Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

“She just needs a good tug from above.”

“I agree, but it ain’t going to come from us.”

“That’s right,” Pitt said. “It will have to come from the lift cable.”

“You mean raise the cable? There’s over six hundred feet of steel cable. It probably weighs ten times as much as the bell. No way we could drag that to the surface.”

“Not drag. Float,” Pitt said with a twinkle in his eye.

Giordino studied his partner. He had seen that look before. It was the never-say-die gaze of a man who had cheated death many times over. It was a look of determination that spouted from his friend like Old Faithful. Pitt didn’t know the men in the diving bell, but there was no way he would stand by and let them die.

Giordino rubbed his chin. “How can we possibly do that?”

“Simple,” Pitt said. “We just raise the roof.”

9

Feeling as if he had been abandoned to die in a cold steel coffin, Fletcher watched the lights of the NUMA submersible recede across the seafloor.

“They’ll be back,” he said, trying to convince himself.

He could do little but focus on his breathing, every inhalation a reminder of their limited air. Like most professional divers, he wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but little by little the diving bell seemed to compress around him.

He gazed at Tank, who had slid to a sitting position beside him and stared at the floor in resignation. To lessen his own anxiety, Fletcher remained standing, his face pressed against the viewport while tracking the submersible. What was it up to? The vessel seemed to be just moving back and forth, stirring up silt. Whatever they were doing, it seemed to have nothing to do with saving him and his partners.

But saving the men’s lives was exactly what Pitt was up to.

“Short of a granny knot, that’s the best we can do,” Giordino said, sweat dripping off his brow.

He was operating the robotic arm, or manipulator, which was again clutching a strand of the diving bell’s lift cable. Leaving Fletcher and the bell in the shadows, Pitt had traced the length of the cable until finding the frayed end near the sunken Alta.

He had Giordino grab the cable end and drag it to the metal shed they had passed in the debris field earlier. The prefabricated welder’s shed had stood on the ship’s deck but was sheared off when the Alta struck bottom. The shed had somehow landed upright. Although heavily dented, it stood fully intact in the soft sand.

With a good deal of finessing, Pitt and Giordino secured the cable around the shed’s hinged door, then looped it around the sides and roof several times.

“Won’t win us a merit badge for knot tying,” Giordino said, “but now our kite’s got a tail.”

“On to the scientific portion of the experiment,” Pitt said.

Giordino let loose of the cable, and Pitt guided the submersible close to the Alta. He settled the submersible on the seafloor and watched as Giordino reached with the manipulator and clutched a brown helium tank by its valve.

Giordino gave Pitt a cautionary gaze. “These babies ain’t light.”

“Mere child’s play.” Pitt raised the submersible just off the bottom and applied power to the reverse thrusters.

The submersible eased backward. The helium cylinder held firm, then slipped across the sand. Pitt worked the controls until he had dragged the tank alongside the welder’s shed, positioning its valve near the open door.

“There’s one,” Pitt said.

“Not a popular move with our batteries.” Giordino looked at their gauges. “We’re down to thirty-five percent remaining power reserves.”

Pitt nodded and maneuvered the submersible toward the next cylinder. They had repeated the process six more times, lining up all seven tanks beside the shed, when Giordino announced they could do no more.

“Power reserves approaching single digits, boss. It’s time we think of heading for daylight.”

“Okay, maestro. First open up the tanks, and let’s see if this bird will fly.”

Pitt hovered the submersible over the cylinders so Giordino could reach down with his manipulator and open the valves. A cascade of bubbles rushed past the viewport as he opened the first valve. When Giordino had opened the last cylinder, Pitt moved back a few feet and Giordino nudged the tanks forward, allowing the spewing gas to rise into the confines of the welder’s shed.