“Isn't there any way to fight this stuff?”
“In San Diego, they've had some success using tarpaulins to quarantine patches of weed, while pumping chlorine into the water and the mud that anchors the plants. This technique would be useless with a widespread infestation. There has been an effort to educate aquarium dealers who sell Caulerpa or deal in rocks that might be contaminated with organisms.”
“No natural enemies?” Trout said.
“Its defense mechanisms are amazingly complex. The weed contains toxins that deter herbivores. It does not die back in winter.”
“Sounds like a real monster,” Trout said.
“Oh it is. It is. A tiny fragment can start a new colony. Its only weakness is that it can't reproduce sexually, like its wild relatives. But think what might happen if it were to disperse eggs over long distances.” /
“Not a pleasant thought,” Gamay said. “It could become unstoppable.”
Osborne turned to Paul. “As an ocean geologist, you're familiar with the area of the Lost City?”
Trout was glad to get out of the realm of biology and into his area of expertise. “It's an area of hydrothermal vents along the Atlantic Massif. The material spewing from the sea bottom has built up tall mineral towers that resemble skyscrapers, hence the name. I've read the research on it. Fascinating stuff. I'd like to get out there sometime.”
“You may soon get your chance,” Osborne said.
Paul and Gamay exchanged puzzled glances.
Osborne chuckled, noting their befuddled expressions. “Perhaps you'd better come with me,” he said. They left the office and after several twists and turns found themselves in a small laboratory. Osborne went over to a padlocked metal storage cabinet. He unlocked the door with a key hung from his belt and extracted a cylindrical glass phial about twelve inches tall and six inches in diameter. The top was sealed tight. He placed the phial on the table under a lab light. The container seemed to be filled from top to bottom with a thick grayish-green substance.
Gamay leaned forward to examine the contents and said, “What is this gunk?”
“Before I answer your question, let me give you a little background. A few months ago, MBL participated in a joint expedition to the Lost City with the Woods Hole Oceanographic. The area is rife with unusual microbes and the substances they produce.”
“The combinations of heat and chemicals have been compared to the conditions that prevailed when life began on earth,” Gamay said.
Osborne nodded. “On that expedition, the submersible Alvin brought up samples of seaweed. This is a dead sample of what you're looking at.”
“The stem and leaf looks vaguely like Caulerpa, but different somehow,” Gamay said.
“Very good. The genus has more than seventy Caulerpa species, including those you find in pet shops. Invasive behavior had been documented in five of those, although few of the species are well studied. This is a totally unknown species. I've named it Caulerpa Gorgonosa.” “Gorgonweed. I like it.”
“You won't like it after you've become as well acquainted with this infernal freak as I have. Scientifically speaking, we're looking at a mutant strain of Caulerpa. Unlike its cousins, though, this species can reproduce sexually.”
“If that's true, this Gorgonweed can spread its eggs over long distances. That could be a serious matter.”
“It already is. Gorgonweed has intermingled with taxi folia and is now displacing that weed. It has shown up in the Azores, and we're seeing samples along the coast of Spain. Its growth rate is nothing short of phenomenal. There has been a burst of growth that is extraordinary. Great patches of weed are floating in the Atlantic. Soon they will join in a single mass.”
Paul let out a low whistle. “It could take over the entire ocean at that rate.”
“That's not the worst of it. Taxifolia creates a smothering carpet of alga. Like the Medusa whose gaze could turn men into stone, Gorgonweed becomes a thick, hard biomass. Nothing can exist where it is present.” Gamay gazed at the phial with the horror brought on by her knowledge of the world's oceans. “You're basically talking about the world's oceans solidifying.”
“I can't even comprehend a worst-case scenario, but I do know this. Within a short time, Gorgonweed could spread along temperate coasts and cause irreparable ecological damage,” Osborne said, his voice an uncharacteristic whisper. “It would affect the weather, possibly causing famine. It could bring ocean commerce to a stop. Nations that depend on ocean protein could go hungry. There would be political disruptions around the world as the haves and the have-nots fight over food.”
“Who else knows about this?” Paul said.
“Ships have reported the weed as a nuisance, but outside of this room only a few trusted colleagues in this and other countries are aware of the gravity of the situation.”
“Shouldn't people know about the threat so they can get together to fight it?” Gamay said.
“Absolutely. But I didn't want to sow seeds of panic until my research was complete. I was in the process of preparing a report which I will submit next week to pertinent organizations such as NUMA and the UN.”
“Is there any chance you could do it sooner?” Gamay said.
“Oh yes, but here's the problem. When the issue is biological control, there is often a tug-of-war between eradication interests and scientific study. The eradicators understandably want to attack the problem quickly with every weapon at their command. If this news gets out, research will be quarantined for fear their work will spread the weed.” He glanced at the phial. “This creature is not some sort of ocean borne crabgrass. I'm convinced we can successfully deal with it once we have more weapons at our disposal. Unless we know exactly what we're dealing with, no eradication method will work.”
“How can NUMA help?” Gamay said.
“Another Lost City expedition is under way. The Oceanographic research vessel Atlantis will be on site this week with the Alvin. They will attempt to explore the area of the sea where the weed appears to have mutated. Once we determine the conditions that led to this aberration, we can work to defeat it. I've been trying to figure out how I can finish my work here and go on the expedition. When I heard you two were in town, I took it as a sign from the gods. You bring the perfect blend of expertise. Would you consider joining the expedition in my stead? It would only be a few days.”
“Of course. We'd have to get permission from our superiors at NUMA, but that will present no problem.”
“I can trust you to be discreet. Once we have samples in hand, I will release my report simultaneously with my colleagues worldwide.”
“Where is the Atlantis now?” Paul said.
“Returning from an unrelated mission. It is stopping in the Azores tomorrow to refuel. You can join the ship there.”
“It's doable,” Paul said. “We can be back in Washington tonight and on our way in the morning.” He glanced at the phial. “We're going to have a real problem if that thing in there gets out of the bottle.”
Gamay had been staring at the greenish blob. “The genie is already out of the bottle, I'm afraid. We're going to have to figure out how to get it back in.”
GORGON WEED?“ Austin said. ”That's a new one. Is this stuff as bad as your friend says it is?"
“It could be,” Gamay said. “Dr. Osborne is quite concerned. I respect his judgment.”
“What do you think?”
“It's cause for worry, but I can't say definitively until we have more evidence from the Lost City.”
Gamay had called Austin aboard the Mummichug. She apologized for getting him out of bed, but said she and Paul were en route to the Lost City and wanted to make sure that he knew what they were up to.
“Thanks for filling me in. We'd better alert Dirk and Rudi,” he said, referring to Dirk Pitt, who had succeeded Admiral Sandecker as head of NUMA, and Rudi Gunn, who was in charge of the agency's day-to-day operations.
“Paul has talked to both of them. NUMA already had some
biologists working on the Caulerpa problem.”
Austin smiled. “Why am I not surprised that Dirk is one step ahead of us?”
“Only half a step. He was unaware of the Lost City connection. He'll be waiting for a report on our dive.”
“Me, too. Good luck. Keep in touch.”
As Austin hung up, the words of T. S. Eliot came to mind. “This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.”
A soggy whimper at that.
Paul and Gamay could handle the situation and there was nothing he could do in the meantime, so he busied himself with a stem-to-stern inspection of the SEA mobile Aside from a few dents and scrapes, the vehicle was in better shape than he was, Austin concluded. He sat in the bubble cabin and went through a checklist. Satisfied all systems were working, he picked up two mugs of coffee from the galley, went below and knocked softly on the door to Skye's stateroom.
Recognizing that the Mummichug was a relatively small vessel, the boat's designers had factored in small individual cabins where crew members could enjoy their privacy. Skye was up and dressed. She opened the door immediately and smiled when she saw Austin.
“Good morning,” he said. As he handed Skye a steaming mug, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not very. I kept dreaming I was being smothered under tons of ice.”
“I have a proven cure for nightmares. How would you like to explore an underwater tomb?”
Her face lit up. “How could any woman in her right mind refuse such an enticing offer?”
“Follow me then. Our chariot waits without.”
With Austin and Skye on board, the submersible was lowered into the water between the catamaran's twin hulls. Once free of the
support vessel, the sub cruised along the surface to a position whose coordinates had been recorded into the navigation system, and Austin put the SEA mobile into a dive.
The clear lake waters enveloped the cockpit bubble as the submersible sank into the lake, and within minutes they were following the line of megaliths to the tomb. Austin stopped the submersible at the entrance, made sure the vehicle's cameras were operating, and then goosed the horizontal thrusters. A second later, the vehicle slipped through the opening into the ancient sepulchre.
The powerful lights failed to reach the far wall of the chamber, indicating that it was huge, with ceilings so high they couldn't be seen. As the SEA mobile slowly made its way into the chamber, Austin panned the sub's movable light along the right wall, and saw that it was decorated with a carved has-relief.
The skillfully executed and detailed renderings showed sailboats, houses, pastoral scenes with palm trees and flowers, dancers and musicians. There were flying fish and frolicking dolphins. The boats looked quite ancient. The people depicted were well dressed and seemed to be enjoying a prosperous life.
Skye leaned forward in her seat, her face pressed against the plastic bubble like a child at Christmas.
“I see wonderful things,” she said, quoting Howard Carter's first words at the discovery of King Tut's tomb.
Austin had been thinking that there was something hauntingly familiar about the scenes. “I've been here before,” he said. “Here, in this tomb?”
“No. But I've seen drawings similar to these carvings in a cave in the Faroe Islands, in the North Atlantic. The style and subject was very much the same. What do you make of them?”
“I'm probably foolish for guessing, but they look Minoan, similar to the drawings excavated at Akrotiri, on the island of Santorini, or in Crete. The Minoan civilization flourished around 1500 B.C.” The significance of what she was saying dawned on her. “Do you know what this means?” she said with excitement. “These drawings and the ones you saw would indicate that the Minoans went much farther afield than most people suspect.”
“Which makes them the missing link in your international trade theory?”
“That's right,” she said. “This confirms that east-west trade is far older and more extensive than anyone thought it was.” She clapped her hands. “I can't wait to show this video to my smug-faced colleagues back in Paris.”
The submersible came to the end of the wall, turned a corner and started down another side of the rectangular chamber. The scenes were of Lac du Dormeur and the glacier. But instead of barren shore, there were buildings, even what appeared to be a rendering of the tomb, complete with arches, and the glacier, as silent and implacable as ever.
“It appears you were right about settlements around the lakeshore and the mouth of the river.”
“This is marvelous! We can use these carvings to make site maps of ruin locations.”
In the sculpted scene, the ice field had covered even more of the valley centuries before when it was carved by some unknown artist. The sculptor had managed to imbue his work with a majesty and power that went beyond a mere objective rendering of what he saw. They made several sweeps of the chamber and found no markers or a sarcophagus.
“I was all wrong about this place,” she said. “It's not a tomb. It's a temple.”
“A reasonable assumption given the lack of bodies. If we're done here, I'd like to unravel another lake mystery.” He unfolded the side-scan sonar printout he'd brought with him and pointed at the anomaly on the lake's bottom.
“It looks like a plane,” Skye said. “What's a plane doing down here? Wait. The man in the ice?”
Austin answered with an enigmatic smile, the sub's horizontal thrusters whirred, and they whisked through the temple door back out into the lake. He slowed the sub when they neared the position designated on the printout and kept his eyes peeled. Before long, a cigar-shaped object came into view.
As they drew closer, Austin saw that the cylindrical wood framework was partially covered with tattered and faded red fabric. The conical engine housing had been torn off and lay on the bottom and the engine gleamed in the sub's lights. The cold lake temperatures had kept the fuselage clear of marine vegetation that would have covered it in warmer climes. The propeller was gone, probably snapped off in the crash. He circled around the fuselage and found what was left of the missing wing several yards away. Then he brought the sub back to the plane.
Skye pointed to the emblem painted on the tail. “I saw that same design the triple-headed eagle on the helmet that was found under the glacier.”
“Too bad we don't have the helmet now.” “But we do. I brought it out with me. It's on the ship.” Austin remembered Skye clutching a bag as she climbed aboard the SEA mobile He was learning quickly that this attractive woman with the smile like a sunny day was not someone to be underestimated. Austin stared at the eagle, and then let his gaze shift to the empty cockpit.
“Now we know where the Ice Man came from. He must have bailed out and his plane crashed in the lake.”
Skye responded with an evil laugh. “I was thinking of Renaud. He said that the Ice Man didn't just drop out of the sky. He was wrong. From what you've found, that's exactly what happened.”
The submersible circled the wreck, with Austin shooting video and digital photos of the wings and surrounding bottom, and then headed for the surface. Before long, they were stepping out of the cockpit onto the deck. Skye had been babbling with excitement about their find, but she went silent when she caught a glimpse of the glacier. She walked over to the rail and stared off at the ice field.
Sensing her change in mood, Austin put his arm around her shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
“It was so peaceful underwater. Then we surfaced and I saw the glacier.” She shuddered. “It reminded me that I almost died under that thing.”
Austin studied the troubled expression in Skye's lovely eyes, which were fixed in the hundred-yard stare that shell-shocked troops sometimes get. “I'm not a shrink, but I've always found it helpful to confront my demons,” he said. “Let's go for a boat ride.”
The unexpected suggestion seemed to bring her back to reality. “Are you serious?”
> “Grab a couple of bagels and a thermos of coffee from the mess and I'll meet you at the skiff. I like my bagels with raisins, by the way.”
Skye was skeptical, but she had come to have a great deal of confidence in Austin, and would probably have followed him to the moon on a pogo stick if he asked. Austin got the power skiff ready while she rounded up coffee and bagels from the galley and they set off for shore. They dodged floating chunks of ice and pulled the boat up at a dark gravel beach a few hundred yards from where the glacier narrowed and broke up in pieces as it encountered the lake.
A short hike along the shore brought them to the glacier's sidewall. The icy bulwark rose several stories above the plain; its surface was pockmarked with caves and craters and twisted free-form sculptures created by freezing, melting and unimaginable pressures. The ice
was covered with dirt and a deep, unearthly blue light emanated from the wrinkles and grottos.
“There's your demon,” Austin said. “Now, go up and touch it.” Skye smiled wanly, approached the glacier as if it were alive and reached out and touched an icy knob with a fingertip. Then she placed both palms on the glacier and leaned her weight against the ice, eyes closed, as if she were hoping to push it away. “It's cold,” she said with a smile.
“That's because your demon is nothing but a big ice cube. It's the same way I think about the sea. It's not out to get you. It doesn't even know you exist. You touched it. You're still breathing.” He lifted the pack he'd been carrying. “Consultation has ended. Time for brunch.”
Near the edge of the lake they found a couple of flat rocks to use as chairs and sat facing the water. Skye doled out the bagels and said,