Robin Cook: Abduction

“Come on,” Mark urged before Perry could respond. “Let me introduce you.”

Reluctantly, Perry allowed himself to be led over to the submersible. It was painfully obvious that he would not be able to get out of diving on the Oceanus without a significant loss of face. He’d have to admit to his fears, and he hardly thought that would be appropriate. Besides, he had enjoyed his first ride on the sub even though that had been done in only a hundred feet of water just outside of the harbor on Santa Catalina, a far cry from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

Once Donald was satisfied with the submersible’s connection to the hoisting cable, he swung down from the scaffolding and began walking around the boat. Although the topside dive team had responsibility for the exterior predive check, Donald wanted to make his own visual check on all the penetrations through the pressure hull. Mark and Perry caught up to him at the bow. Mark introduced Perry as the president of Benthic Marine.

Donald responded by clicking his heels and saluting. Before Perry knew what he was doing, he saluted back. Only Perry didn’t really know how to salute; he’d never executed the gesture in his life. He felt as pathetic as he probably looked.

“Honored to meet you, sir,” Donald said. He was standing ramrod straight with his lips pressed together and his nares flared. To Perry he appeared like a warrior about to do battle.

“Pleased to meet you,” Perry said. He gestured toward the Oceanus. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“No problem, sir,” Donald snapped back.

“I also don’t have to go on this dive,” Perry said. “I don’t want to be in the way. In fact…”

“You won’t be in the way, sir,” Donald said.

“I know this is an operational dive,” Perry persisted. “I wouldn’t want to take your attention away from your job.”

“When I am piloting the Oceanus, no one takes my attention away from my job, sir!”

“I appreciate that,” Perry said. “But I won’t be at all offended if you feel I should stay topside. I mean, I’ll understand.”

“I’m looking forward to showing you the capability of this craft, sir.”

“Well, thank you,” Perry said, recognizing the futility of trying to excuse himself graciously.

“My pleasure, sir,” Donald snapped.

“You don’t have to call me sir,” Perry said.

“Yes, sir!” Donald responded. Then his mouth formed into a thin smile when he realized what he’d said. “I mean, yes, Mr. Bergman.”

“Call me Perry.”

“Yes, sir,” Donald said. Then he allowed himself a second smile when he realized he’d slipped again in so many seconds. “It’s hard for me to change my ways.”

“I can see that,” Perry said. “I guess it’s not a wild guess that you got your experience for this type of work in the armed forces.”

“That’s affirmative,” Donald said. “Twenty-five years in the submarine service.”

“Were you an officer?” Perry asked.

“Indeed. I retired as a commander.”

Perry’s eyes wandered to the submersible. Now that he’d reconciled himself to the upcoming dive, he wanted reassurance. “How’s the Oceanus been performing?”

“Flawlessly,” Donald answered.

“So it’s a good little ship?” Perry asked. He patted the cold steel pressure hull.

“The best,” Donald said. “Better than anything I’ve ever piloted, and I’ve been in quite a few.”

“Are you just being patriotic?” Perry asked.

“Not at all,” Donald said. “First of all, it can go deeper than any other manned craft I’ve piloted. As I’m sure you know, it’s got a certified operating depth of twenty thousand feet and a crush depth not until thirty-five thousand. But even that’s deceiving. With the built-in safety margin, we could probably dive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench without a hitch.”

Perry swallowed. Hearing the term crush depth brought back the shiver he’d experienced a few minutes before.

“Why don’t you give Perry a quick rundown on the rest of the Oceanus ’s statistics,” Mark said. “Just to refresh his memory.”

“Sure,” Donald said. “But stand by for a second.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to one of the workmen completing the predive check: “Have the TV camcorders been checked out on the inside?”

“That’s an affirmative!” the worker responded.

Donald directed his attention back to Perry. “The craft’s sixty-eight tons with room for two pilots, two observers, and six other passengers. We have lockout capability for divers, and we can be mated to the DDCs if the need arises. We’ve got life support for a maximum of two hundred sixteen hours. Power comes from silver zinc batteries. Propulsion is from a varivec propeller, but maneuverability is also enhanced with vertical and horizontal thrusters directed by twin joysticks with top-mounted thumb balls. There’s short-range, narrow-beam, and side-scan sonar, ground-penetrating radar, proton magnetometer, and thermistors. Recording equipment includes silicon-intensified target video camcorders. Communications are with FM surface radio and UQC underwater telephone. Navigation is inertial.”

Donald paused while he let his eyes roam around the submersible. “I think that covers the basics. Any questions?”

“Not for the moment,” Perry said quickly. He was afraid Donald might ask him a question. The only thing Perry retained out of the entire monologue was the thirty-five-thousand-foot crush depth figure.

“Ready to launch the Oceanus !” a voice crackled over a loudspeaker.

Donald herded Perry and Mark away from the sub. The hoisting wire became taut. With a creak the submersible lifted from the deck. It was kept from swinging by multiple launching lines attached at key points along the hull. A high-pitched squeak heralded the movement of the davit as it swung the boat out off the stern of the ship and started lowering it toward the water.

“Ah, here comes the good doctor,” Mark said.

Perry turned briefly to look behind him. A figure was emerging through the main door into the ship’s interior. Perry did a rapid doubletake. He’d only seen Suzanne Newell once before and that was when she’d presented the original seismic studies on Sea Mount Olympus. But that had been in L.A., where there was no dearth of beautiful people. Out in the middle of the ocean on the utilitarian Benthic Explorer with its nearly hundred percent frowzy male crew, she stood out like a lily in a patch of weeds. In her late twenties, she was vibrant and athletic looking. Dressed in coveralls similar to those worn by Donald, she gave off a stunning gender message which was the absolute antithesis of Donald’s. A dark blue baseball cap, with a gold braid embroidered on the visor and BENTHICEXPLORERsewn across the crown, was perched on top of her head. Out of the back of the hat just above the adjustment band protruded a ponytail of thick, shiny chestnut hair.

Suzanne saw the group and waved, then headed in their direction. As she approached, Perry’s mouth slowly dropped open, a response that was not lost on Mark.

“Not bad, huh?” Mark said.

“She’s rather attractive,” Perry admitted.

“Yeah, well, wait a few days,” Mark said. “She gets better the longer we’re out here. Quite a shape for a geophysical oceanographer, wouldn’t you say?”

“I haven’t met too many geophysical oceanographers,” Perry said. Suddenly he thought that maybe the dive wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Too bad she isn’t a medical doctor,” Mark said under his breath. “I wouldn’t mind her doing a hernia check on me.”

“If you’ll permit me, I’ll continue getting the Oceanus ready for the dive,” Donald said.