Sea of Greed

THE SECOND DIVER had entered the open space of the submarine’s control room, saw the lead diver going aft and turned toward the forward part of the sub. He swam past the periscope housing and through the forward hatchway door. Like the other doors, this one was chained in the open position.

Confidently, he kicked smoothly and entered the compartment, moving methodically and removing his tank as the first diver had. He went one compartment at a time, shining his light in every nook.

He’d reached the forward torpedo room when a strange sound reached his ears. Sizzling, bubbling, burning, is how he would have described it. He looked around for the source of that noise, noticed a glow coming from far behind him and turned, swimming back toward the control room.

He kicked harder and faster as he neared the hatch, a supernatural sense of danger driving him forward. Getting closer, he saw a jet of fire lighting up the hatchway. He quickly realized it was a cutting torch.

He swam for the gap, caught sight of a diver in a bulky ADS on the far side and then realized what was happening. The armored diver was cutting the chain that held the hatch open.

The links were severed, the chain dropped to the deck and the hatch began to swing closed.

The diver shoved his air tank forward and wedged it in the gap, momentarily preventing the closure. The hatch rebounded open and he tried to swim through.

It was not to be.

The diver in the ADS blocked him and grabbed at his face with the metallic arms. The diver pulled back, only to have his helmet ripped off his head.

Bubbles exploded in all directions and the world was instantly blurred. All he could see were indistinct shapes and shadows moving around as his dive light bounced loose.

He grabbed for his backup regulator, got it into his mouth and took a desperate breath. Before he could do anything more, a resounding metallic clang told him his fate had been sealed.

The hatch door had been slammed shut. The wheel turned and locked.

He grabbed the handle and tried to twist it. His only hope lay with the other divers still outside of the submarine. But without his helmet, he couldn’t even call for help.

• • •

PAUL STOOD BESIDE the sealed hatchway. He’d knocked one foe into unconsciousness with a single blow and sealed the second one in the forward part of the hull — after removing his helmet with its communication system.

He moved back in the other direction, spotting Gamay as she emerged from the aft section of the submarine, dragging the banded steel cylinder behind her. It was partially encrusted with salts and rust but identifiable as the canister they were after. “You found it.”

“I did,” Gamay said. “Now we have to get out of here.”

“That’s going to be a challenge,” he said, pointing at the man he’d knocked out. “This guy wanted to join you in the mess hall.”

“How did they not see you?”

“I hid on the ceiling,” Paul said. “They swam right underneath me.”

“What happened to the other diver?”

“He went forward. I locked him in. But I’m pretty sure they’re not alone.”

Gamay twisted, exhaling a stream of bubbles. “We’re trapped.”

Paul nodded inside the suit. “Unless we get some assistance to break the blockade, this submarine is going to be our Alamo.”

• • •

WAITING OUTSIDE the Minerve, Volke drummed his fingers on the control panel. The delay soon became too much for him. “Divers, report. What’s going on in there?”

Wreck diving was dangerous business, but the Minerve was in such good condition it was doubtful his people faced the kind of dangers usually associated with sunken ships.

With no response forthcoming, Volke’s frustration grew. Underwater radios were not that reliable, it was possible the hull of the submarine was blocking the signal.

“Team two, get in there and find out what’s going on,” he said. “Stick together.”

The second pair of divers moved toward the hull, reaching the opening and entering more cautiously.

Almost immediately, Volke knew something had gone wrong. A wave of bubbles exploded through the gap in the hull and the beams from divers’ hand lights could be seen dancing around chaotically.

“They’re in here!” a shout came over the radio.

“Get out!” the other diver shouted. “Get out!”

One of the men burst from the opening, swimming hard. The second diver was halfway out when he was grabbed by a large metallic arm, which clamped down on his leg, raking his calf and drawing blood.

He squirmed and twisted, shouting as his ankle snapped and the fin was ripped from his foot. With another kick, he pulled free and went right for the surface.

“Two members of the NUMA team are in there,” the first diver reported. “One in regular gear and one in a hard suit.”

A moment later, the diver in the hard suit emerged from the opening, the suit’s huge shoulders barely fitting through.

Volke instinctively attacked, pushing the throttle of his vessel to full.