Clive Cussler - NUMA 8 Medusa

ISBN-10: 0425235092

ISBN-13: 9780425235096

Publisher: Berkley; Reprint edition (May 25, 2010)

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ZAVALA LAY ON HIS SIDE, HIS RIGHT ARM PINNED UNDER his hipbone, his left curled up to his chest. His legs were immobilized by a soft weight. Ignoring the jagged shards of pain stabbing under his ear, he lifted his head and saw Kane stretched belly down across his knees.

In the dim, battery-powered light, Zavala saw that the cabin was littered with papers, ditty bags, clothing, bottles of water, seat cushions, and other loose items. Zavala reached for his headset and held it to his ear. Silence. He tested Kanes headset. Not even a hint of static.

The loss of communication was ominous, but Zavalas optimistic nature would not let him dwell on such bad luck. He wiggled one leg, freed his foot, and used it to shove Kanes body off the other leg. Kane rolled onto his back, and a low groan escaped his lips.

The painful exertion triggered waves of nausea in Zavala. He unclipped the first-aid kit from the wall and broke open an ampoule, waving it under his nostrils. The acrid odor snapped him to alertness.

He removed the good-luck cap. Gingerly probing his scalp with his fingertips, he found a lump that felt as big as an egg. He poured water from a canteen on a compress bandage and held it lightly against his head. Even the slight pressure was painful, but the throbbing eased.

Zavala tucked a seat cushion under Kanes head. He removed Kanes skullcap and applied the compress. Kane winced, and his eyes blinked wide open.

Ow! he said. A good sign.

Zavala lightened the pressure but kept the compress in place.

Sorry, Doc, Florence Nightingale couldnt make it, so youre stuck with me, Zavala said. Try moving your toes and fingers.

Kane flexed his hand and foot joints, then bent his legs at the knees, grimacing in pain. Nothing seems broken.

Zavala helped Kane sit up and handed him the canteen. He waited until Kane had slugged down a couple of gulps, then said, What do you remember, Doc?

Kane pursed his lips in thought. I was looking out the window, broadcasting my observations. He glanced at his headset.

Dont bother, Zavala said. The headsets dont work.

Kanes face turned the color of oatmeal. Were not connected to the surface?

Temporarily... Keep talking.

Kane took a deep breath. We saw some kind of weird big fish or whale. Next, I remember heading for the moon. Then blotto. What about you?

Zavala jerked a thumb upward. Same scenario. I went airborne and slammed against the roof. I put my hand out to soften the blow, but all I got for the effort was a sore arm. Good thing Ive got a hard head.

From the sounds of it, the cable probably slipped on the winch drum.

Zavala said nothing.

I dont get it, Kane said. Why havent they winched us up by now? He noticed that the bathysphere was perfectly still, and he seemed to catch his breath. Were not moving, Joe. Whats happened to us?

Zavala wanted to avoid panic, but there was no sugarcoating their situation. We seem to be sitting on the bottom, Doc.

Kane looked at the instrument panel and saw that the systems were operating on batteries. If we were still attached, wed have power. Oh, hell! The cable must have snapped.

Thats almost impossible. And there could be other reasons for the breakdown. Were talking about maintaining contact over a cable through more than a half mile of ocean. Remember Beebe comparing the bathysphere to a pea on a cobweb? No man-made system is flawless, but this isnt the Titanic. Even if we were no longer connected to the surface, weve got other options.

Kane brightened. Duh, of course! Your flotation system.

Zavala managed a smile. What do you say we pop up to the Beebe lounge and mix a pitcher of margaritas?

What are we waiting for? Kane was as ebullient as a condemned man given an eleventh-hour reprieve.

Zavala unclipped a nylon bag from the wall and asked Kane to clean up the cabin. Busywork would lift Kanes spirits as well.

The compressed-air tanks are in the center of the platform, and they feed into flotation bags that are stuffed into the skids, Zavala explained. When the GO switch is activated, doors open in the sides of skids, compressed air fills the bags instantly, and they lift us to the surface, where the ship can snag us.

Kane rubbed his palms together in anticipation. Margaritaville, here we come.

Zavala slid over to the instrument panel. Funny, isnt it? We go through all sorts of trouble to get to the bottom of the sea, and, when we finally make it, we want to go home.

We can discuss the philosophical implications on the deck of the Beebe, Kane said. Id be happy just to be able to stretch out my legs.

Zavala turned his attention to a plastic box attached to the wall next to the instrument panel. He unsnapped the boxs cover to reveal a red button emblazoned with an arrow pointing up.

This is a two-step process, he explained. This button arms the system, and that identical button on the control panel activates it. When I say go, you hit the switch, and Ill do the same with mine. Then hold on. Theres a ten-second delay.

Kane put his finger to the button Zavala had indicated. Ready.

Go, Zavala said.

Zavala had tested the escape system in a water tank and prepared himself for a muted bang and a whoosh, but nothing happened at the end of ten seconds. He told Kane to try again. Again, nothing happened. Zavala checked a troubleshooting display that would have indicated a system malfunction but saw nothing amiss.

Why wont it work? Kane asked.

Something must have gotten banged around when we hit bottom. Dont worry, I programmed in a backup system.

Zavala tapped a keypad to reroute the signal and told Kane to try again. Again, there was a failure to inflate. They would have to go with the manual switch. Zavala opened another plastic-covered panel and looped his fingers through a handle attached to a cable. Pulling the cable, he explained, would produce a small electrical current that would trigger the flotation mechanism.

He clenched his teeth and yanked. Nothing happened. He tried several more times, but it was no use. The manual trigger failed to activate.

Kane watched these fruitless attempts with growing apprehension. Whats wrong? he asked.

Zavalas hand dropped from the manual switch. He stared into space, letting his minds eye travel through the workings of the flotation system. His gaze wandered to the window.

He flicked the searchlight on and was puzzled when he didnt see a glimmer. He moved closer to the window. Sliding a flashlight from its wall rack, he pointed the light out the window, cupping his eyes to prevent reflection. The light failed to penetrate the darkness.

He passed the flashlight to Kane. Take a look.

Kane peered through the porthole. Hell, theres black mud against the windows.

We came down hard. Theres nothing wrong with the system. The mud is blocking the flotation doors.

Kane was silent for a time. When he did speak, it was almost in a whisper. Were screwed, arent we?

Zavala reached out and gripped one of Kanes wrists tightly. Calm down, Doc, he said evenly.

Their eyes locked for a second, and Kane said, Sorry, Joe, your call.

Zavala loosened his grip. I dont mean to sound casual. Were in a tough spot, yes, but its far from hopeless. The folks on the Beebe must know something has happened, and theyve got our position.

What good will that do if the cable is broken? They still have to haul us up somehow.

Im sure Kurt will figure it out.

Kane snorted. Austins an impressive guy, but hes not a miracle man.

Zavala thought about the countless times Austins courage and resourcefulness had snatched them back from the edge of disaster.