Read Online Deep Six by Clive Cussler - Free Book Online Page B

about two knots.”
    Dressed in bleached Levi’s, Irish knit turtleneck sweater and brown tennis shoes, his brushed hair laid back under a NUMA baseball cap, he looked cool and comfortable with a bored, indifferent air about him.
    The wheel moved slowly under the helmsman’s hands and the Catawba lazily shoved aside the three-foot swells as she swept back and forth over the sea like a lawn mower. Trailing behind the stern like a tin can tied to the tail of a dog, the sidescan sonar’s sensor pinged the depths, sending a signal to the video display, which translated it into a detailed image of the bottom.
    They took up the search for the nerve agent source in the southern end of Cook Inlet and discovered that the residual traces rose as they worked westward into Kamishak Bay. Water samples were taken every half-hour and ferried by helicopter to the chemical lab on Augustine Island. Amos Dover philosophically compared the project to a children’s game of finding hidden candy with an unseen voice giving “warmer” or “colder” clues.
    As the day wore on, the nervous tension that had been building up on the Catawba grew unbearable.
    The crew was unable to go on deck for a breath of air. Only the EPA chemists were allowed outside the exterior bulkheads, and they were protected by airtight encapsulating suits.
    “Anything yet?” Dover asked, peering over Pitt’s shoulder at the high-resolution screen.
    “Nothing man-made,” Pitt answered. “Bottom terrain is rugged, broken, mostly lava rock.”
    “Good clear picture.”
    Pitt nodded. “Yes, the detail is quite sharp.”
    “What’s that dark smudge?”
    “A school of fish. Maybe a pack of seals.”
    Dover turned and stared through the bridge windows at the volcanic peak on Augustine Island, now only a few miles away. “Better make a strike soon. We’re coming close to shore.”
    “Lab to ship,” Mendoza’s feminine voice broke over the bridge speaker.
    Dover picked up the communications phone. “Go ahead, lab.”
    “Steer zero-seven-zero degrees. Trace elements appear to be in higher concentrations in that direction.”
    Dover gave the nearby island an apprehensive eye. “If we hold that course for twenty minutes we’ll park on your doorstep for supper.”
    “Come in as far as you can and take samples,” Mendoza answered. “My indications are that you’re practically on top of it.”
    Dover hung up without further discussion and called out, “What’s the depth?”
    The watch officer tapped a dial on the instrument console. “One hundred forty feet and rising.”
    “How far can you see on that thing?” Dover asked Pitt.
    “We read the seabed six hundred meters on either side of our hull.”
    “Then we’re cutting a swath nearly two thirds of a mile wide.”
    “Close enough,” Pitt admitted.
    “We should have detected the ship by now,” Dover said irritably. “Maybe we missed it.”
    “No need to get uptight,” Pitt said. He paused, leaned over the computer keyboard and fine-tuned the image. “Nothing in this world is more elusive than a shipwreck that isn’t ready to be found. Deducing the murderer in an Agatha Christie novel is kindergarten stuff compared to finding a lost derelict under hundreds of square miles of water. Sometimes you get lucky early. Most of the time you don’t.”
    “Very poetic,” Dover said dryly.
    Pitt stared at the overhead bulkhead for a long and considering moment. “What’s the visibility under the water surface?”
    “The water turns crystal fifty yards from shore. On the flood tide I’ve seen a hundred feet or better.”
    “I’d like to borrow your copter and take aerial photos of this area.”
    “Why bother?” Dover said curtly. “ Semper Paratus, Always Ready, is not the Coast Guard’s motto for laughs.” He motioned through a doorway. “We have charts showing three thousand miles of Alaskan coastline in color and incredible detail, courtesy of satellite reconnaissance.”
    Pitt nodded for