Sea of Greed

Joe pulled himself higher on the buoy and brought his arm out of the water. Tapping the control panel on his forearm, he switched his radio to the HF band. “Priya, this is Joe. Do you read?”

The reply came within seconds. “Loud and clear. Are you on your way back?”

“Not yet,” Joe said. “We’re watching the men on the freighter unload some very odd equipment. We’re wondering why they chose this spot. Use the location info from the transponders in our helmets.”

“I have you,” Priya told them. “Three miles west-northwest of Ferry Point.”

“Sounds right,” Joe said. “Anything unusual about the area? Sinkhole or drop-off or anything like that?”

“Not that I can see. You’re near the reef. Depth averaging one hundred and forty feet. You have to go out another mile before it truly falls off.”

Joe looked back at the freighter and noticed a circle of light widening around the floating truck. Sliding back into the water, he stared through the gloom. The beams of a several spotlights were visible as a submersible ascended directly beneath the tanker.

Switching to the sonar system, Joe saw more detail. The submersible had a pinched waist and large claws that extended upward. As the claws wrapped around the body of the tanker, the divers swam about, checking the fit and inserting locking pins.

With the tanker locked in place, the submersible rose up a few feet, took on a couple of passengers and then vented a large volume of air, beginning a slow descent and dragging the tanker down with it.

“Volke and Millard just boarded that sub,” Kurt said. “Tell Priya we’re going to follow them down.”

Joe relayed the information to Priya and then he and Kurt pushed off the buoy and slipped beneath the surface.

35

SITTING ON the Lucid Dream, Priya listened to Joe’s call and was excited to be a member of the field team, yet slightly jealous that Kurt and Joe were having all the fun.

Diving had been a fascination of hers for years. The excitement to do more of that had been a big draw in joining NUMA, but the accident had taken most of that away.

She still dived on occasion, but it was only for leisure now and it was a complicated effort to set up those opportunities.

“See what else you can find out about the Monarch,” Joe had suggested.

“Will do,” she’d said dutifully. “Be careful down there.”

“You, too.”

That was the last communication.

You, too? Priya thought. What am I supposed to be careful about, not getting carpal tunnel syndrome from all this computer work?

Self-pity was a trait she despised. She shrugged off the disappointment, got back to work and spent the next ten minutes searching fruitlessly for information on the Monarch.

She’d searched public sources, media references and even ran a query for sightings of the plane on Facebook and Twitter. She’d tapped into FAA and international air traffic control databases. Aside from a few air shows, boat shows and other carefully staged PR events, news of the Monarch appeared only on the rarest of occasions.

All of which suggested the plane rarely flew, but information she’d downloaded about its engine overhaul schedule told her the plane had logged nearly four thousand hours of flight time in the last two years. Enough to cover a million miles.

“You don’t rack up all those frequent-flier miles going from Bermuda to Miami for boat shows,” she said.

She looked across the water. Tessa’s compound remained dimly lit, but a few security lights silhouetted the Monarch. It sat like a shadowy ghost. A ghost that went anywhere it wanted without the world knowing.

Frustrated by her inability to find anything of value and bored with sitting and watching, an idea occurred to her. It was an idea she should have pushed aside as soon as it came to mind, but instead she romanced the thought for a moment, considering the possibilities and potential drawbacks.

The more she thought about it, the stronger its pull became.

Staring across the water at the silent plane, she spoke as if addressing it personally. “If you won’t be good enough to tell us where you’ve been, then perhaps we should stop asking and start tracking you.”

The trip to Bermuda had been planned rapidly. Not wanting to get caught short, Kurt had ordered them to bring anything that might be helpful. In addition to Joe’s powered diving gear, the high-tech cameras, listening devices and drones, they’d brought with them beacons the team called geotrackers.

With an incredible adhesive that bonded to everything it touched, the geotrackers could be attached to moving boats, floating garbage, even sharks, whales and other living things.