Sea of Greed

“The boat is sinking slowly, so slowly that we must be at almost neutral buoyancy. It has been hours. And will be hours more before we are crushed. And yet, still they circle above us, angry wasps waiting to land one more sting.

“Occasionally, we hear another depth charge hit the water and then all we can do is wait. Most of us would welcome a direct hit to end things quickly, but they must not know how far down we’ve drifted, the detonations are so far above us.

“Do they know they’re killing their own? I wonder.”

There was one more page, Rudi turned to it quickly.

“It has been eleven hours. We are past the boat's test depth and the hull is creaking. Each groan seems like the hand of death, stroking our vessel in search of a weak point to crush it.

“There is no light and nothing to breathe except poisoned air. It stinks of oil and sweat and filth. The carbon dioxide is so thick that many of the men have fallen asleep already. In a way, I envy them. Others have gone forward in hopes of getting out through the torpedo tubes. But their attempt is for naught. We are too deep. They will be crushed, if they succeed at all.

“At least they have their vain hope. I have none, except that perhaps those in the other boat will make it to port. That those members of my crew and the Israeli sailors who are with them will survive to see their families again.”

The narrative ended there, followed by the name of the officer, which had been blacked out. The next lines of text told Rudi enough about the author to send a chill down his spine.

Honor, Homeland, Valor, Discipline.

Viva La France.

Viva La Minerve.

Rudi looked at the Admiral. “The captured French submarine was the Minerve?”

“You see why I can’t help you?” the Admiral said. “The French took the research data, the genetic materials and the bacterial cultures from the island. Our people took half of it back and left the rest on the Minerve. Both sailed for Israel, but neither ship survived.”

Rudi understood the task ahead instantly and clearly. “If the materials we’re looking for weren’t on the Dakar, they have to be on the Minerve.”

“It would appear that way,” the Admiral said, “but the French have been looking for that ship since the day she vanished. The search has gone on for two decades longer than our own search for the Dakar. I assure you, in all that time they haven’t found a trace of it. Nor have we.”

“That might play to our advantage,” Rudi said. “If they haven’t been able to find it, that means they didn’t sink it. It means the material on board stands a decent chance of remaining intact.”

“You’re right, of course,” the Admiral said. “But the Mediterranean is a big place. What makes you think you’ll be able to find it when both we and the French have been unable to do so?”

“Because I have to.”

56

NUMA VESSEL GRYPHON

“A STROKE of good luck,” Kurt said upon hearing the news.

Gamay reacted differently. “Really? Some luck.”

“It gives us a chance.”

She folded her arms and narrowed her gaze. If she ever became a mother, that gaze would go a long way to keeping her kids on the straight and narrow. “You realize the chances of success are next to none.”

“Better than no chance,” Kurt said, “which is what we have now.”

“Kurt’s right,” Rudi added from a video screen.

Everyone looked back at the screen, which had Rudi’s image on the left and Hiram Yaeger’s image on the right.