Chapter No. 14 Perdition

The morning of the fourteenth day: The research sub had been on station for two weeks and there were no new sightings to show for it. The Hauptman's are deeply disappointed but they remain undaunted in their quest. Nothing new here. They've been disappointed many times before, but they don't give up easily.

The crew and staff assemble in the Mess for breakfast, a meal that consists mostly of strong coffee and bagels. Most denizens of the Mess offer polite greetings but refrain from engaging in long conversations. Socializing is reserved for the evening meal.

Dr. Stevens, however, cannot resist pestering the Hauptman's. "Are you two going to spend the entire expedition meandering around in your little toy sub while the rest of us are engaged in serious work. We've discovered countless new species, cataloged many known forms, and you two ninnies are still mooning over your ridiculous creatures."

Tears began to well up in Margaret's eyes. Even though she's used to Steven's barbs, the words bite like medusa stings.

Eric placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Don't let him rile you. Let me handle this."

He stood up and stared at Stevens with eyes that exuded annoyance. "You have no call to question our methods. We've spent weeks searching one location for a new species of marine life and months trying to catch it. Any real scientist would exhibit more patience than you."

Stevens stared at Eric with eyes that exuded derision. "Why don't you admit it; you've become obsessed with this madness."

"We're not obsessed with anything. We're just trying to determine if what we recorded on tape is real. That's all."

"What you recorded is nonsense."

"Nonsense!" The word exploded from his mouth. "It's no such thing. There's something out there and we intend to find out what it is."

"There's nothing out there." Stevens gestured wildly with his hand. "The images are not real."

"What are you trying to say, George: We faked the tape?"

"If the shoe fits."

"How? How could we have faked the tape? How?"

"With all the computer imaging software out there, it would be easy."

Eric pointed at him. "Ha! You're always accusing us of being technologically illiterate. What the hell would we know about computer imaging software? According to you, we don't know anything about computers."

"So what. So you hired someone else to do it."

Eric glared at Stevens for a few seconds before he tired of his little game and turned to his wife. "Come on. We don't have to put up with this shit."

He and his wife headed to the docking compartment in the underbelly of the Sea Nautilus while Stevens remained in the mess, puffed up with pride at having won this round.

Joyce Conners stood up and stared at George Stevens as if she were about to vent molten lava from her eyes. Stevens knew an eruption was coming, so he braced for it by acting as if he didn't care.

The eruption came from her mouth instead. "Why do you find it necessary to castigate the Hauptman's in public? It's uncalled for, as well as rude."

"I'm sick of their obsession with those damned creatures. It's a total waste of time. They should be searching for new species of crustaceans and mollusks. They're not making any meaningful contribution to this expedition."

"How do you know they're not contributing?" She stabbed her finger in the direction of the main lab. "I know for a fact that they've brought in quite a few new species. I don't see how you can criticize them."

He smiled, a reaction that infuriated her. "Criticism is the litmus paper for scientific truth."

"You sound like a philosopher instead of a scientist." She smiled back at him. "Besides, there's a big difference between criticism and scientific debate."

"Yeah, debate deals with facts, not conjecture."

"Facts follow from theory. Without some good old fashioned conjecture, we wouldn't be where we are today."

Stevens laughed derisively. "Ha, your specialty is so speculative, we're lucky we've progressed at all from Darwin's time."

"Ha, shows how much you know. Evolution theory has advanced several orders of magnitude since Darwin."

"Yeah, but it's still conjecture, nonetheless."

She straightened her back and jutted her jaw out in defiance. "Yes, but its good conjecture."

With that, she walked out leaving old George to stew.

###

"How many times are you going to calibrate your dive computer, Love? It doesn't change overnight, you know."

"I don't trust technical gadgets. These things give you all sorts of information: time, temperature, pressure, depth, air consumption, salinity, everything. That's ok, but what if the battery fails? Then what?"

"Have you ever had one fail?"

Her face softened, but frustration still resided below the surface. "No, but . . . but I liked it better when we had the analog gauges."

"You mean when we looked like street vendors with an arm full of wrist watches?"

"Speaking of wrist watches, I miss my Navy Seal watch."

"We don't need them, Love. The computer gives us the time, the date, our GPS, and the tip of the day."

"Very funny, dear." She pointed at her head. "I don't care what you say. This is the best computer."

"I'll take the dive computer, Love. It's more reliable."

She made a face at him and then continued her calibration work. She'd rather be right than sorry.

A half hour later: Margaret looked up to see her husband slump down on the floor, shake his head, and sigh.

"What's wrong?" she asked with a worried twist of her mouth.

Eric looked up at his wife with tired eyes. "Maybe Stevens is right. We're both getting too old for this kind of fieldwork. We should retire and do part time teaching instead of killing ourselves. No one really appreciates what we're doing, anyway."

Margaret quizzically tilted her head and looked directly into his eyes. "You really don't mean that, do you? You would never be happy just teaching. This is the only life we know." She sat down alongside him. "Besides, the money's not bad."

"Money? They don't pay us enough for the shit we put up with. I could make more money selling insurance. At least I wouldn't have to put up with jelly fish stings, coral cuts, and eel bites."

His wife was still thinking about a teaching career. "We'd have to put up with a lot of nonsense. Nowadays, students are only interested in grades. They really don't want to learn anything."

Eric shook his head. "Even worse, nobody cares about pure science. Everything has to have a commercial application. What we're doing isn't even appreciated. Who really cares about some spongy glob of life on the bottom of the sea? For that matter, most people don't even care about the sea, despite the fact that two thirds of this planet is water."

"We care and, as far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters. I don't give a damn what people think. I love the sea and all that is contained in it. Marine biology is what I've always wanted to do."

"The sea can be dangerous, Love. We're getting too old to risk our lives out there in that . . . that unknown country." He gestured to the wall of the docking bay.

Margaret smiled. "Well, at least we don't have to put up with George when we're out there."

Eric looked up at her and cracked an acknowledging smile. "You're right, Love. Let's get the hell out of here before he comes down and bothers us."

As he had done nearly every day since arriving at Galapagos station, Eric guided the little mini-sub around the island of Fernandina a hundred meters from shore. He brought the sub up just enough so that their heads were barely out of the water and the only part of the sub that projected above the surface was the transparent observation canopy.
The sun blazed high in a sky devoid of clouds, reflecting off blue water in blinding shimmers of glare that made viewing difficult. The island wasn't hard to see, though. A single large inverted-bowl-shaped volcano dominates its rugged lava-strewn land. There's little in the way of vegetation, recent eruptions having obliterated much of it, except for some cacti. Only one other island has volcanoes like it: Isabela. And these volcanoes have a habit of erupting every couple of years--another danger.

For the tenth time, the sub rounded the island at punta Espinoza, a broad apron of coral sand at the base of a desolate heap of broken black slag rimmed with patches of green mangroves. It moved on to the northwestern part of the island where few visitors dare to venture, the craggy shore being riddled with rocks and lava ruts that make footing difficult.

But the two daring scientists had no intention of getting out of their little vessel. They preferred the security--and the cloaking--of the sea.

Nevertheless, Eric had problems preventing their little vessel from washing in toward the pristine shore, a shore where white capped waves crash into craggy rock, shooting plumes of water high into the air with explosive violence. Any closer and their little vessel would be dashed to pieces on unfriendly magna rock.

Everything else is peaceful.

Or so it seems.

Margaret suddenly began to whisper excitedly. "Eric! Eric! Look over there!"

Eric adjusted the eyepieces of his binoculars and aimed them where his wife was pointing. "Oh, God! We found them. Start the camera."

"I'm ahead of you, dear." His wife furiously worked to adjust the zoom lens of their camcorder.

The two marine biologists just sat there intently observing and recording the activity on the shore. But after several minutes, curiosity began to overcome Eric. He just couldn't stand it anymore.

"Let's move up closer," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the targets of interest.

Margaret furrowed her brow. "We had better be careful or we'll scare them like the last time."

Oh, well.

Eric nudged the throttle to slowly advance the sub toward the creatures. They only made it to a point thirty meters from shore before the inevitable happened.

He pulled a lever to flood the ballast tanks. "There they go! Hang on, we're diving."

Tightening his abdominal muscles, he rammed the throttle to the maximum position and advanced the bow planes down and the stern planes up, sending the mini-sub into a steep dive. The electric motors strained against the sea with a high-pitched whine as a whirling mass of bubbles trailed from the stern of the plummeting craft. Eric adjusted the diving planes to a neutral position and backed off the throttle to bring the mini-sub to a level course. The creatures were gone, easily outdistancing them.

Or so they thought.

Out of the murky depths of swirling plankton and algae came two alien forms--humanoid but not human, aquatic but not fish. They flashed by the sub so quickly that Eric and his wife had barely enough time to recover from shock before these specters disappeared into the blackness of the sea.

Eric pursued the two creatures, but he had no hope of catching them. He used the sub's sonar scanner to trace their rapidly changing course, but the traces suddenly disappeared from the screen. He knew the reason, and he confirmed his theory by guiding the sub to the position where the targets vanished: the entrance to an ancient underwater volcanic shaft. He advanced the throttle to enter the abyss, but his wife tapped his shoulder and frantically gestured at the air tank gauges, shaking her head back and forth.

"We don't have enough air to go in there."

He heeded her warning. Entering the volcano shaft would involve a risk that he had no business taking, especially when he had his wife with him.

"Yeah, you're right. We'll have to try again another day."

Disappointed, he backed off and turned the mini-sub around so that he could guide it back to the Nautilus.

Eric blew ballast, and the mini-sub surfaced while running away from the island at quarter speed. Both he and his wife had ambivalent feelings about their close encounter with the creatures; they were both overjoyed that they had found them again, but they felt disappointed that their new recordings would be no more convincing than their first.

They had little time for lamentations; the water around their little vessel erupted in explosive bursts of foam accompanied by white waterspouts and red tracers. Eric and his wife turned to behold impending doom.

"They're going to ram us!" Margaret yelled above the noise of a large patrol craft bearing down on them.

Eric simultaneously hit the lever to flood the ballast tanks and jammed the throttles to full. The mini-sub plunged below the waves immediately in front of the patrol boat's large bow. The two wide-eyed occupants watched a large ominous black hull pass over with its large screw madly churning the water a few precarious centimeters from their little craft's stern.

Their little craft was on a course to crash into the bottom bow first. Eric adjusted the diving planes to pull up at the last second. The craft shot out thirty meters deep at full throttle, hurdling through the murky depths out of control.

Margaret pointed. "Look out!"

Eric was looking out of panicked eyes. He banked steeply to the left to barely avoid a rocky sea anemone-encrusted tower protruding from the bottom. Then he had to adjust throttles, levers, and whatever he could to get the craft under control.

His wife was busy watching the bottom of the patrol boat's hull cutting the hell out of the surface above, churning it into angry white foam.

The boiling wake of the patrol craft subsided but soon returned. Eric stopped the sub and adjusted the ballast to remain motionless on the bottom near large lava rock formations. He and his wife watched the patrol boat's ominous bottom pass by above them several times before moving away, apparently not able to distinguish them from the rest of the undersea landscape.

"Who the hell was that?" Margaret asked in a whisper.

"I have no idea, Love. Maybe they think we're illegally fishing too close to shore."

"That's ridiculous. If they thought that, why didn't they arrest us?"

"Good question."

Margaret looked up at the undulating sea surface. "Maybe they'll go away."

"I hope so." He looked up to see hammerheads meandering around near the surface. "That's a good sign."

"What is?"

"The sharks have returned."

Margaret sighed.

They waited for thirty anxious minutes before they powered up and continued back to the Nautilus.

Margaret activated the sonar location receiver. A signature blip from the Nautilus allowed her husband to guide the mini-sub back home; although, both he and his wife kept looking up to see if their attacker was still in pursuit.

They saw nothing above them.

###

Eric and his wife burst into the Nautilus' main laboratory compartment still wearing their wet suits. Drips of water rolled off their sleek artificial skins, creating little puddles on the deck. The scientists assembled there stared at them with mixed emotions.

Except Dr. Stevens. He was convinced that they were playing with less than a full deck.

Both Eric and Margaret excitedly exclaimed together, "We saw them again!"

"They're hiding in the underwater shaft just as we suspected," Margaret added, in a breathless whisper.

Stevens slowly turned to stare at the Hauptman's with disdain pouring from his eyes. "Are you two going to start that nonsense again?"

Eric threw his arms up in frustration. "Look, damn it, we have a good tape this time. I don't see why you persist in your stubborn refusal to accept the facts."

Stevens slammed his pen down on his notebook. "What facts: A bunch of blurry images on a jumpy videotape?"

"Damn it, George. At least take a look at the tape before you make up your mind."

Hans Stubens head appeared in the hatchway. "What's all the shouting about here?"
Eric turned around and flashed a conciliatory smile at him. "We're just having a little scientific disagreement."

"Hah!" Stevens blew the word out. "Science, my eye."

The intercom buzzed. Stubens walked over to activate the talk button. "Yes?"

"Captain, I have a contact on intercept course." said the second officer and helmsman, Carl Schneider.

"What is it: a yacht?"

"I doubt it. Sounds more like a naval ship. Probably a patrol boat."

Eric's eyes widened. "Oh, shit!"

The Captain eyed him with a puzzled look. "What's the problem, Dr. Hauptman?"

"I'll bet that's the boat that tried to ram us," Eric said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"They shot at us, too," Margaret added.

Stubens' face transformed from its usual confident hardness to a sullen pate of concern and vulnerability. "What? Who tried to ram you?"

"I don't know who it was," Eric said. "All I know is that they were hell bent on sinking us."

"Why in the hell would someone want to sink you?" Stevens piped up, a squeak invading his usual gravely voice.

Ignoring Stevens' panic, Hans Stubens turned to the intercom. "Carl! Get under way. Immediately. Full speed."

"Can't do that, Captain," the helmsman said. "The reactor is on stand-by."

"Pull the reactor off stand-by. I don't give a damn how you do it; get this tub moving. Use the batteries."

"What course, sir?"

"Two-seven-zero. Take her down as close to the bottom as you can. Get moving. I'll be right up."

"Aye, Captain."

His face reflecting a stern authority that no one would dare question, the Captain turned to the frightened scientists and said: "Get into your scuba gear. If we have to abandon ship, we'll probably be on the bottom."

"What's going on?" Dr. Wang asked, his face immutable as usual.

"I don't have time to explain, Doctor. All I can tell you is that we're in for a rough ride."

He curled his finger at the Hauptman's. "You two come with me. I want you to tell me more about this ship that tried to ram you."

As the sub lurched forward, Stubens, Eric, and Margaret rushed to the control room, scrambling up a narrow ladder as fast as they could.

Stevens turned to the other scientists. "I wouldn't worry about scuba gear. If we have to leave the ship when it's on the bottom, we'll never survive the bends."

"I don't care," Conners said. "I'm going to do as he said."

"Do as you please." Stevens said before he stomped out of the lab.

"How close are they?" Stubens asked the instant his head popped out of the control room hatch.

"They're right over us, sir." Carl Schneider said with little emotion.

The words no sooner left his mouth than two metallic clicks preceded a loud explosion, an ear-splitting crack that caused the vessel's metallic skin to clank and squeak. The sub rocked violently from the concussion, knocking Eric and Margaret to the deck.

"What was that?" a wide-eyed Margaret asked from the deck.

"That, dear women, was a depth charge," the Captain said, standing tall and defiant. "They're trying to blow us up."

"Why?" Her face reflected both fear and confusion.

"I have no idea. Maybe you can help me understand why some idiot is trying to kill us."

"How are we supposed to know?" Eric said. "We were just out there doing research. We weren't causing trouble."

Another explosion rocked the sub more violently than the first. Sparks cascaded from a blown circuit, colliding with the deck and bouncing menacingly in random directions, plunging the control room into darkness. Battery-powered amber emergency lamps cast an eerie gloom.

"We lost the primaries." Carl yelled. He switched power over to the secondary grid. "We can't take much more of this."

Stubens smashed his right fist into his left hand. "Damn it! This is not a war ship. These assholes are trying to sink us, and all we can do is run."

"Who might these assholes be?" Carl asked, looking up at the Captain.

Stubens scratched his head. "My guess is that they're an Ecuadorian naval vessel, but what I can't figure out is why they're picking on us. We've been on station for over two weeks. If there's a problem, why weren't we informed?"

A third detonation caused a shudder that racked the sub from the bow to the stern, a high pitched metallic vibration that sounded more like the scream of a woman in labor. Water sprayed from a large valve directly above the control room.

With water cascading down his face like a waterfall, the Captain yelled into the intercom. "Miller! Get up here on the double and bring a wrench."

Another explosion blew a large rivet out of a bulkhead and sent it on a trajectory that came alarmingly close to Eric's head. It startled him, but he was more concerned with the ringing in his ears. More leaks appeared and water began to collect on the deck, making it difficult to maintain footing.

"We've got to get deeper," Stubens shouted, water dripping madly from his face.

"We can't go much deeper than two hundred meters," Carl said. "We're still above the continental shelf."

Miller and another crewmen appeared and began tightening bolts around valves and flanges. They soon reduced the flow of water to a trickle.

The Captain began to pace the control room, but he had precious little room to maneuver and he couldn't move very fast because the deck was still slippery. "Damn it! We have to go deeper. It's the only advantage we have."

He stopped and smacked his hand against his forehead. "Wait a second," he said, turning to Henry. "Where's that deep trench we explored on the last expedition?"

Henry quickly shuffled several charts before he pulled out one that showed the area west of Fernandina. "Here it is." he said, pointing to a slivered area hand-penned on the chart.

"How close are we?"

"About ten minutes at our present speed."

"Change course to three-two-seven and step on it."

"Coming to course three-two-seven," Carl announced. "Increasing speed to twenty knots."

A muffled explosion hit the sub thirty seconds after the second officer's declaration.

"His aim was a little off on that one," Henry said.

Carl blew out a breath of relief. "We faked out the son-of- a-bitch with our course change. He's probably using a standard figure-eight pattern and we caught him unawares."

"Hopefully," the Captain said, wiping water--or was it sweat--from his brow, "It'll take him a while to establish a lock."

He turned to look at the Hauptman's, but he paused before he asked them the big question, desperately hoping that he wouldn't hear the wrong answer. "Did you notice if that patrol boat had round cylinders mounted to its sides?"

Eric's eyes shifted around in an attempt to relive the encounter with the patrol boat in his mind's eye. He appeared to be in a trance for a few seconds before he answered the Captain's question.

"Yes . . . Yes. I think it did. In fact, I thought it strange at the time."

Both the Captain and Carl simultaneously came to the same conclusion: "Torpedoes!"

"If they fire a torpedo at us, we're dead." Carl said with apocalyptic tones.

For the next few seconds no one said anything. The Captain and his Second knew that doom was inevitable, but they just couldn't accept the fact that it was going to transpire. How could this be happening to a research vessel? The situation was totally illogical.

"High speed screw approaching," Henry, announced, breaking the silence. "Bearing: one-eight-zero degrees relative. Closing fast."

"How soon to the trench?" Stubens immediately asked.

"Thirty-three seconds," Henry said, and then paused before he added: "Five seconds too late."

"Pour the coals to it, Carl. Give me a count down, Henry."

Henry began the count down, but the Captain kept his attention on the main sonar display. The depth of the sea bottom fluctuated around 200 meters. Henry's count was down to ten seconds and he began announcing each second before the torpedo caught up to them.

Sweat poured from faces.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three . . ."

The depth display number suddenly increased.

"Flood ballast. Maximum angle on the dive planes. Maintain full speed."

The sub plunged into the trench bow first at a steep angle, forcing the Hauptman's and the Captain to hang on to anything they could to keep from falling. Every object not attached--pens, charts, coffee cups--crashed to the floor. Everyone in the control room held his or her breath while the Doppler-shift whine of the torpedo passed directly over the sub and impacted into the deep trench's north wall. The violent explosion caused the sub to vibrate and rock to one side, nearly turning over. To make matters worse, a large bolder struck the sub near the control room, plunging the vessel into darkness.
"God damn it!" Carl yelled. "I can't tell what the hell's going on."

"The secondary grid must have blown," the Captain said. "If we don't get it back on line, we won't need lights. We'll be glowing in the dark when the reactor goes critical."

"I'll go see if a main breaker blew," Henry said. He clicked on a flashlight and made his way back up the deck toward the rear of the control room.

"Thank goodness we weren't hit by the torpedo," Carl said, shining his flashlight at a series of manual controls. "But we have another problem. The diving planes are jammed, and we're still diving. If we can't pull up, we'll be crushed like a bug."

"Can't we just blow ballast?"

"I wouldn't advise it. We could flip over. I don't know if we could ever get it under control if that happened."

"Yeah, you're right," the Captain said, with a hint of despair.

After a contemplative pause, he said, "Listen. I'll take over here, Carl. Why don't you go see if you can free the diving planes?"

"Aye, Captain," said Carl before he began a tortuous trip to the bow. He had to hold his flashlight in one hand and grab hold of railings and fittings with his other as he climbed down the narrow corridors and passageways that led to the service area housing the bow diving-plane mechanism. He slipped twice, suffering painful blows against pipes and valves, cursing each time it happened.

In the control room the Captain studied the manual controls. Light from his flashlight flickered back and forth in jerky motions as he turned his attention to various switches and buttons.

"Can I be of any assistance?" Eric asked, his voice sounding tentative and distant.

Stubens turned his flashlight on Eric's face. "See if you can give me a depth reading from that gauge on the left."

Eric removed a flashlight from his belt and moved its beam around the instruments near him. He spotted a large gauge marked 'DEPTH' near a cluster of several other smaller gauges.

"It says eight hundred and fifty . . . wait, it's still increasing."

"How fast?"

"Ah . . . It's eight hundred and seventy five, now."

The Captain didn't say anything after that, but Eric and his wife heard him curse under his breath.

"I take it that things are not good?" Margaret said, sounding as if she was prepared for the worst.

"Well, if we can't stop our descent, we'll be crushed by the pressure."

Margaret's frown deepened. This is not the way that she had envisaged her death. Besides, she desperately wanted to satisfy her curiosity about the creatures. If the sub were destroyed, the creatures would never be re-discovered. At least, that's what she wanted to believe.

Eric rubbed his forehead. "What I can't understand is why Ecuador would want to destroy us. If this sub is blown up, the reactor will spread radioactive waste all over the Galapagos area. It will be an ecological disaster that would impact Ecuador more than any other country."

"Yes, you're right," Stubens said, shaking his finger at him. "Something weird is going on here. I just hope that Carl can get the diving planes fixed so that we can find out what it is."

Just then, the lights came back on. Various readout and view screens flickered back to life. The hissing noise of ventilation vents signaled the return of environmental control.

"Good," Stubens said with a sigh of relief. "At least we can see what's going on." But his voice became somber again. "Now, let's hope that Carl can get lucky."

The intercom buzzed and the Captain flicked the talk button. "Control room."

Carl's voice sounded metallic, as if he were speaking from inside a large empty metal tank. "The goddamn gears are jammed. I'm going to try using a little persuasion to free them."

The frantic sounds of a hammer striking metal echoed from the intercom.

"There. Try it now," Carl said.

Holding his breath, the Captain moved the bow-plane levers. Slowly, the indicator showing the angle on the diving plane began to vibrate. A sharp clank followed and the indicator surged toward the neutral position.

"All right! They're moving."

"Carl, you're a genius," he said into the intercom.

"Nah," the voice in the intercom answered. "Just lucky."

Stubens turned to the Hauptman's. "We're not out of the woods yet. We still have to stop our descent before we exceed crush depth."

"We're over one thousand meters, " Eric informed him. "The needle's going off scale."

Creaking sounds, punctuated with ear splitting squeals, began to echo all over the sub. Pressure of the sea was fourteen hundred pounds per square inch, exceeding what the designers consider safe.

Hans Stubens struggled with switches and buttons to bring the sub under control, but he was not sure what to do.

Henry entered through the aft hatch and immediately made his way to the navigation console. "How far down are we? The bulkheads sound like they're ready to cave in."

"The needle's redlined," the Captain said. "I'm going to try blowing ballast."

A loud rushing sound followed by a lurching motion startled the Hauptman's. The Captain began adjusting the controls to keep the sub level as it stopped its descent.

Carl crawled out of the forward hatch and immediately took over the pilot console. "Here, let me handle this. We need to get propulsion back on line or we'll never get to the surface."

He began flicking switches and changing the positions of various levers that controlled the trim surfaces. The sub lurched forward when its twin screws began to rotate.

"Better make a hard turn to port," Henry warned him. "Or we'll end up kissing the north wall."

"Hard left rudder," Carl yelled out.

The sub leaned into the turn at a steep angle for a few seconds before it straightened up.

Eric watched the depth gauge climb past the 800-meter line. He began to feel hope invading his tired bones for the first time since the ordeal began. He still had many questions--questions that he was not sure would ever be answered.

Stubens turned to Henry. "I wonder if that bastard is still around."

"I'm not picking up any screw noises, but that doesn't necessarily mean we're safe."

"Take us up to periscope depth," the Captain ordered. "If he's still around, maybe he won't see us."

The sub finally arrived at periscope depth, but there was no actual periscope; a boom extending from the conning tower allows video cameras to display the ocean above in detail from four directions at the same time. Henry adjusted the focal length and focus of the cameras so that he could scan the horizon at maximum magnification.

"Surface," Stubens ordered after he was satisfied that there were no ships within sight. He picked up a pad of paper, scribbled a message, and handed it to Henry. "Code this and send it to Control Center. I'll be in my quarters. When the response comes in, let me know immediately."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain paused before he took his leave. "Oh, and get a damage control party assembled. We need to get this tub back in shape . . . just in case."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Carl saluted.

Eric placed his arm around his wife's waist. "Well, Love, let's get out of our wet suits and check out the tape."

Margaret followed her husband down the Control room hatch in silence. She was too numb emotionally to say anything.