The Rising Sea

  Melanie Anderson flashed a smile that almost hid the annoyance she felt. “Thanks,” she said. “Though, I hate to tell you, I’ve never been to Nevada. We used B-roll for the entire thing. But I’m glad you enjoyed it. It means we did our job.” There was a happy cynicism to her voice. “Can I sign something, or pose for a selfie?”

  “A signature would be great,” Gamay said, holding out a small pad of paper and a pen. The reporter took both items, raised the pen to the ready position and then paused as if she was thinking about what to write.

  Gamay had drafted a note on the pad, explaining who they were and that they needed help.

  The reporter looked up. “Is this a joke? Did the guys at the network put you up to this?”

  “I promise you,” Gamay said, “it’s anything but a joke. Can we please talk inside your truck?”

  The reporter held her ground for a moment and then opened the door while calling out to the cameraman. “Charley, give me a minute, okay?”

  The cameraman nodded. And Paul and Gamay followed the reporter inside.

  The back of the mobile broadcast van was designed much like the interior of an ambulance except, instead of medical equipment, the bay was filled with computers and production gear.

  It was cramped, but there were two small seats. The reporter took one and Gamay the other. Paul leaned against a cabinet, crouching to give himself just enough headroom.

  “Let me get this straight,” the reporter said. “You two are employees of a secret U.S. government agency and you’re being hunted by the Chinese. And this whole internet and phone blackout is to prevent you from contacting your bureau chief in Washington. Is that it?”

  “Actually,” Gamay said, “NUMA isn’t a secret agency. It’s very public.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” she said.

  “We don’t exactly advertise,” Paul said.

  “Okay, fine,” the reporter said. “But the Chinese government wants you stopped at all costs, bringing Shanghai to a screeching halt if necessary.”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Gamay said.

  “Explains why you came to me,” Ms. Anderson replied. “Crazy is my business. Fortunately, my producers come up with enough batty ideas to run three networks at least. We don’t need any help from the public.”

  “This isn’t a stunt or a game,” Gamay reiterated. “We’re not secret agents; we’re not spies. I’m a marine biologist and Paul is a geologist. We recorded video and sonar readings in Chinese waters that indicate a man-made—most likely, Chinese-made—ecological disaster is under way. The Chinese government became aware of our actions after we arrived in Shanghai. They’re looking for us and doing everything they can to keep us from getting this information back to Washington.”

  “That’s all well and good,” the reporter said, “but, as I recall, the Chinese do whatever they want in their territorial waters, just like we do in ours. Why would they care if you found out about some industrial accident? What difference does it make? They could point to Exxon Valdez and the Deepwater Horizon and tell us to worry about our own yard before complaining about what’s going on in theirs.”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you,” Gamay said. “But whatever they were trying to accomplish down there, they’ve caused a problem that’s not just affecting the East China Sea, or the Chinese coastline, or even the western Pacific. It’s affecting the oceans all around the planet, raising sea levels in a very rapid manner. Forget global warming and its inch or two per decade predictions, we’re talking ten feet per year—and the rate is accelerating. Low-lying islands are dealing with inundation from seawater already. Certain coastal areas will begin experiencing permanent flooding within six months.”

  As Gamay spoke, Melanie Anderson seemed to perk up. “Worldwide Flooding,” she said, as if imagining a headline. “How bad will it get?”

  “We can’t be certain,” Gamay said. “Especially if the Chinese prevent an investigation. But if you have any concept of how important the oceans are to food production, weather patterns and even national stability, you’ll understand that this could be the opening phase in a catastrophe of unrivaled proportions.”

  “‘Unrivaled proportions,’” she said. “Not bad. You could have a future in the copy game.”

  “Ms. Anderson,” Gamay said.

  “Call me Mel.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” Gamay said. “Think about it. They’ve shut off the internet, shut off the phones and surrounded every Western consulate in Shanghai with soldiers and police. They’ve even closed the train stations and airports. This isn’t about keeping something out; it’s about keeping something in. And that something is the information we have. At this point, you and your satellite dish are the only hope we have for getting this information back to America.”

  Gamay was appealing to the hero. Paul took another tactic. “It’s the story of a lifetime,” he said. “Pulitzer Prize–winning material. And, more importantly, a direct route to the big networks. You’ll be hosting 20/20 next year, not reporting on Bigfoot or alien abductions. You might even get your own show.”

  She laughed. “Maybe. Assuming you two aren’t a couple of lunatics.”

  “We have video and sonar data,” Gamay said, taking the laptop from Paul and handing it over. “Judge for yourself.”

  32

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  RUDI GUNN arrived at the White House after being summoned out of the blue. The lack of information as to why suggested it wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit.

  After a brief wait, he was ushered inside the Oval Office, where he stood respectfully until directed to sit. The President sat behind the big desk, reviewing something through a pair of antique reading glasses. Vice President Sandecker stood beside him.

  James Sandecker was normally a welcome sight for Rudi, since he’d run NUMA before accepting the offer to move to the second-highest position in the American government. But Sandecker’s face was stern and Rudi felt no warmth from his old boss.

  The President pushed the paperwork aside, took his glasses off and looked across the desk. “Rudi, you know how much respect I have for NUMA in general and your leadership in particular. So, it pains me to ask you this, but . . . what in the name of God are your people up to in Asia?”

  “Pardon me, Mr. President,” Rudi said, “but I’m not exactly sure what you’re referencing.”

  “The State Department has been inundated with communiqués suggesting your Special Projects team has been wreaking havoc in Japan. They’ve been seen dealing with local gangsters, accused of getting involved with an antigovernment cult and burning down a thousand-year-old castle. Now we’re receiving intelligence out of China that all of Shanghai has gone into lockdown and a massive dragnet has been spread across the city to locate two more wayward NUMA operatives who snuck into the country like spies.”

  Rudi had been expecting heat to come down sooner or later. “They’re not wayward, Mr. President. They’re working on the sea-level issue, following up leads which suggest China may be responsible for what we’ve seen globally.”

  “They appear to have violated Chinese sovereignty in their efforts.”

  Rudi didn’t blink. “I directed them to take whatever action was necessary in search of answers. I’ll take responsibility.”

  The President appeared cross.

  Sandecker offered a comment. “I told you Rudi wouldn’t pass the buck.”

  “Don’t cover for him, Jim.”

  “He doesn’t need me to. He’s telling it to you straight.”

  The President turned to face Rudi once more. “Do you have any idea how delicate the situation is right now? How precarious Japanese–American relations are? China has been giving them the full-court press for over a year to become part of an Asian-only trading bloc and military alliance. Things are changing fast. Nine months ago, they settled the
dispute about war crimes from World War Two. Six months ago, they began treaty negotiations. Three months ago, they held joint naval exercises for the first time ever. Tomorrow, they will sign an extensive cooperation agreement. And, next week, the Japanese Parliament will vote on whether or not to remain bound by the mutual defense treaty with America.”

  “I hardly see how that—”

  The President cut him off. “Any untoward actions blamed on America will just fuel the fire. The burning of the ancient temple has been played on nationalistic websites in Japan over and over for the last seventy-two hours.”

  Rudi waited to make sure the President was done. “Not much I can do about that, Mr. President. The castle was not burned by our people. It was, in fact, burned in an attempt to kill the occupants and the members of my team. We believe the kill order came from China.”

  “I see.”

  “As for the activities in Shanghai,” Rudi added, “my people are investigating something that could prove far more devastating than any political setback or realignment. The fact of the matter is, if this sea-level rise proceeds unchecked, switching political alliances and signing new treaties will be a bit like rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.”

  The President waved him off. “I don’t want to hear about the damned sea-level rise. I’ve heard it from Jim too many times already. In my opinion, you’re both a little crazy.”

  “Yes, Mr. President, perhaps we are.”

  The President stared at Rudi for a long moment and then turned to Sandecker. “You really handpicked a stubborn bunch over there at NUMA.”

  Sandecker grinned. “Damned proud of it, too.”

  “We’ll see what it gets us,” the President said. “In the meantime, Rudi, perhaps you can explain this.”

  Without another word, the President aimed a remote control at the far wall. With the touch of a single button, a large panel slid backward, revealing a hidden high-definition monitor.

  A short video began. It displayed the murky view from an underwater camera. Along the side of the screen were various instrumental readings.

  “It’s our standard ROV interface,” Rudi admitted.

  The video was jerky, spliced together in a hasty fashion. For three seconds, they watched swirling water clouded with sediment. The next cut was a sonar image of what appeared to be a range of cone-shaped mountains along the seafloor. A close-up of one made it obvious that water was blasting from it like a geyser. Finally, they were treated to several shots of underwater wreckage, ending with a white robotic arm and face.

  “Where did you get this?” Rudi asked.

  Sandecker answered. “It was broadcast this morning by the Indie News Network without comment or explanation. They’re claiming they were hacked, but, interestingly enough, the transmission was preceded by a series of numbers. String those numbers together and you get the NUMA ID codes for Paul and Gamay Trout.”

  “Your lost agents in Shanghai,” the President said.

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Sandecker spoke the thought already playing on Rudi’s mind, “You may have sacrificed them, Rudi. I hope it was worth it.”

  “They must have thought so,” Rudi said, “or they wouldn’t have sent this out. It’s up to us to figure out what it means. And to get Paul and Gamay out of there.”

  “We’re not going to get them out,” the President said. “We’re not even going to acknowledge their presence in the country.”

  “It’ll be pretty hard to deny it if they get captured,” Rudi said.

  “He’s got a point,” Sandecker added.

  A look of frustration and anger crossed the President’s face. “You’ve put us in a difficult position.”

  “For that, I apologize,” Rudi said. “But it’s in all of our interests to get Paul and Gamay out of there before the Chinese catch up to them.”

  “Not if it means throwing gas on the fire,” the President said. “Our best bet is to downplay the significance of this and make no moves whatsoever. If the Chinese think we don’t care, they might stop caring themselves.”

  “Or they might bury Paul and Gamay in unmarked graves.”

  “A risk they took when they entered China.” The President shut off the flat-screen and closed the panel. “That’s all for now.”

  Rudi had spent enough time in the Navy that being curtly dismissed after getting reamed out was second nature. But that didn’t lessen the sting. He stood. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Hang on, Rudi,” Sandecker said. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Rudi left the Oval Office with Sandecker at his side.

  “You know I wouldn’t have sent them in without good reason,” Rudi told his old mentor.

  Sandecker moved with a quick stride, hands behind his back. “I’ve seen the briefing on the sea-level rise. I’m aware of the urgency. The President is, too, but his hands are tied politically. Until half of Florida is underwater, no one is going to see the need for action.”

  Rudi knew the game. He and Sandecker had always tried to rise above it. “I’d be violating the trust of the American people if I sat around and waited for that to happen.”

  “Yes, you would,” Sandecker said. “So get what information you can out of this video and we’ll see what we can do. With something more than murky pictures to go on, we might be able to act. At least we’d be able to bring the truth to light. Just determining that China is behind this would be a step in the right direction. But we need to know how they caused it, why and how bad it’s going to get.”

  “Could we sneak a submarine in there for a more detailed look?”

  “Not a chance,” Sandecker said. “The Chinese have doubled their patrols since Paul and Gamay made this recording. We’d be risking a direct military confrontation if we violate their waters again.”

  “And making the political situation worse,” Rudi said. “I understand.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way to the foyer, where Rudi stopped and spoke his mind. “I’m not leaving them out there to die.”

  Sandecker didn’t blink. “I share your concern, Rudi. I brought Paul and Gamay on board. Sent them out on their first assignments. But you have to accept reality. We may not have any choice in the matter.”

  Rudi had spent a career leaning on the wisdom of James Sandecker. For the first time in his life, he found himself in utter disagreement with the Admiral. “I’m not leaving them.”

  “Then you’d better find a way to get them back here without making things worse.”

  33

  NAGASAKI

  KURT LISTENED to the news about Paul and Gamay calmly. Rudi Gunn was blunt as he delivered it. There was no hand-wringing or pronouncements of mea culpa from either of them, nonetheless both felt the weight of responsibility.

  “Can you get them home?” Kurt asked.

  “I’m looking for an angle to exploit now,” Rudi said. “In the meantime, we’ve been analyzing the data. Even though the mounds in the video look like volcanoes, they’re not. They’re spewing nothing but water. No sulfur, no arsenic, no carbon, nothing that you’d expect to find from volcanic action. Only hot freshwater and minute amounts of trace elements.”

  “How big are they?” Joe asked. “It’s hard to tell from the video.”

  “According to the sonar data, the closest one is the size of a twenty-story building,” Rudi said. “We’re less certain of the others, but they appear similar in scale.”

  “How much water are they venting?” Kurt asked. “Enough to cause what we’ve seen?”

  “Based on a three-dimensional study of the geyser closest to the camera and an estimate of the velocity and volume of the ejected water, we’ve calculated a discharge rate of nearly half a million cubic feet per minute. To put that in perspective, ten of those jets are equal to Niagara Falls on a rainy day.”

&
nbsp; “How many are there?” Joe asked.

  “We don’t know,” Rudi admitted. “In the snippet of video Paul and Gamay sent, we counted about forty, but the time index on the recording shows that they’ve edited the video. It was originally much longer.”

  “Just giving us the highlights,” Joe said.

  “Seems that way,” Rudi admitted. “We’re pulling satellite data now, but the preliminary indication is a bulge of water forming in the East China Sea and flowing outward. It’s wreaking havoc with the standard currents. Under normal conditions, a large northbound current enters the area between Taiwan and Okinawa. That current has been deflected nearly due east and replaced with an outflow heading southward. The combined effect has unsettled the normal weather patterns, bringing fog to normally clear areas, storms to normally dry areas and early snow over parts of China.

  “Outflows to the north are so large, we’re detecting salinity and temperature changes all the way up to the Bering Strait. The Sea of Japan is being desalinized so rapidly, in another month or two it will be little more than a freshwater lake.”

  “Where is all this water coming from?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out now,” Rudi said. “But to come up with any real answer—not to mention any hope of stopping this or at least estimating how bad it will get—we need to know exactly what the Chinese were doing down there. Which brings me to my next question: are you making any progress?”

  Kurt explained the convoluted path they’d taken to get to Walter Han and the fact that he’d been unable to shake the man with a direct face-to-face confrontation. “We don’t have anything on him other than the word of a Yakuza underling trying to keep himself alive.”

  “You may have more than you think,” Rudi said. “I’m looking through your report now. It says here that his company designs and manufactures robots.”

  “That’s right,” Kurt said.

  “I’m sending you a still shot from the video Paul and Gamay managed to transmit.”

  Kurt glanced at the computer screen and waited. The link appeared and he clicked on it. There, in black and white, was the robotic arm, shoulder and cranium that the Remora’s cameras had recorded.