Into The Shallows, A Clive Cussler Story From the Oregon Files
Chapter III
By Lane
Mark Dietrich sat alone in the sparse ships theater watching "The Longest Day." The cruse had been, so far anyway, very boring. The movie was half over when a latecomer entered. To his surprise the latecomer turned out to be Gale Turner. God! And she sat down next to him. "Miss much?" she whispered. Totally stunned Mark managed a "not really" and gave her a quick synopsis. They sat in silence for awhile. Mark had now forgotten the movie and sat in nervous apprehension thinking up cute line he could throw at her but dis-guarded one after another. When the movie ended they went for a walk and leaned on the railing looking out at the bright blue sea and sky. Mark was a shy person by nature. This was the moment, a young man, a young woman, a terribly romantic background. The moment soon passed – Mark knew in his heart he blew it.
"Bermuda Triangle is up ahead. Do you take much stock in the rumor?" Mark said trying to make small talk. "Maybe, some pretty credible things have taken place there. Remember that whole flight of planes just up and vanished. The place has a history of that, ships, planes, you name it" She replied thoughtfully. Mark was just getting the courage up to ask her if she wanted to get a coffee when six sweaty muscular commando's jogged by. Gale casually slapped one on the butt. "Get moving you slacker." she said in jest. Somehow Mark managed to ask if she'd want to have coffee together. She gave him a sly look and nodded. Things were looking up, maybe he hadn't blown it after all. He was no longer bored but went about his duties with renewed energy, even whistling which he never did.
Up in the Operations Center Captain Cabrillo listened attentively while his CIA handler back at Langley gave him a SITREP (situation report). Based on new data, including spy satellite pictures the idea of an at-sea transfer of ICBM parts was not true. No Iranian ship at all. It was a 100% Chinese mission. The CIA detected an old derelict of a ship, much like the Oregon, anchored in a shallow area well off the shipping lanes. Just over the horizon were 2 Chinese warships providing cover. One was a Type 054A frigate. Another a Type 052C destroyer NATO Code of Luyang II. Both were lethal fighting platforms. The military ships were meandering about in lazy circles while the merchant ship did "something" in the shallow water. Everyone wanted to know what the "something" was.
The captain talked it over with Linc and the most prudent option was to wait for the Chinese ships to move on. Captain Cabrillo could sympathize with the Chinese merchant ship's captain. He was deep into The Shallows, as marked on the chart. It was a large area of ocean within the Caribbean that had once been a series of small islands. Through the millennium they had sunk beneath the waves and become coral reefs with interlinking sandy bays. The depth of this whole area was from a few feet to 150 feet – a very dangerous place for a ship and pure crazy for a captain to deliberately navigate into.
"Captain," cried Hali Kasim, Chief Communications Specialist from a inter ship speaker phone, "hand-off in 10 minutes." The hand-off was when two ships well out to sea might pass each other relatively close and change identities. It was to only swap radio call signs, the ships names were never repainted. The Oregon was to now become the Wexford, an English registered ship. The Wexford in reality was an English version of the Oregon run by MI-6. Later the ships would cross again on some lonely stretch of ocean and switch back. This procedure was common with intelligence gathering ships.
Finally the satellite feed showed the Chinese merchant ship weighing anchor. Carefully it began maneuvering out of the complex interlocking bays and reefs. It was frustrating for both Langley and Captain Cabrillo to watch the hulking cargo ship carefully and slowly, going no more than 4 knots, winding it's way to the open sea.
The captain announced to the personnel within the Operations Center that they would get underway shortly. In no time at all the huge ship Oregon aka Wexford, got up to full speed. They didn't want to be seen as heading right for the spot where the Chinese merchant ship was engaged in some nonferrous endeavor so they went at a slight angle. On radar it would look like they were going around the notorious Shallows. At the last second the captain intended to move in, spend no more than 30 minutes on site and get out. The old expression, "The best laid plans of mice and men" would soon fit the situation.
The radar man, one Thomas Dunken, called Linc and the captain over to look at his screen. The screen showed a vast area of the sea to be darker in color than the surrounding ocean. It was evident something was there but what? It was dead ahead and stretching for miles. "What the hell is that?" Linc said in wonder. "It's close enough to be seen with the naked eye, let's take a look." Captain Carrillo added, grabbing a pair of high powered binoculars.
Both men went out on deck. Captain Cabrillo put the binoculars to his eyes and looked. "Oh hell, damn, damn hell," he said in consternation. He then handed the binoculars to Linc. Linc's comments were a bit more colorful with lot's of "F" words. What they saw stretching for miles was a virtual sea of trash. Millions upon millions of bits of plastic, plastic bottles, old mono-filament driftnets that would not decompose. Just a sea of trash. The captain had run across these before but none so huge. The ocean seemed to him to have areas of eddies where this sort of trash collected. He sighed. They would have to go around for even a bit of this trash being sucked into the MHD drives could cause extensive damage. Another course was plotted and the Oregon was off. There was more than a sea of trash to slow the Oregon on it's mission.
Far away, on the western side of The Shallows sat a small diving ship. It was 250 feet long, diesel powered and getting a bit long it the tooth. A complete retrofit in dry dock was what was needed but this ship, like many plying the ocean was at the whim of economic considerations. On each side of its rust streaked hull was painted a huge red and white diving flag.
The captain of the Drunken Lady was Milo Stern, 55 years of age, average in height at 6 foot. Milo had a well tanned and deeply lined face though much of it was obscured with a full gray beard. His brother Stan, just two years his junior stood, next to him. Stan was a virtual twin of his older brother and sporting the same type full beard. Neither minded when people mistook one for the other.
The were masters and owners of the Drunken Lady. The ship specialized in archeological underwater excavation. On paper they were wealthy taking in 2 to 3 million per year. Then there were the outlays; cooks, crew, diesel, insurance. Oh yes insurance. Each year the premiums kept rising, almost doubling. At some future day the Stern Diving and Underwater Exploration LLC would reach a tipping point. Then there would be bankruptcy, Chapter 11, lawyers, red tape and government inspectors. Not today though.
Below them in the water, diving off a rubber raft were a dozen students. Underwater were a dozen more. The students were thoroughly enjoying themselves learning how to properly recover ancient artifacts from the sea. The Sterns employed, at great cost, 2 dive qualified archeology experts. Generally the dives were uneventful; Milo and his brother always preferred to play it safe. However when dealing with the ocean that was never a sure thing. The Stern brothers had been in operation for many years. Once a girl had been bitten by a shark. It was a bad wound and she had to be air lifted off the ship by the U.S. Coast Guard. Other than that there were the usual cuts and abrasions from coral and sea urchins. In general the students were more trouble above the waves than below what with nighttime bed hopping.
Being both master mariners they could tell when something was wrong; a seaman's sixth sense. Milo looked at his brother, "Notice the temperature for today." Stan nodded gravely. The had been anchored at this location for the last week. During that time it had been extremely hot and humid with the water temperature close to 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing was stirring and the ocean was flat as a pancake. The old expression "a calm before a storm," was based on true facts. Excessively hot water gave rise to extreme humidity. This hot humid air wanted to rise. It would claw its way upward in a counter clockwise manner (clockwise below the equator). The walls of this climbing air mass would speed up, sucking more air in from the surrounding ocean. "I don't like the looks of this." Milo added. "Neither do I," Stan replied. They had just one more day and they would fulfill their contract with an oceanographic university.
One more day was all they needed yet the signs were there, a hurricane was brewing and they were sitting smack dab in the center of it. Their nautical sense told them to immediately haul anchor and get out but financially they needed that extra day. "Stan, what do we do?" Milo asked obviously agonizing over a decision. Stan shook his head, "We get out now, this old tub will be lucky to make 14 knots. These students are our responsibility, they trust us." Stan said firmly. "Glad you said that little brother."
Then much to the student's confusion the dive was cut short, gear stowed and quickly the old ship was underway towards the safety of Miami. A wise decision for the Drunken Lady would survive to sail again and take many more young students on a thrill of a lifetime diving adventures.
