“That boom you heard was an underwater explosion,” Joe said.
Contos shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know of any volcanic activity along here. What caused it?”
“Best we can say for sure is that it was centered in the underwater installation,” Austin said.
He gave Austin a blank look.
“We’ll explain later.” Austin surveyed the yellowed cliffs. “The explosion shook the slide loose.”
Contos furrowed his brow. “Hey,” he said as a thought struck him. “What did you do with the Brogan?”
Austin and Zavala looked at each other like guilty children who had broken the cookie jar. Austin was beginning to wonder if he were a Jonah, the name mariners give a seaman who attracts calamity. This was the second craft he had lost in as many days.
“We lost her,” Austin said. “Sorry. It couldn’t be helped. Juan and Pedro here hauled us out of the water.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Contos said to the smiling fishermen. “Not much we can do about it now. NUMA will simply have to build me a new one.”
Austin swept his eyes over the tilted hull of the Sea Robin. “Your vessel has quite a list. Are you in any danger of sinking?”
“I think we’ll be okay. No leaks detected so far. We’ll see what happens once we get under way. Most of the damage is to the deck and superstructure. The cranes are useless, as you can see. The forklift can move the big stuff. We haven’t called for help because we don’t want to have to explain what we’re doing in Mexican waters.”
“Do we have time to check out the cove?”
Contos looked over his shoulder at the rubble still to be removed. “Be my guest. We’ll get under way as soon as we’re able.”
Zavala asked the fishermen to take them back to the inlet. The request started an animated argument between the brothers. Pedro had had enough of the cursed place with its strange explosions and stranger mermen popping out of the sea. He clearly wanted to go home, but his brother prevailed.
The boat made its way around the headland. As they entered the cove they could see smoke coming from the tortilla factory. Like the cliff above the Sea Robin, the sheer face behind the factory was layered yellow where the outer rock cover had been dislodged by the explosion. The rock slide had taken with it all traces of the monorail elevator.
The fishing boat cut a path through the debris and dead fish that covered the surface of the inlet. Using a bucket, Austin and Zavala scooped pieces of melted plastic and charred paper from the water. Remembering how a tiny piece of metal had helped track down the source of the TWA jet explosion over Lockerbee, Scotland, Austin figured even the tiniest fragment might be of use.
The work was painstaking, but their persistence paid off. Zavala snagged a metal cylinder bobbing in the water. It was about two feet long and six inches in diameter. Austin found a serial number and the name of its manufacturer etched into the metal.
Joe called his attention to movement at the top of the cliffs. Human specks could be seen lining the bluff. Austin didn’t feel like answering questions for the local authorities. The fishermen were happy to head back to the ship. The deck was practically clear as they pulled up next to the Sea Robin. The ship was close to its normal pitch. Austin borrowed some money from Contos and tried to pay the fishermen for their services, but the brothers refused the cash. Juan explained through Zavala that showing them the hole in the fence was a service for which he would accept payment, but saving men from the sea was a moral duty. Austin thought about it, then persuaded the fishermen to accept a gift of friendship. After discussing it with Contos, they presented the happy fishermen with an outboard motor soon to be retired from service but in excellent shape.
The engines were started, and the ship slowly headed for open water. No leaks were detected. Contos set a course north. They left just in time. As they cruised along, a dark green helicopter appeared out of nowhere, circled the inlet several times, then dashed off to the north as quickly as it had come. They mingled with the boat traffic around Ensenada, where they spotted a Mexican coast guard boat steaming at full speed in the opposite direction. With the Sea Robin safely on its way, the NUMA men hit the showers and got into dry clothes. They rejoined Contos on the bridge. He had a fresh pot of coffee waiting.
“Okay, gentlemen,” he said, pouring two hot steaming mugs. “As skipper of this vessel, which you commandeered for what turned out to be a commando mission, I’d appreciate it if you would fill me in.”
Austin took a sip of the high-octane brew and decided he had never tasted anything more delicious.
“The explosion was a surprise to us,” he said. “Our basic mission was pretty simple. We wanted to check out the source of the heat that may have killed those whales. We think we found it.” He described the underwater structure as they first saw it, filling Contos in on the approach, the fake hazard buoys, the fishing net, and the high water temperature. Then he turned the narrative over to Joe.
Putting himself back underwater in the moments before the explosion, Zavala curled his hands as if he were clutching an invisible steering wheel.
“Everything’s fine. We figure the high temperature readings are coming from the installation. You set off for a closer look, and I put the sub on the bottom to wait. The temps start to go off the charts, and I suggest you get back to the Brogan.”
Austin reached into his memory. “I had just looked through a skylight on the top of the structure when I got your call. There were people and machinery inside. I headed back to the sub. Then boom!”
“You said the structure was full of piping,” Zavala said. “Some of it would have been high-pressure conduits, hence the potential for explosion.”
“I don’t know. There could have been a flaw in the piping, but this was a sophisticated operation. They would have had layers of safety valves and shutoffs to prevent a pressure buildup. From what I could see there was nothing out of the ordinary. Nobody was rushing around in a panic. No indication of anything wrong.”
“What about the water temperature buildup?”
“Good question, although the satellite photos indicate this isn’t the first time there has been a high-temperature water discharge into the cove, so it probably didn’t have a direct link to the explosion.” Austin had brought a plastic bag with him. He opened it and produced the metal cylinder. “We found this floating in the cove. Any idea what it is?”
Contos examined the object and shook his head. “I’ll try to track down the manufacturer when we get back to Washington.”
“Guess your instincts were right, Kurt. Remember, back at Hussong’s, when you said you had the feeling a big bad-assed something was watching us.”
Austin’s coral eyes hardened. “If you’ll remember, I made another astute observation.”
“What was that?”
“I said that whatever it is lurking in the shadows, the damned thing is as hungry as hell.”
“You two are spooky,” Contos said. “It sounds as if you’re talking about Godzilla.”
Austin said nothing. He stared out at the bow cleaving the waves as if the answers to the questions whirling around in his head could be found beneath the blue-green of the sea.
12
The Hand of God
THE AIRSHIP GLIDED over the rain forest like a huge, elongated Japanese lantern, pulsating with a soft blue-and-orange light as twin tongues of flame from the propane burners heated the air inside the big sausage-shaped envelope. Except for the occasional burner blast, the only evidence of the craft’s existence was a silent shadow that blotted out the moon and stars like a passing cloud.
What Paul and Gamay thought to be a blimp was actually a thermal airship, an ingenious cross between a hot-air balloon and a dirigible. Hot-air burners provided lift, but unlike a balloon, which goes where the wind takes it, the thermal airship had an engine and could be steered under power. The more streamlined zeppelin silhouette had replaced the customary pear-shaped air bag known as the envel
ope. The envelope kept its shape with internal air pressure instead of a rigid blimp skeleton.
The Trouts sat side-by-side at the front of the aluminum-frame gondola, held in their comfortable padded seats by full harnesses. From their perspective, slung under the belly of the envelope, the blimp looked enormous. The polyester fabric bag was one hundred feet long and half that in height. It had a full rudder at the back end for steering and large, thick fins for stability. Behind the passenger seats were the propane tanks that fueled the burners, the fuel containers for the Rotex two-stroke power plant, the engine itself, and the three-blade propeller that provided lateral thrust.
Paul and Gamay had taken turns acquainting themselves with the airship’s controls. Both Trouts had ridden in balloons and knew the principles of hot air. The airship’s operation was relatively simple. A foot-operated valve controlled the stainless-steel burners that kept hot air flowing through a metal chute into the envelope. The instrument panel had only half a dozen gauges. The Trouts watched the altimeter with gimlet eyes, keeping the airship at about two thousand feet, an altitude that would give them a reasonable safety margin.
Keeping the airship aloft had drained the propane from one tank, and they were operating on reserve. They had been waiting for daylight to use the power plant, so a plentiful fuel supply remained for the propeller drive. A pearl-gray glow in the east announced the coming of dawn. Soon the sky turned rose-petal pink. Even after the sun rose the visibility was obscured by fog. The vapors rising off the tree canopy absorbed the sky’s hue, and a roiling, reddish sea of mist stretched off to the horizon. While Paul operated the airship Gamay rummaged around in a storage box between the two seats. “Time for breakfast,” she announced cheerfully.
“I’ll have mine over easy,” Paul replied. “Crisp on the bacon, please, and the home fries burned around the edges.”
Gamay offered Paul a choice of granola bars. “You can have raspberry or blueberry.”
“I’ll try room service.” He flicked on the radio, but all they heard was the crackle of static. “Bet Phineas Fogg never had to rough it like this,” Paul said with a frown. “Aw hell, I’ll take blueberry.”
She handed him a bar and a bottle of warm mineral water. “That was quite a night.”
“Yes, I would say that having a brush with ruthless bio-pirates, witnessing a cold-blooded murder, and escaping from savage Indians would certainly qualify as quite a night.”
“We owe our lives to Tessa. I wonder how she got hooked up with Dieter.”
“She’s not the first woman to show poor judgment in men. If you had married a lawyer or a doctor instead of a fisherman’s son, you would be floating in your backyard pool instead of being up here.”
“How boring.” Gamay chewed thoughtfully on her breakfast bar. “Any idea where we are, Mr. Fisherman’s Son?”
He shook his head. “I wish my dad were here. He learned how to navigate the old-fashioned way before we started to depend on electronic gear.”
“What about the compass?”
“Not much use unless you’ve got landmarks or navigational buoys to go with it. That’s obviously east.” He pointed to the sun.
“The Dutchman’s settlement was south and west of Ramirez,” Gamay said. “What if we aimed this thing northeast?”
Paul scratched his head. “That might work if we were sure we were still at the exact spot where we climbed into this rig. There was a breeze last night. I don’t know how far it could have pushed us. Could make a big difference, and we’ve only got a limited amount of fuel left for the burners. Any decision will have to be the right one. The engine tanks are full, but it won’t do much good to go forward if we lose altitude.”
Gamay gazed over the ocean of green. “Sure is beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as three eggs over easy and bacon with home fries.”
She handed him another granola bar. “Use your imagination.”
“I am. I’m trying to imagine how they got this airship into the forest. They could have flown it in, but that’s doubtful because this isn’t big enough to carry all the supplies and spare fuel it would need. My guess is they launched it from the ground not far from where we found it.”
“Since there are no roads,” Gamay said, picking up the thread of logic, “they probably came in by water. If we found the river or tributary we could retrace our way back to Dr. Ramirez’s camp. Perhaps if we went higher, we’d see more of the forest.”
“Brilliant,” he said, and goosed the throttle with his foot.
The burners responded with a throaty whisper, and after a pause the aircraft began to rise. As they ascended, the heat of the sun was beginning to burn off the mist. The tree canopy began to appear as ragged patches of green. Reddish flowers grew in patches on the treetops like coral reefs.
At three thousand feet Gamay squinted through the haze. “I see something over there.”
Paul started the power plant and turned the steering wheel that controlled the cables running to the rudder until the airship came slowly about. With the water-cooled engine purring quietly, the airship gained speed slowly as it overcame its inertia, and before long the propeller was kicking them along at ten miles per hour. Gamay had found a pair of binoculars and was using them to scope out where they were going.
“Incredible,” she said as the mists cleared.
“What do you see?”
Gamay was silent for a second. “The Hand of God,” she said with quiet awe.
Paul hesitated. He hadn’t slept much and was slow on the uptake. “The Great Falls the Dutchman talked about?”
Gamay nodded. “Even at this distance it’s magnificent.”
Paul tried to increase their speed. He sensed something peculiar about the controls. The airship seemed to be dragging. He peered down and saw a red triangular object dangling from lines attached to the gondola.
“Hello,” he said. “We’ve got company.”
Gamay lowered the binoculars and followed Paul’s gaze. “It looks vaguely like a life raft. Made out of rubber tubing and mesh in the middle. They probably used it to drop people and supplies off on the tree canopy.”
“Sounds like a reasonable explanation. We’ll have to be careful it doesn’t catch in the treetops.” He lifted his head to check on their course. What he saw sent chills up his spine.
They were approaching a high headland that rose from the forest in the shape of a giant step. A river coursed from the forest toward the precipice of the plateau where rocky formations broke the flow into five waterfalls. With the sunlight sparkling off the white water the streams looked like gems being run through the fingers of a diamond merchant. The falls had the deceptive slow-motion look that water has when it plunges from a great height. A thick cloud of foglike condensation rose from the explosive force of thousands of gallons of water cascading into a lake directly below the steep-sided bluff.
Paul said, “Those falls make Niagara look like a herring brook.”
“All that water has to have an outlet.” Gamay scanned the perimeter of the lake. “Paul, over there! I can see the river. It’s flowing out of the lake. All we have to do is follow it.”
“Not unless you see a gas station, too,” Trout said with a glance at the propane fuel gauge. The tank was practically on empty. “We’re about to drop out of the sky.”
“We can still move forward. Get us as close to the river as possible. We’ll ditch this thing and use the raft.”
Trout did a mental rundown of a water splashdown. The gondola’s weight would pull it under the water. Residual air in the envelope might keep the gondola from going down immediately, but the hundreds of square feet of fabric would pose a hazard, trapping them in its folds. They should both be clear of the airship before it hit water and do their best to keep the raft intact. It could be their ticket out of the forest.
Paul quickly outlined his analysis and plan. “I think we should cut the raft loose before we land. Otherwise we could lose it.”
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sp; Gamay took another look over the side. Nine nylon lines, three at each corner, were attached to the dangling raft.
“There’s a Swiss Army knife in the storage box,” she said.
Paul tested the sharpness of the blade with his thumb and tucked the knife in the big pocket of his cargo shorts.
“You take us in,” he said. “Get us as low to the water as you can. I’ll cut the raft free.”
“Then I bring this buggy to a hover and we abandon ship and go in for a swim,” Gamay said.
“As easy as one-two-three,” Paul said with a grin.
Gamay took over the steering wheel and put the airship into a slow turn away from the falls. Sunlight streaming through the mists that rose off the lake created multiple rainbows. Gamay hoped it was a good sign.
The gondola tilted from Paul’s weight as he climbed out onto the right side of the framework. He looked down at the red triangle swinging about thirty feet below and made his way to the rear of the gondola behind the tanks and burners. He sawed away at the lines attached to the rear left corner of the raft, then continued across the gondola’s framework and repeated his work. Attached to the gondola only by its nose lines, the raft bobbed and twisted in the wind.
Using a light foot on the burner control, Gamay aimed for a spot near the river, bringing the airship down in a long, easy glide. She was starting to think that his crazy scheme might work. Her optimism vanished as the burner went ploof, then was silent. They had run out of fuel at an altitude of a thousand feet.
There was no immediate change in the airship’s behavior. The heated air maintained the envelope’s streamlined shape, and the propeller kept the craft at a shallow angle. The airship continued on its heading. At five hundred feet altitude the situation began to come apart at the seams. As the air cooled, lift was lost, and the angle of descent became steeper. Pressure inside the envelope diminished as well, and the front end developed a dent. The airship assumed the shape of a rotten tomato and swung to the left.