.

Pitt countered by exploding in mock anger. “What have you done!” he yelled. Stepping to the rear of the sub, he pointed to the mangled thrusters. “Look at the damage. I want my ship notified at once.”

The soldiers’ hesitation ended when a dog-faced officer appeared on the scene with an authoritative air. “Take them below and secure them!” he barked. Turning to one of the ship’s crew, he added, “Get that submersible concealed.”

With their assault rifles drawn, four of the soldiers prodded Pitt and Summer away from the Starfish. As they passed the bulk cutter, Pitt saw a small red logo painted on the side: a grizzly bear carrying an ax in its teeth.

They were escorted down a companionway into an open work bay that housed the now recovered ROV. A technician procured a pair of cable ties, which the guards used to secure the captives’ wrists behind their backs. Pitt and Summer were shoved to the floor with their backs against a bulkhead.

The Army officer, a man named Calzado, appeared a short time later in the company of one of the ship’s officers. The two argued loudly while gesturing toward the captives. Then both left the bay.

“What was that all about?” Pitt whispered. Though he understood the Spanish spoken, he had been blocked from view of the quarreling parties by one of the guards.