Clive Cussler - Arctic Drift

That would be a bigger payoff than the ruthenium, Zak thought. But he might well score on both fronts. Finding the mineral without interference was almost assured. Eliminating the American competition from future exploration was well within reach. Goyette would owe him and owe him big.

With a contented look on his face, Zak stared back at the passing ice and casually waited for the Royal Geographical Society Islands to draw closer.

For a few brief weeks in late summer, Canada’s Arctic archipelago resembles the painted desert. Receding snow and ice lay bare a desolate beauty hidden beneath the frozen landscape. The rocky, treeless terrain is frequently laden with startling streaks of gold, red, and purple. Lichens, ferns, and a surprising diversity of flowers, fighting to absorb the waning summer sunlight, bloom with added bouquets of color. Hare, musk oxen, and birds are found in great numbers, softening the cold aura of morbidity. A richly diverse wildlife, in fact, thrives in the intense summer months, only to vanish during the long, dark days of winter.

For the rest of the year, the islands are a forbidding collection of ice-covered hills edged by rock-strewn shorelines — an empty, barren landscape that for centuries has drawn men like a magnet, some in search of destiny, others in search of themselves. Staring out the bridge at a ribbon of sea ice clinging to the tumbled shoreline of Victoria Island, Pitt could not help but think it was one of the loneliest places he had ever seen.

Pitt stepped to the chart table, where Giordino was studying a large map of Victoria Strait. The stocky Italian pointed to an empty patch of water east of Victoria Island.

“We’re less than fifty miles from King William Island,” he said. “What are your thoughts on a search grid?”

Pitt pulled up a stool, then sat down and studied the chart. The pear-shaped landmass of King William Island appeared due east of them. Pitt took a pencil and marked an “X” at a point fifteen miles northwest of the island’s upper tip.

“This is where the Erebus and Terror were officially abandoned,” he said.

Giordino noted a sense of disinterest in Pitt’s voice.

“But that’s not where you think they sank?” he asked.

“No,” Pitt replied. “The Inuit account, though vague, seemed to indicate that the Erebus was farther south. Before I left Washington, I had some folks in the climatology department do some modeling for me. They attempted to re-create the weather conditions in April 1848, when the ships were abandoned, and predict the potential behavior of the sea ice.”

“So the ice didn’t just melt and the ships dropped to the bottom where X marks the spot?”

“It’s possible but not likely.” Pitt pointed to a large body of water north of King William called Larsen Strait.

“The winter freeze propels the pack ice in a moving train from the northeast, down Larsen Strait. If the sea ice off King William didn’t melt in the summer of 1848, which the climatologists suggest, then the ships would have been pushed south during the winter freeze of 1849. They might have been re-boarded by a small party of survivors, we just don’t know. But it is consistent with the Inuit record.”

“Swell, a moving target,” Giordino said. “Doesn’t make for a compact search zone.”

Pitt drew his finger down the western shore of King William Island, stopping at a conglomeration of islands located twenty miles off the southwest coast.

“My theory is that these islands here, the Royal Geographical Society Islands, acted as a rampart against the southerly moving ice pack. That rock pile probably diverted some of the ice floe, while breaking up a good deal more piling up on its northern shore.”

“That is a pretty direct path from your X,” Giordino noted.

“That’s the presumption. No telling how far the ships actually moved before falling through the ice. But I’d like to start with a ten-mile grid just above these islands and then move north if we come up empty.”

“Sounds like a good bet,” Giordino agreed. “Let’s just hope they dropped to the bottom in one piece so they’ll give us a nice, clean sonar image.” He looked at his watch. “I better rouse Jack and get the AUV prepped before we get on-site. We’ve got two aboard, so we can lay out two separate grids and search them simultaneously.”

While Pitt laid out the coordinates for a pair of adjoining search grids, Giordino and Dahlgren prepared the AUVs for launching. The acronym stood for autonomous underwater vehicles. Self-propelled devices that were shaped like torpedoes, the AUVs contained sonar and other sensing devices that allowed them to electronically map the seafloor. Preprogrammed to systematically scan a designated search grid, they would cruise a few meters above the seabed at nearly ten knots, adjusting to the changing contours as they ran.

As he passed just north of the Royal Geographical Society Islands, Captain Stenseth slowed the Narwhal as they entered the first of Pitt’s search grids. A floating transponder was dropped off the stern, then the ship raced to the opposite corner of the grid where a second buoy was released. Keyed to the orbiting GPS satellites, the transponders provided underwater navigation reference points for the roving AUVs to keep on course.

On the stern of the ship, Pitt helped Giordino and Dahlgren download the search plan into the first AUV’s processor, then watched as a crane hoisted the large yellow fish over the side. With its small propeller spinning, the AUV was released from its cradle. The device shot forward and quickly dived beneath the dark, rolling waters. Guided by the bobbing transponders, the AUV scooted to its starting point, then began weaving back and forth, scanning the bottom with its electronic eyes.

With the first vehicle safely released, Stenseth piloted the ship north to the second grid area and repeated the process. A biting wind cut through the men on the deck as they released the second AUV, and they hurried to the warmth of the nearby operations center. A seated technician already had both search grids displayed on an overhead screen, with visual representations of both AUVs and the transponders. Pitt slipped out of his parka as he eyed several columns of numbers quickly being updated on the side of the screen.

“Both AUVs are at depth and running true,” he said. “Nice work, gentlemen.”

“They’re out of our hands now,” Giordino replied. “Looks like it will take about twelve hours for the fish to run their course before surfacing.”

“Once we get them back aboard, it won’t take long to download the data and swap batteries, then we can set ’em loose again on the next two grids,” Dahlgren noted.

Giordino raised his brows while Pitt shot him a withering look.

“What did I say?” he asked in a bewildered tone.

“On this ship,” Pitt replied, a razor-sharp grin crossing his face, “the first time’s the charm.”

Sixty miles to the west, the Otok churned through the wind-whipped waters on a direct path to the Royal Geographical Society Islands. In the wheelhouse, Zak studied a satellite image of the islands through a magnifying glass. Two large islands dominated the chain, West Island separated by a thin channel from the smaller East Island. The Mid-America mining operation was located on the southern coast of the West Island, facing Queen Maud Gulf. Zak could make out two buildings and a long pier in the photograph, as well as evidence of an open-pit mine nearby.