Dirk looked down the Barbarigo’s forward deck at an exposed patch of steel near the bow. He descended the conning tower and hiked across the forward deck, which was covered with mud and rocks from the hill above. Summer followed him to an indented section near the bow. Kicking away the built-up soil, he exposed the rusted deck. He eventually uncovered a looped bar welded on horizontally. It was a handgrip for the forward hatch cover. Summer joined in scraping away the overburden until they cleared the cover, complete with its locking wheel latch.
“Think it’ll budge?” Summer asked.
Dirk gave the wheel latch a few firm kicks to break the seal. “Give me a hand and we’ll find out.”
They both gripped the wheel and threw their weight against it. After several tries, the latch broke its decades-long grip and spun freely. Dirk gave his sister a hopeful wink and heaved open the hatch.
A dank and musty odor rose from the opening. There was little to see as the dark interior was filled almost to the ceiling with sediment. Sand, mud, or mineral, they couldn’t tell. Dirk reached inside and groped around until he grabbed a clump of the material. He held it up for Summer to see.
It was a rock, dark yet shiny and lustrous. In the gray light of the rain squall, Summer could make out a reddish tint. “Is it Red Death?”
Dirk looked at the rock and grinned. “No. I think it would be Crimson Gold.”
85
SIX MONTHS LATER
A THRONG OF DIGNITARIES AND NAVY VETERANS, nearly three thousand strong, poured through the gates of the New London Navy Base under a cool and cloudy sky. The visitors were guided to a dock where row upon row of folding chairs faced Connecticut’s Thames River.
Filling the view was the Navy’s latest fast attack submarine, the USS North Dakota. Having completed her sea trials, she was now awaiting the last formal act of commissioning before taking to the seas in service of her country.
Pitt and Loren threaded their way through the crowd to take their seats in the second row, behind a herd of fleet admirals in full-dress uniform. Eyeing the Navy brass, Pitt wondered if their prime seating was on account of his efforts to save the Sea Arrow or Loren’s clout on Capitol Hill. When the Chief of Naval Operations stopped by and fawned over his wife, he decided it was the latter.
A short time later, Vice President Sandecker arrived, led by a blockade of Pentagon officials. A trademark stogie dangled from his lips as he was ushered to a seat near the podium. Spotting Pitt and Loren, he slipped from his escorts and made his way to the couple.
“You’re looking ravishing as always, Loren,” he said, “despite the riffraff clinging to your arm.”
Loren laughed. “He still cleans up well. Good to see you again, Mr. Vice President.”
“Where are Summer and Dirk? I thought they’d be here.”
Loren raised her brow in curiosity.
“They’re both in Rome,” Pitt said. “The Italian government is holding a memorial for the Barbarigo’s crewmen recovered in Madagascar. The kids were invited as guests of honor.”
“We’d have been dead in the water if it weren’t for them,” Sandecker said. “Their discovery of the crew’s remains helped sway the Italians to give us the rare earth elements carried in the submarine. Kept us from having a one-trick pony today.” He winked at Pitt.
“Speaking of rare earth elements,” Loren said, “I heard a rumor on the Hill that the Chinese are lifting their export ban.”
“They’ve told us as much. Once the Australians stepped in and took over Edward Bolcke’s mine at Mount Weld, the Chinese lost hope of monopolizing the market. And our rebuilding efforts at Mountain Pass are well ahead of schedule. Fortunately, the remnant materials we acquired from Bolcke’s former operations in Panama and Madagascar have kept us humming.”
An aide materialized at Sandecker’s side, informing the Vice President that the ceremony was about to start.
“Duty calls.” He bowed to Loren and shook Pitt’s hand before returning to his seat.
A moment later, Ann Bennett worked her way down the aisle and took an empty seat next to Loren. “Hello,” she said warmly. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”
“Did you just fly in?” Loren asked.
“Yes. Dan Fowler’s sentencing was this morning, and I didn’t want to miss it.”
“Ironic timing,” Pitt said. “What did he get?”
She gave a satisfied smile. “Thirty years, as the prosecutors hoped.”
An admiral took to the podium and introduced the Vice President, who gave a rousing speech about protecting the seas from all forms of enemies. A string of Navy officials followed with the expected words of ceremony.
During the speeches, Ann leaned across Loren and whispered to Pitt, “Is it in the water?”
Pitt nodded. “Two nights ago, under the downpour they were waiting for.”
“And ready for sea trials?”
“All systems look good, I’m told.”
“I thought the North Dakota already had her sea trials,” Loren said.
“Yes, that’s right, dear,” Pitt said, tightening his lips.
At the podium, the North Dakota’s honorary sponsor was introduced and sang out the traditional commissioning first order. “Man our ship and bring her to life!”
The crew and officers of the North Dakota stepped aboard the submarine to the cheers of the attending crowd. Pitt’s eyes looked beyond the vessel, focused on a motorized barge surrounded by numerous red-and-white warning buoys.
“Where is she?” Ann whispered.
“By the barge on the other side.”
Loren noticed that some of the Navy officials also seemed more interested in the barge than the newly minted North Dakota.
“What’s with everybody?” she asked. “You all act like there’s something more important going on here than the North Dakota’s launching. And why is everyone staring at those buoys by the barge?”
Pitt smiled at his wife and squeezed her hand.
“The sea doesn’t always reveal all her mysteries,” he said. “Even under the threat of a rusty butter knife.”
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Clive Cussler, Poseidon's Arrow
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