Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

“Thanks, Mark.” Pitt shook the Canadian’s hand.

“Watch yourself. And good luck.”

The Gold Digger turned away from the Sea Raker as its launch was lowered off the stern. Ramsey and his hefty bodyguard sat on the forward bench as the pilot engaged the outboard and sped toward the mining ship.

On the Sea Raker’s opposite deck, Díaz and his crew were engaged in their own launching exercise, deploying the bulk cutter. Dangling at its side like an ornament on a Christmas tree was the Starfish, suspended by the cutter’s manipulator. Both machines were quickly swallowed by the sea as the ship’s drum winch released a steady stream of support cable. Díaz watched them submerge into the black water, then stepped to the opposite side of the ship to greet Ramsey.

The Gold Digger’s launch sailed along the ship’s port rail to its lowered ladder. Ramsey and his bodyguard leaped onto the ladder and up the steps to the Sea Raker’s deck. Díaz was there waiting with several armed soldiers standing loosely behind him.

“Mr. Ramsey, a pleasant surprise.” Díaz’s tone was anything but pleasant.

“Hello, Juan. I was on my way to New Orleans when my captain spotted you.”

“I’m glad you can visit. Come, let’s have a drink.”

Díaz led him forward to the ship’s wardroom, where an attendant fixed them drinks.

“What are you doing in Cuba?” Ramsey said. “You’re supposed to be working off Nicaragua.”

“The site proved to be a disappointment. We decided to redeploy here for some test excavations that looked promising from an earlier seismic survey.”

“Do you have authorization to dig here?” Ramsey asked.

“The approvals have been made through the necessary channels.”

“I admire your efficiency. How is the ship working out?”

“She’s been outstanding. We had a learning curve on managing the excavation equipment, but now we are operating at high efficiency.”

“Yes, that’s why I would have preferred you use my crew.”

Díaz ignored the comment. “I’m sorry you didn’t come at a more opportune moment. We are just deploying one of the cutters for a test run.”

“Could I see your seismic survey data? I’ve been studying a lot of undersea terrain in this region lately. Perhaps I could be of help.”

“I’m afraid the data isn’t aboard ship.”

Ramsey saw through the lie. “Have you completed an environmental impact assessment for this area?”

“Our scientists have determined there is no impact.”

“Even with blasting?”

“Blasting?” Díaz replied with a wary look. “We are not conducting any blasting.”

“Our charter specifies full environmental impact assessments and minimally invasive operations in the course of any mining activity. I’ve built a lifetime’s reputation on safe and friendly mining techniques. I must insist that the contract stipulations be followed.”

“Of course. I’ll have the reports sent to you next week.”

Díaz drained his drink and rose to his feet. “It was nice of you to stop by, Mr. Ramsey. I hope you have a pleasant journey to New Orleans.”

Ramsey slowly finished his drink. With a sick feeling, he realized that everything Pitt had told him about Díaz was true. He had signed away his ship to mercenaries under the protection of the Cuban government—and they were about to unleash a vast environmental disaster. The situation left him with little recourse.

“It is later than I thought,” Ramsey said. “Thank you for the drink, Juan. I best get going.”

They exited the wardroom and returned to the deck. Walking past the bulk cutter hangar, Ramsey noticed a crewman in a hazmat suit sweeping up some seafloor residue. It made him think of Pitt and he glanced over the rail at the barge tied alongside.

Bidding Díaz good-bye, he climbed down to his waiting launch and cast off toward his yacht. As the illuminated outline of the Sea Raker receded behind him, Ramsey kicked at a loose tarp on the floorboard and muttered to the breeze, “Good luck, Dirk Pitt. You’re going to need it.”