Clive Cussler - Devil's Gate

“The steel plates are blown outward,” Joe said.

“Someone scuttled this ship,” Kurt said.

“It could have been an internal explosion,” Joe said. “You never know what she was carrying. Besides, that’s a much bigger hole than any of us would have made.” “That’s because you want the ship to settle slowly and securely, landing bottom down so it can form a nice reef. But if you were trying to sink something quickly and not have anyone see it, this might be the way.” Kurt powered up the impeller, and the Barracuda lifted off the seafloor. He guided them across the mouth of this Devil’s Gate toward the trawler. There they found the same type of damage. A large outward blast had sunk the ship. A third freighter was the same.

“None of these ships have more than a year’s sea growth on them,” Kurt said. “The only thing that did was that Constellation out there. This place hasn’t been collecting ships for ages. These all went down at the same time.” “How could we not have seen this?” Joe asked.

“We were too busy with the scientists,” Kurt said. “Everyone was obsessing over that tower of rock, and, aside from Katarina, no one did more than a cursory examination of these ships.” As they settled in front of the gaping wound in the third ship, Kurt racked his tired brain to put it together. “This whole thing is a hoax.” “Sure seems that way,” Joe added. “But why? What’s the point? Who could even pull such a thing off?” Kurt guessed they both knew the answer to that last question but not the reasons behind it.

He went over the events in his mind again, desperately looking for a connection. He felt something ominous approaching, like a storm he couldn’t outrun. There seemed little of value anyone could get out of such a hoax.

If the same people who’d attacked the Kinjara Maru were in on this, how did it help them? It didn’t get them any materials. It couldn’t really bring them any more money. In fact, it had to have cost a small fortune to set up the hoax to begin with.

“Some terrorist groups are big on publicity,” he said.

“There are more effective ways to get it than this,” Joe said.

He was right. So far, aside from a few low-level reporters, Kurt hadn’t seen any great flood of interest.

In fact, after the initial announcement, few in the outside world seemed to care what they’d found. The only people who’d shown up in droves and stuck around were the experts in magnetism and superconduction.

Kurt gasped as he realized the truth. “The scientists,” he said. “That’s what they’re after.” It took the briefest instant for Joe to agree.

Apparently, the group that needed more of everything had included know-how on their shopping list. If Kurt was right, they’d baited a trap to bring experts from all over the world here. He only hoped they hadn’t snapped it shut yet.

Kurt grabbed the controls and gunned the throttle. As soon as they were moving again, he angled the nose of the Barracuda upward, and they began accelerating and climbing toward the gray light filtering in from above. They had to get to the surface and send a message to the Argo .

The science teams needed to be warned.

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER, shortly after Kurt and Joe had first settled in on the seafloor beside the Liberty ship, Katarina Luskaya was packing her suitcase under the watchful eye of Major Sergei Komarov.

With everything that had happened, the high command had decided to abandon the mission for now.

“You became romantically involved with the American,” he said, sounding as if he disapproved.

“Not as involved as I would have liked,” she said brashly.

“This is not what we sent you here for,” he reminded her.

She’d almost forgotten that, so much had gone on. “He was in charge of the dive area,” she said. “I thought it would be better if he took a liking to me. That’s what I see in all the old movies, you know.” The major eyed her suspiciously and then smiled just a bit, a slight crease appearing in his permanent five o’clock shadow. “That is a good answer,” he said. “Whether it is true or not, you are learning.” She offered a sheepish grin in return and went back to packing as a knock at the door sounded. The major wasn’t so bad. More like a big brother than Big Brother.

He went to answer the door, putting one hand inside his jacket where his Makarov pistol rested.

OUTSIDE IN THE HALLWAY, two men stood at the door. A short man with dark hair held what looked like a small monocular, his taller partner held what looked like a length of pipe, though it had frost on its curved top and some type of heavy electrical battery pack on one side.

The shorter man placed the monocular on the peephole in the door. “Movement,” he said, looking into the scope. “It’s the male. Three seconds.” He stepped away from the door, and the man with the pipe moved in, holding one end of it against the door chest-high.

“Yes,” the deep Russian voice of Major Komarov said through the door. “What is it?”

“Now,” the shorter man said.

The pipe man pressed a button. A split second of buzzing and then a sudden thud, and splinters frayed out around the end of the pipe where it was pressed against the door. It was a mini rail gun powered by superconducting magnets and carrying a two-pound sharpened metal spike as a projectile. At the press of a button it instantly accelerated the spike to 100 miles per hour, more than enough to fire it through the door and the Russian major.

The pipe man stepped back and delivered a kick to the door. The jamb snapped, and what remained of the door swung open.

KATARINA LUSKAYA HEARD an odd sound and looked up. Slivers of wood were flying through the room. The major stumbled backward, clutching his stomach, a short spearlike piece of metal sticking out from his abdomen. Blood soaked his white shirt. He hit the ground without a word.

Katarina reacted slowly at first, but then she moved with all the speed in her body. She lunged toward the major as she heard the door being kicked in. Landing beside him, she grabbed for the weapon in his coat. She pulled it from its holster, thumbed desperately for the safety, and turned toward the door.

A boot slammed into her face, snapping her head to the side, before she could fire. She tumbled, lost her grip on the pistol, and felt someone on top of her an instant later.

Already stunned from the blow, she struggled only an instant before a rag soaked with chloroform was pressed to her face. She felt her hands go numb, and then nothing but darkness.

AS THE BARRACUDA raced for the surface, Kurt could hardly contain the anger he felt at being so foolish. He’d jumped to conclusions early on, assuming he and the Argo were the targets of these madmen even though in hindsight it was obvious that they held little real value.

He and Joe had to get a call off. They had to reach the surface so the shortwave radio could be used to contact the Argo thirty miles away in the harbor at Santa Maria.

He thought of the dead French scientists, wondered why they hadn’t been taken, and then remembered that it seemed as if they’d put up a hell of a struggle. He guessed all of the scientists would face the same choice, fight or surrender. Most would give in; some would die.

He wondered what would happen to Katarina. He hoped she and her “chaperone” from the State were already at the airport and boarding a plane.

“Forty feet,” Joe called out.

Kurt eased back on the throttle just a tad. Crashing the surface at full speed was a good way to catch air, and possibly even flip the sub.