Sea of Greed

“You’ll need to maneuver around the far edge for a safe entry. Too much damage to this side.”

They’d planned the dive in advance, but to allow Kurt and Gamay to concentrate on their tasks, it had been decided that Paul would act as overall director.

Kurt and Gamay activated their thrusters again and moved past the near end of the hull. Impact damage, piping, wires and other encrusted debris made entry there impossible.

On the far side, they got a better view of the entire section. It was covered with marine snow and dripping with rust but in better shape than many wrecks Kurt had seen. Spread out in front of it was another debris field of equipment, machinery and assorted junk.

“Either everything fell out when they raised and dropped her,” Gamay said, “or they just ripped everything out when they were looking for the cultures.”

“Probably a little of both,” Kurt said.

He slowed and held his position, studying the submarine. Looking at it was like studying the cross section of a model. The circular curve of the pressure hull was obvious even with the impact damage. The decks crossed at an angle because the hull did not sit perfectly flat on the bottom, but each deck was wide open to the sea.

“Looks like they cut the hull at the limits of the crew quarters and mess hall,” Kurt said, gazing into the opening. “Obviously, they wanted to leave the heavy engine room at the stern and the dangerous forward torpedo room on the bottom. Have to give them some credit for thinking ahead.”

“Should we go in?” Gamay asked.

Even though the hull was wide open, it was still no place for seven-foot-tall, man-shaped machines.

“No,” Kurt said. “Release the drones.”

As he gave the order, Kurt pressed two red buttons. “Releasing drones Alpha and Bravo.”

A subtle vibration ran through the suit as the drones deployed.

“I’m releasing Charlie,” Gamay replied.

The football-shaped drones would have a far easier time searching through the wreck. They could fit through gaps and hatches. They were smooth-sided, with nothing extending outside their shells that could snag on debris or cables. They could move and see in all directions.

“I have Alpha,” Kurt said. “Paul, I’m releasing Bravo to your steady hand.”

“Roger that,” Paul said. “Telemetry is active. I have control of Bravo.”

The drones entered the hull on a different deck, their lights illuminating the vacant spaces while their motors stirred up small amounts of sediment.

Gazing at the computer screen inside his helmet, Kurt watched the video from his drone as it navigated the wreck. The inspection was done at a painstakingly slow speed. Compartment by compartment, foot by foot.

The process would take hours. They didn’t know exactly what they were looking for, but anything out of the ordinary, anything that could hold a dangerous bacterial culture and keep it secured against the sea for fifty years despite the pressure, depth and cold.

“Drone Bravo is searching the medical bay,” Paul announced.

“Charlie entering the mess hall,” Gamay said moments later.

In some ways, the work Tessa’s people had done made the search easier.

“Looks like they used blowtorches to remove the hatches and watertight doors,” Kurt said. “I’ve encountered nothing to slow our progress.”

“There are several gaping holes in the upper deck,” Gamay replied.

“They cut a hole in the side of the hull on deck two as well,” Paul added. “Looks like they’ve looted the entire medical bay. There’s nothing left in here.”

“They’ve done the same thing to the mess hall,” Gamay replied. “No fryer, no refrigerators, no containers — they’ve left nothing behind.”

Kurt was discovering the same thing. Not a footlocker remained in the crew quarters. Nothing that might be used to hide a sealed container.

“Finish the sweep and then search the aft section with the engine room,” he said. “I’m recalling my drone and switching to the forward section of the submarine.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Paul reminded him.

“I’m calling an audible,” Kurt said. “They’ve picked this segment clean. If the counteragent was here, they’d have found it.”

“There are twelve unexploded torpedoes in there,” Paul reminded him.

“Don’t worry,” Kurt said. “I left my sledgehammer on the Gryphon with you.”

Using his thrusters, Kurt maneuvered toward the forward section of the wreck and then guided his drone in through a small gap.

This section didn’t seem to have been ransacked. That gave Kurt some hope that they might find what they were looking for.

“Central hull cleared,” Gamay said. “Heading for the engine room.”

“I’m right behind you,” Paul said.

Kurt heard the chatter but focused on his own task. The forward compartments were a jumble, skewed to the side and half filled with sediment. The torpedoes had come off their racks and lay about like fallen logs in a dark forest. That none of them had exploded upon impact was a testament to the design of their safeties. Still, Kurt avoided even bumping them. He didn’t want to find out if those safeties were still working after fifty years.