Leviathan. Joaquin De Torres

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      Nick tried the stick and hit the accelerator, but the sub was unresponsive. He flipped a few manual switches and tried again; the result was the same.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “She’s not moving! I’m trying the emergency overdrive.” After a few more entries on the keypad, Nick tried to move the sub but it remained motionless. “Do we have undersea connection?” Haynes looked at his readouts.

      “Yes, the connection is solid.”

      “Then we’re fucked, Steven! We need to bring the crew in tomorrow to do a diagnostic on the system.”

      “Shit!” He checked his watch. “I gotta go! Do what you can to reboot the program yourself. First, second and third levels. If nothing responds by the third level, we’ll call in the others tomorrow.”

      “What are you going to tell Barrymore?”

      Haynes turned to Nick and smiled.

      “What all CEOs want to hear from their prized program designer, of course: ‘Everything is going perfectly according to plan, Mr. Barrymore. Everything’s right on schedule.’” He flashed his confident smile, winked and left the lab.

      Naval Base Guam

      Commander Naval Forces Marianas

      COMNAVMAR

      After the meeting, Joe Salas waited for most of the people to file out before approaching the individuals he really needed to talk to. The admirals and captains seemed to mill together at the front of the room with Aurelia and McLaren, looking over notes and documents. He saw his chance.

      “Dr. Aurelia? Admirals? I have some information that we need to discuss.”

      “Do you want me to call everyone back in?” asked Duenas.

      “No, sir. What I want to say should only be held in the tightest circles for now.” Duenas nodded.

      “Let’s all have a seat,” he suggested. Salas’ staff joined the small group at one conference table, while he remained standing.

      “Commander McLaren, can you please put up my 3D map of the trench?” McLaren quickly brought up the map that again stretched across both wall screens. Salas looked at Camacho.

      “Ian, hand me my laptop.” He tapped on the keyboard and pulled up several folders from his Document files. He clicked on a personal archive file and turned to the group. He spun the laptop around so they could see the screen. There was a photo on the screen.

      “Dr. Steven Haynes,” Salas said. “He is the only man who could have designed that sub.”

      “Do you know him?” asked Duenas.

      “I do, sir. Very well.”

      “But why?” asked Captain Hagen. “And why such a gruesome design?”

      “Ian, use your USB to update Commander McLaren’s maps.” Camacho inserted his USB flash drive into McLaren’s laptop and downloaded the latest updates and mapping information of the trench. When the download was complete, Camacho brought up the newest 3D rendering on the wall screens. The officers were amazed at the intense detail of the trench.

      Digital readouts, flow charts and a dozen small windows containing meters and oscillating figures lined either side of the display. The canyons and cliff walls were labeled with descriptive names; natural formations of rocks, as well as caves, fissures and boulders were labeled or identified by their shapes. Different colors depicting temperature, salinity and pressure were displayed along the sides. And all of this could be viewed strikingly clear using the zoom function.

      “Damn, was I in the dark!” spat Aurelia. “You give accurate names, dimensions, distances and pressure readings from top to bottom. This is amazing, Dr. Salas!”

      “And there’s the canyon’s deep water current and thermophaline circulation readings,” added Camacho. “So, with this new software, you can drop a car into the ocean here and basically know where it’s going to end up in the trench. It took Joe three years of relentless diving to accurately map all this.”

      “So, who’s Dr. Haynes?” asked Admiral Glass.

      “He was my research partner six years ago; long before any of my colleagues here joined the institute. He was flamboyant, charismatic, a great speaker and a crafty salesman. He’s the one who got PRAS Australia to give us the money to create the building we work in now.” Salas looked down and paused. Fingers reached out and touched his cheek. He looked up and saw Kelly Genero, PRAS’ public relations manager and close friend, smiling sympathetically at him.

      “Tell them everything, Joe.”

      “We worked together for almost ten years. He helped train Ian here when he was just a graduate student.” He shook his head and smiled dismissively. “We wanted to make breakthroughs; we wanted to make a difference in the environment. We went on campaigns to expose establishments that harmed the ocean and sea life. We went after offshore oil drillers, Japanese shark hunters, the Russian whaling industries, Chinese coral miners and—” He looked at Stone. “Navy polluters and sonar testers.”

      Stone dropped his eyes momentarily and remained silent.

      “The money we received from the law settlements and pay-offs financed our research facility and the construction of our deep sea vehicles.”

      “Then what happened?” Glass asked.

      “As brilliant as he was, Steven had one vice—his love for money. As we started receiving grants and donations from private and international environmental protection agencies, he changed. He began sharing these plans on how we could invest the money in various markets, stocks and business ventures in order to make us both wealthy. At first I thought nothing of it.” He looked to the group. “I mean, we’re scientists. We’re not out to make a profit.” His voice began to choke up as the pain of discussing the topic began to press hard against him. Genero took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

      “Three years ago on one of my dives, my instruments detected a massive supply of natural gas at the base of the trench at 32,000 feet. The Bureau of Ocean Energy Management commissioned us to create the bionomic fuel matrix and were given use of hydrographic research vessels. With such equipment at our disposal we discovered oil-soaked rock formations in several caves below 34,000 feet there,” he pointed the laser at the map. “Just west of HMRG Deep. We’ve unofficially called the spot ‘PRAS Deep’.”

      “Go on, son,” encouraged Glass.

      “Using the industry mathematical equations and our matrix, we estimated over 1.8 trillion barrels of oil could be sitting under the trench, within the canyon face, not on the sea floor. Steven created the equipment to detect the amount of gas at that depth and it was through the roof. There is enough natural gas to supply the United States for over 55 years.” Camacho switched the image to show the detailed locations.

      “I presented my findings to the Department of Energy, requesting government funds for more research. Senator Lars Raicek was head of the department at the time and rejected my findings. Two days later, Steven comes to me and says that HELIOS is not only interested in my findings, but wants to buy the rights to my research, СКАЧАТЬ