Clive Cussler - Polar Shift

"Hey, Kurt, I was just about to send someone looking for you."

"We've got a problem," Austin said.

"You know about the SOS we received?"

"First I've heard of it. What's going on?"

"We picked up a Mayday from the NOAA vessel a few minutes ago."

Austin's worst fears were realized. "What's their status?"

Cabral frowned. "Most of the message was garbled. There was a lot of background noise. We recorded the call. Maybe you can make sense of it."

He flicked a switch on the radio console. The bridge was filled with a cacophony that sounded like an oratorical contest at a madhouse. There was wild shouting, but the words were mostly incomprehensible except for a hoarse male voice that cut through the pandemonium.

"Mayday!" the voice said. "This is the NOAA ship Ben Franklin. Mayday. Come in, anybody."

Another voice, more garbled, could be heard in the background, bawling: "Power! Damnit, more power …"

Then came a quick phrase. It was only caught for an instant, but that was all that was needed to convey the unmitigated terror.

"Damnit! We're going in!"

Cabral's recorded voice came on. He was trying to respond to the SOS.

"This is the NUMA ship Throckmorton. What is your situation? Come in. What is your situation?"

His words were drowned out by a dull, churning roar as if a monsoon were howling through a cavern. Then the radio went dead. The silence that followed was worse than any noise.

Austin had tried to imagine himself on the Franklin's bridge. The scene was obviously one of chaos. The voice calling the Mayday was probably the captain's. Or, more likely, he was the one urging the engine room to give them more power.

The unearthly swirling roar was beyond anything in Austin's experience. He realized that the hair on the back of his neck was standing up like soldiers at attention. He glanced around the bridge. Judging from the apprehensive faces of captain and crew, it was clear that he was not alone in his thoughts.

"What's the Franklin's position?" Austin said.

Captain Cabral stepped over to a blue-glowing radar monitor.

"That's another crazy thing. We picked them up on radar eighteen miles away. They were moving in a southwest direction. Then they disappeared from the radar screen."

Austin watched the radar sweep line go around a couple of times. There was no sign of the ship, only some patches of scatter where the radar beam touched the wavetops. "How long will it take to get there?"

"Less than an hour. We've got to haul in the ROV first."

"Joe's doing it now. He should have the vehicle aboard by now."

Cabral gave the order to get under way and head toward the Franklin at top speed. The Throckmorton pulled anchor, and its high bow was starting to cut through the ranks of waves when Zavala showed up with Professor Adler.

"The professor told me about the whirlpool," Zavala said. "Any word from the Franklin ?"

"They sent an SOS, but the radio transmission got cut short. And we lost them on radar."

Cabral heard the brief exchange. "What's this about a whirlpool, Kurt?"

"The professor and I were checking satellite images and picked up a big, spinning water disturbance near the Franklin's position. Maybe a mile or two across."

"Isn't NOAA doing a study of ocean eddies?"

"This is no slow-moving eddy. It's probably hundreds of feet deep, and spinning at more than thirty knots."

"You're not serious."

"Deadly serious, I'm afraid."

Austin asked the professor to describe what they had seen. Adler was filling the captain in on the details when they were interrupted by the radio operator.

"We're picking them up on radar again," the operator said.

"Captain," the radio operator said a second later. "I'm getting a transmission from the Franklin."

Cabral took the microphone. "This is Captain Cabral of the NUMA ship Throckmorton. We have received your Mayday. What is your current status?"

"This is the Franklin's captain. We're okay now, but the ship was almost sucked into a big hole in the sea. Damnedest thing I've ever seen."

"Anyone injured?"

"Some bumps and bruises, but we're dealing with them."

Austin borrowed the microphone. "This is Kurt Austin. I've got a couple of friends aboard your ship. Could you tell me how Paul and Gamay Trout are doing?"

There was a heavy silence, and at first it seemed that the radio transmission had again been cut short. Then the voice came on. "I'm sorry to tell you this. They were making a plankton survey in the Zodiac inflatable when the whirlpool pulled them in. We tried to go to their aid, and that's when we got in trouble."

"Did you actually see them in the whirlpool?"

"We were pretty busy, and the visibility is practically nil."

"How close are you to the whirlpool now?"

"We're about a mile away. We don't dare get any closer. The currents flowing around that thing are still pretty strong. What do you want us to do?"

"Stay as close as you're able. We're coming over to take a look."

"Will do. Good luck."

"Thanks," Austin said, turning to Cabral. "Pete, I'd like to borrow the ship's helicopter. How soon can you have it ready to fly?"

Cabral was aware of Kurt's reputation at NUMA. He knew that despite Austin's easy smile and casual manner, this self-assured man with the battering ram shoulders and pale hair could handle whatever weirdness was going on. Cabral was a seasoned mariner, but the developing situation was beyond his ken. He would keep the ship going and let Austin deal with the rest.

"It's all fueled and ready to go. I'll tell the crew to meet you there." He picked up the intercom microphone.

Austin suggested that the NUMA ship stay at its present course and speed. Then he and Zavala raced down to the helicopter pad on the main deck, stopping first at the ship's supply room for a few items. The deck crew had the engine warming up in the McDonnell Douglas light utility helicopter. They climbed into the cockpit and buckled up. The rotors thrashed the air and the chopper lifted off the deck, then scudded low over the water.

Austin scanned the sea through a pair of binoculars. After the helicopter had been in the air for several minutes, he spotted the antennae and then the superstructure of the NOAA ship. It was near a circle of dark ocean that dwarfed the ship in size. The whirlpool seemed to have stopped growing, but he had to admire the gutsiness of those on the Franklin for staying close to the maelstrom.

Zavala moved the helicopter a couple of hundred feet higher, keeping the aircraft on a straight-line course headed directly for the vortex. As they drew nearer, he said:

"It looks like a volcano caldera."

Austin nodded. There were some volcanic similarities, mainly having to do with the funnel shape of the hole, and the mist issuing from it. The steamy exhalation was the source of the haze that covered much of the ocean.

The slick, black sides of the funnel glimpsed through gaps in the steam cloud were far smoother than those of any volcano Austin had ever seen. Nothing of the image transmitted from the satellite could convey the simple awfulness of the phenomenon. It looked like a big, festering puncture wound in the sea.

"How big do you figure this pothole to be?" Austin said.

"Too damned big!" Zavala measured with his eye. "But, to be precise, I'd say it's about two miles across."

"That's my estimate too," Austin said. "From the angle of the sides, it could go down all the way to the ocean bottom. Hard to tell, with the swirling mists. Can we get closer?"

Zavala obliged, until they were directly above the whirlpool. From this vantage point, the gyre looked like an immense, steam-filled cone. The chopper hovered a couple of hundred feet above the vortex, but they were still unable to see deep inside of it.