Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

Fariñas drove through a neighborhood of run-down block houses before stopping at a pink one near the water. An ebullient man with large ears emerged and Fariñas introduced him as his cousin.

“My boat is this way,” the man said. “Come, I can run you over right now.”

Pitt shook Fariñas’s hand and gave Maria a hug. “I won’t forget your kindness.”

“Keep up the good fight, Mr. Pitt,” she said. “And good luck to you and your daughter.”

The cousin led him to a small fishing boat beached on the sand. They dragged it into the water and climbed aboard. A rickety outboard was started and a few minutes later they pulled alongside the stern of Mark Ramsey’s yacht, Gold Digger. A muscle-laden crewman appeared and motioned for them to move away.

“Is Mark aboard?” Pitt shouted.

“Who wants to know?”

“A Bentley driver by the name of Pitt.”

The crewman gave Pitt an annoyed look, then spoke into a handheld radio. His features softened when the radio squawked a minute later and he waved the boat alongside. Pitt thanked Fariñas’s cousin and hopped aboard.

“Mr. Ramsey will be pleased to see you in the salon.” The crewman guided Pitt across the open stern deck and through a pair of French doors.

Dressed in a sport shirt and slacks, Ramsey sat at a table, poring through a stack of seismic surveys. He stood up and greeted Pitt with a warm smile. “You’re a long way from the track, Mr. Pitt. How on earth did you find me here?”

“Your red grizzly bear logo. I remembered it from your car hauler in Washington. I’ve also seen it on another vessel in the area, a mining ship called the Sea Raker.”

“Yes, that’s our flagship deep-sea mining vessel. But you must be mistaken. The Sea Raker is operating under charter in the Pacific off of Nicaragua.”

He showed Pitt to a chair, noticing his disheveled appearance and the bandage on his neck. “What exactly are you doing here?”

“In a word, mercury. I was tracking the dispersal of toxic mercury plumes that have occurred in the Caribbean. They are being created by the destruction of undersea hydrothermal vents. Your ship, the Sea Raker, is responsible for the damage.”

Ramsey shook his head. “No, the Sea Raker is in the Pacific.”

“I was aboard her two days ago not thirty miles from here. We were investigating the seafloor in a submersible and were abducted by one of the ship’s mining machines. We were brought aboard the Sea Raker a short time before being taken to shore. I managed to escape, but my daughter is still being held prisoner.”

“Why would the Sea Raker abduct you?”

“Because they are blowing up thermal vents in order to mine deposits of uranium buried within them.”

Ramsey looked at Pitt like he’d just stepped off a flying saucer. “Uranium? You’re mad. The ship was chartered to mine gold off Nicaragua.”

Pitt shook his head. “Perhaps they started with gold, but they’ve graduated to uranium in the Caribbean. They have a stockpile down the coast that was being loaded aboard an outbound freighter just today.”

“That can’t be. I know uranium deposits coexist with other minerals, but I’ve never heard of it being commercially mined undersea. Why would they be doing so?”

“You’d have to talk to a Cuban named Juan Díaz.”

“Díaz? He took possession of the ship on behalf of a Panamanian venture. You know him?”

“He seems to be running the show. And he’s the one holding my daughter.”

Ramsey could see from the intense look in Pitt’s eyes that he was telling the truth. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a shaken voice.

“That’s not the worst of it. High-grade uranium ore apparently exists in the deep core of the thermal vents in this region. Somewhere within the layers of sediment is a concentration of mercury, probably laid down during the Triassic Period. Díaz and his Cuban Army pals have blasted open several vents in the Caribbean—and one nearby—that have released large plumes of mercury,” said Pitt. “As we speak, they are preparing to blast a pair of very large thermal vents in the middle of the Florida Straits. If they succeed, the mercury plumes will likely expand to the Gulf Stream. It will be the environmental disaster of the century.”

Ramsey sank into his chair with the look of a shattered soul. “I’ve built my career on prudent mining, using the least invasive environmental techniques possible. I would have never provided my equipment and expertise had I known that’s what they were up to.”

He shook his head slowly. “I should have known something wasn’t right. They were extremely secretive about their mining plans, which isn’t unusual when gold is at stake. But everything was handled as a military operation. They insisted on crewing my ship with their own men. I never imagined they could create such harm in the few months that they’ve leased the Sea Raker.”

“There’s also a high likelihood they were responsible for sinking the drill ship Alta.”