Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

“When can they resume mining?”

“Within twenty-four hours, if not sooner.”

“Do it,” Díaz said. “Do it now! We may not have even that long before the American ship becomes a major liability. I’m returning to Havana to meet with the general. Have the Sea Raker moved to the Domingo 2 site at once.”

As he rose to leave, Molina stopped him. “What about the submersible pilots we captured?”

“Are they still on the barge?”

“They’re right next door.”

Díaz took his seat with an exasperated sigh. “All right, let me see them.”

47

Pitt and Summer had heard every word. They were shocked at the news that the Sargasso Sea had been captured. Pitt was less surprised about the intrusion and damage aboard the Sea Raker, obviously Al and Dirk’s handiwork.

The stakes were suddenly much higher. Absconding with a nosy submersible was one thing, but boarding and commandeering a NUMA ship was something else. The secrecy and paranoia meant the mining project was a high-stakes operation—with even greater environmental consequences at risk from the two untapped thermal vents.

“If those other two vents are ten times larger than the one at the Alta site,” Summer said, “what happens when they blast those open? Rudi said they already had a report of elevated mercury levels near Andros Island in the Bahamas.”

“Multiply the existing contamination by twenty and you’ve got

a full-blown environmental catastrophe,” Pitt said. “As Rudi pointed out, there’s an exponential risk to marine life due to migrating species passing through the mercury plumes.”

“During the BP oil disaster, the great fear was that the spill would reach the Florida Straits and carry up the East Coast,” Summer said. “The danger here is much worse. If the toxins are released in the middle of the Florida Straits, the methyl mercury could spread through the food chain and contaminate fish stocks from Texas to New England.”

Two armed soldiers roused them from their chairs and escorted them to the room next door.

“These are the two people who were spying on our mining operation,” Molina said as they were brought into the office.

Díaz nearly fell out of his chair at the sight of Summer. She was equally shocked to find her captor was Juan Díaz, but she found her words first.

“Professor Díaz,” she said with a sarcastic emphasis on the title. “I didn’t know your anthropology skills included murder and kidnapping.”

“There is much about me you don’t know, Summer Pitt,” he said.

She started to respond, then looked past Díaz. Resting on a sturdy table in the corner of the office was the Aztec stone she had discovered at Zimapán. The horror of the events that followed came flooding back. “You murdered Dr. Torres in cold blood.”

Díaz responded with a cold smile.

“You know this woman?” Molina asked.

“Yes. We have a shared passion for Aztec history.” He walked over to the stone and grazed his fingertips across its surface. “A pity the other half didn’t remain aboard the wreckage of the Oso Malo in Jamaica.”

“Yes,” Summer said, regaining her composure. “Ironic, actually. The other half ended up in Havana, destroyed on the Maine. It was under your nose all along.”

“Yes, I, too, discovered that Dr. Boyd was aboard the Maine with the other half of the stone when the ship blew up. Still, you have been very helpful in providing data on where the treasure may still lie.”

“What treasure?”

Díaz stared at her. “You mean, you don’t know the stone’s significance?”

He let out a bellowing laugh as he stepped to a bookcase filled with small stone carvings and artifacts. He picked up a figurine and set it on the desk in front of Summer. “Only a fool would risk his life for the sake of science.”

It was a figurine of a dog made of solid gold. The design had an ancient look, which Summer suspected was Aztec. “Where did you steal this? The Veracruz University Museum of Anthropology?”

“It was discovered at the bottom of the sea during one of our mineral surveys.”