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A metal walkway, slick with a recent rain shower, snaked its way around the side of the sub, leading to a circular platform nestled against the hull like a barnacle. In the center, a hefty hatch painted the same battleship gray as the hull stood ajar. Stenciled warnings and safety protocols adorned the surrounding metal. With a practiced motion, Lancaster grasped a nearby handrail and swung himself onto the platform. He extended a hand towards Knight, his voice a muffled murmur through the thick glass of his helmet.
"Ready, Knight?"
Taking a deep breath, Knight followed, the clang of his work boots echoing on the metal platform. The hatch, dwarfing them both, revealed a narrow opening. A dim, utilitarian light cast flickering shadows on the metal ladder that disappeared into the inky blackness beyond. A wave of cool, stale air washed over them, carrying the faint metallic tang of the submarine's interior.
Stepping through the hatch, Lancaster found himself enveloped by the cool, metallic embrace of the control room. The air hummed with the low thrum of unseen machinery, a constant symphony that spoke of the vessel's hidden power. A bank of heavy, tube-style monitors with thick glass faces lined the forward bulkhead. Their black and white screens were dark, waiting to flicker to life. Dominating the center of the space was a wide console painted a utilitarian green. Instead of the digital displays of today, this one boasted a dense forest of dials with wide, luminous needles glowing a ghostly green in the dim light. Toggle switches with chunky black handles lined the panels beneath the dials, their labels stenciled in white.
Lancaster gestured towards a specific section of the console. "That metal box there, Alex, the one with the blinking red light and the antenna symbol? That's the Emergency Alert System (EAS) unit. If anything goes south while we're submerged, that's how we send out a distress signal."
"You got some kind of schematic drawing of the wiring of this tub?"
Lancaster fished out a paper from a pile of engineering blueprints in a briefcase. "I believe this is what you want to see, he said stiffly. He was beginning to dislike this officious, cynical bastard intensely.
The captain studied the drawing for almost five minutes, looked up, and said in a surprisingly friendly tone, "Sterling, you mind some constructive criticism?"
He had never used Lancaster's first name before, and he replied warily, "Not if it's truly constructive."
"Oh, it's constructive as hell. The way this thing is wired would make Mickey Mouse proud."
"What's Mickey Mouse got to do with anything?"
"I mean it's unnecessarily complicated." He grinned at Lancaster's skeptical expression. "All I'm saying is that your wiring scheme is like a plumber's nightmare. Too many connections and impulse relays, which means too many things can go wrong. The wiring should be simplified. Also, I'd recommend hooking the system to an auxiliary battery, in case the primary batteries fail. Mind if I borrow this drawing?"
"Not at all," Lancaster said, "but I'd like to know what you're going to do with it."
"Modify this wiring. Mostly, it would involve bypassing or eliminating some of this circuitry. If you'd lend me a hand, I think we could install a far more reliable system in two days....three tops."
"Offer accepted," Lancaster said gratefully.
Knight smiled. "Good. When advice collides with pride and ego, advice sometimes doesn't stand a chance. You just earned the right to call me Al, but not in front of the crew. Okay?"
They shook hands. Lancaster felt relieved; he felt he had found a valuable friend and ally. He had no way of knowing that Captain Alex Knight considered him a new friend who also was a damn fool.615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdqmCP6nG9Z
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On the evening of July 7, 1965, the key members of the expedition gathered in the Phineas Cartwright's dining room, following the routine that had been established when the ship moved from Long Islan to her Bayonne berth---a progress report on the day's activities. Loading of supplies and equipment was virtually completed, and Lancaster already had announced that the Phineas Cartwright would sail two days hence.
Tonight, he surveyed his colleagues with a sense of satisfaction. An incredible amount had been accomplished in a very short time, including what at first had appeared to be a major bottleneck: obtaining the 50,000 feet of steel cable for the four new heavier winches. Prester had pulled strings---and probably called in a few IOUs---to get the cable delivered on time. "I know the top brass at Bethlehem Steel." This was his explanation for the fast action, and Lancaster could only guess at what kind of pressure Prester had applied.
The friction Lancaster had expected hadn't developed. Yes, cliques had formed, and Lancaster himself---without wanting it to happen---was part of one that included Prester, Blackwood, and Riker. The second clique consisted of Leclair and Kim Barnes, but clique was not even the term Lancaster could honestly apply to the coalescing of individuals into the two groups. Mostly, it'd been a case of common interest rather than common beliefs---surely no indication that they had separated into conflicting "gold versus science" or "destruction versus preservation" segments. Leclair demonstrated hostility toward Thaddeus Blackwood from almost the moment they were introduced, but it was the latter's profanity that alienated the oceanographer. It took the preoccupied Lancaster some time to realize that what Jacques resented was the presence of a demolitions specialist aboard. The crude language didn't seem to bother Kim Barnes until she overheard him remark to Prester, "No fuckin' broad belongs on a ship." Kim marched up to him, grabbed his collar, and yanked his head down until their noses almost touched.
"Mister Blackwood," she said icily, "don't you ever talk about me again in that language. Do I make myself clear?"
Unbelievingly, Blackwood blushed the color of his beard. "Yes, ma'am....I'm sorry."
Later, he remarked to Lancaster, "That Barnes's spunky, ain't she?"
"Very. If you try to limit your four-letter words to, say, one every five sentences, I'm sure you two will get along famously."
And they did, for Blackwood, as he already had demonstrated with Lancaster was to see willpower at its highest level. For Lancaster, however, the incident had set off warning bells in his bachelor's psyche.
He found himself admitting that he was enormously attracted to Kim Barnes, even though from the very start of their association he had steeled himself against any romantic involvement. It was stupid, he kept telling himself, for the nominal leader of an expedition to go chasing after the only woman in the party---bad for discipline, unfair to the other men, and potentially harmful to the venture's success because it would inevitably involve favoritism.
Besides, he hadn't picked up any indication that Barnes might be interested in him. Lancaster, a veteran of casual affairs, was an expert at sensing such nuances. Kim was always friendly in a businesslike way with Lancaster, but spent virtually all her time with Leclair on their mutual assignment: to determine the Leviathan's location and solve the mystery.
This was the chief subject under discussion at that night's debriefing session. After Lancaster reported that the boarding of food supplies would be completed the next day, Jacques Leclair cleared his throat.
"I have an announcement," he began. "Kim and I believe we have established the Leviathan's probable location, not a precise sight but a reasonably narrow search area. If our calculations are right, I'm sure we can locate the ship within two or three days of sonar search."
A round of applause was interrupted by the deep voice of Captain Knight.
Captain Knight's face tightened with concern. "Leclair, your use of the word 'probable' is unsettling. We're not just heading into any part of the ocean; we're venturing into the Bermuda Triangle. You know how vast it is, and its notorious reputation. I'll feel better once you explain how you arrived at your estimate."
"Gladly." Leclair beamed. "Kim, here, is largely responsible for establishing that estimate, so I'll let her explain."
Barnes spread a fair-sized oceanographic chart on the long rectangular table and the others clustered behind her. She pointed a pencil at the spot on the chart.
Kim Barnes took a deep breath before explaining to Blackwood and the others. "I've analyzed numerous historical accounts, ocean currents, and drift patterns from when the Leviathan was said to have disappeared. By cross-referencing these with sonar anomalies and magnetic irregularities, I was able to pinpoint a more likely location for the wreck. As for proof of its existence, I found detailed ship logs and correspondence between high-ranking naval officers that referenced a massive, secret warship built during Jefferson's presidency. This and structural blueprints hidden in maritime archives provide strong evidence that the Leviathan was not just a legend but a colossal reality.
"This red X marks the spot of the Leviathan's likely position. That position, as you'll note, is forty-one degrees, fourteen minutes west." The pencil moved a few inches across the chart, poising over a small blue circle and then descending until the tip rested in the middle of the circle. "This indicates a latitude of fifty degrees, one minute west and forty degrees, forty minutes north. Jacques and I believe we'll find the Leviathan within a five-mile radius of that position."
The dining saloon was tomb-silent, every mind in the room weighing what she had said: a chance for quick success or, if the oceanographers were wrong, weeks of frustration and probable failure.
Kim continued. "The Leviathan's sinking wasn't due to natural causes," she began. "Based on our research, Jacques and I believe it was deliberately sabotaged. The ship was an unprecedented warship, posing a significant threat to naval powers of the time. There are indications that rival nations, perhaps even factions within the United States itself, saw the Leviathan as too powerful and dangerous to be allowed to exist. Reports suggest that explosive charges were planted in the ship's hull, strategically placed to cause catastrophic damage. Furthermore, there were rumors of mutiny among the crew, possibly incited by foreign agents who feared the ship's potential. All these factors point to a calculated act of sabotage, rather than a simple maritime disaster. Billy Riker supplied us with some historical documents suggesting that the British Empire harbored deep concerns over the Leviathan, being an unprecedented American warship that posed a formidable challenge to their naval dominance. Its sheer size and advanced armaments could tilt the balance of power in favor of the United States, disrupting British naval supremacy and threatening their interests across the seas. Thus, there are theories proposing that British spies may have orchestrated the ship's sabotage, fearing its potential to alter strategic dynamics and assert American influence on a global scale.
"As for the crew, their fate remains one of the most chilling aspects of this story. Accounts vary, but many suggest that the crew was either killed in the explosion or left to drown in the open sea. There are even more sinister rumors that survivors were hunted down and silenced to prevent any word of the Leviathan's true capabilities from spreading. No definitive records have ever been found, leaving their ultimate fate a tragic mystery. So we fed all this historical data, plus what we've learned about ocean currents in more recent years, into the computer Bertie Prestr so generously provided us"----Prester grinned and bowed his head slightly---" and regression analysis confirmed the position I've just shown you on the chart. Any more questions?"
They resumed their seats and Lancaster said, "I got one. The same question I've asked you and Jacques before, and which you declined to answer until you determined the probable wreck site. What is the sea bottom like in that area? I know the topography of the ocean floor can be as rugged as the Himalayas or the Rockies, with mountains, valleys, canyons....."
She stopped him. "That's the magic word. Canyon."
"Good God," Prester exclaimed. "You mean she's at the bottom of some deep hole where she can't be reached? Maybe even out of sight?"
"It's not as bad as you might think," Leclair said. "There is a submarine canyon in this general area. Oceanographers refer to it as the 'Rachel Carson Canyon," but it's a misnomer. It's more of a large trough or valley running northeast to southwest, stretching for hundreds of miles, with some tributaries. The ship may be resting smack in the middle of the trough or maybe in one of its offshoots. The depth of the canyon, if you want to refer to the valley in more dramatic terminology, does not worry me. But there's something else we haven't discussed with anyone yet, just because the possibility of it causing us difficulty is reasonably remote."
Lancaster already knew---Kim had mentioned it to him but not in particularly alarming terms---and he decided to let Jacques stay in his unaccustomed spotlight.
Leclair continued, in the confident tones of a professor. "In 1931, a major submarine earthquake occurred in the Grand Banks area off Newfoundland, about 300 miles northwest of where the Leviathan sank. The quake was of such severe proportions that it snapped several transatlantic cables and caused huge mudslides. The potential exists that some of those mudslides might have reached the Leviathan's area and buried her, out of sight and untouchable even if she was found."
Blackwood blurted. "Well, now, ain't that just dandy!"
"I said this was a remote possibility," Leclair assured his audience. "I doubt very much whether the mudslides triggered by the Grand Banks earthquake could have reached the wreck site. Furthermore, Kim and I have thoroughly researched seismographic records of submarine earthquake activity in the North Atlantic in the years after the 1929 incident. There has been none of any significant proportions, so once again I reiterate it's not likely that the ship is buried under mud."
"Thank God," muttered Prester.
Lancaster said, "This brings us to the subject that I asked Billy Montague to look into---the possible or probable condition of the Leviathan herself. Billy?
Riker stared to unreel his string-bean frame from his chair, then decided to stay seated----mostly because Leclair had delivered his remarks while standing and had unwittingly given the impression he was reaching a class. It was one of Jacques's idiosyncracies that could be simultaneously annoying and endearing.
Riker said, "All I can offer is conjecture based on alleged sightings of the Leviathan. There are stories, but without concrete evidence, it's all just speculation." He picked up some notes he had made. "Let me read a few examples.
"Here's one from a sailor named John Harrington. He claimed to have seen the Leviathan off the coast of Maine in 1872. Harrington described the ship as 'being in a terrible state of disrepair, with torn sails flapping in the wind and masts that looked like they had been struck by lightning. The hull was covered in barnacles and seaweed, and the ship seemed to glow with an eerie, ghostly light.' What scared him the most was the silence—no sound of a crew, no noise of the sea against the hull, just an oppressive, unnatural quiet that filled him with dread.
"Now, here's the testimony of Captain Miguel Alvarez, which contradicts Harrington's account. This sighting took place in the Caribbean, near the Bahamas, in 1885. Captain Alvarez reported seeing the Leviathan in remarkably pristine condition. He said, 'The ship's sails were fully intact and billowing in the wind, the masts stood tall and sturdy, and the hull gleamed as if it had just been polished." Alvarez described the Leviathan as cutting through the water with an almost supernatural grace. The sight of such a perfectly maintained ship in the middle of the Caribbean, with no sign of its crew, filled him with a sense of profound unease."
Riker looked up from his notes and continued. "The purpose of reading these accounts," he said, "is to illustrate the conflicting nature of the sightings and to highlight the enigma that surrounds the Leviathan. I'm trying to show that despite the differences in the condition of the ship as reported by various witnesses, there's a persistent thread: the Leviathan keeps appearing, and it's sometimes without a crew. I'm sure you're all aware that eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable, just because people staring into the face of the unknown will see things differently, especially under stress."
"Seems conclusive enough for me," Prester observed. "Does it complicate things if it's in the condition described by Harrington?"
It was Lancaster who answered. "It could, but we won't know for sure until we find her. Billy, what's the consensus on where she broke up?"
"There isn't one," Riker replied. "The eyewitness accounts vary too much. A ghostly, burning ship on the horizon, its decks empty, but with a strange, eerie glow emanating from within, according to some; a massive sailing ship, its masts broken and hull partially submerged, trailing a haunting mist, according to others. If the Leviathan is in the condition described by these accounts, it will pose significant challenges for our expedition, from hazardous structural integrity to potential supernatural phenomena."
It was Kim Barnes's voice that dissolved the tension.
Kim Barnes leaned forward, her face serious. "I've read some anomalous documents that are downright eerie. There was even a court case during the Depression Era that revolved around the Leviathan, where supernatural phenomena were mentioned. That case was tried in 1932. It involved a group of treasure hunters who claimed to have found the wreck. They alleged that strange occurrences, such as ghostly apparitions and inexplicable mechanical failures, plagued their expedition. The court ruled that their claims were unfounded, citing a lack of concrete evidence, but the judge did note the unusual nature of their testimonies. As for what happened when the Leviathan touched down on the ocean floor, I believe it was catastrophic. The ship likely broke apart upon impact, but due to its massive size and the unique wood it's made of, some parts could be remarkably well-preserved. However, I expect it to be in a deteriorated state overall, with large sections covered in marine growth, making it both a historical treasure and a potentially dangerous wreck to explore."
Lancaster raised an eyebrow. "Kim, why would you think the Leviathan's in a deteriorated condition, given what we know about the wood's properties?"
"It's not the wood itself I'm concerned about, but the structural integrity of the ship after a century and a half underwater. Even the most resilient materials can succumb to the relentless pressures and currents of the deep sea, not to mention any damage sustained during the sinking. What part of the sunken vessel would most benefit the expedition if it can be salvaged?"
Lancaster crossed his arms, nodding thoughtfully. "What we're mostly interested in is the ship's hull," he said. "If the wood's alleged properties hold, the hull might be remarkably well-preserved. That could give us invaluable insights into early 19th-century American shipbuilding techniques and materials, not to mention the potential for recovering historical artifacts and understanding the ship's final moments."
Riker nodded in agreement. "We'll have to assume the cannons and other heavy equipment separated from the ship upon impact," he said. "That's a common denominator in all the reported sightings. Everyone who claims to have seen the Leviathan describes it without its formidable armament as if it were scattered when it hit the ocean floor."
Prester's eyes lit up with a flash of inspiration. "If the cannons and other armaments are absent from the wreck," he began, "it means we won't have to navigate around or remove them, which could save us considerable time and resources. Additionally, without all that extra weight, the ship's hull might be more accessible and in better condition, making it easier for us to salvage the wood. This could significantly increase our chances of success."
Lancaster looked at Riker. "Billy, disillusion him for me."
Riker rubbed his chin, a frown creasing his forehead. "The cannons, that's a concern. Even from the Popular Mechanics illustration, it looks like the Leviathan mounted some serious firepower. Those weren't your typical naval cannons; the diagram depicted these massive, obsidian-like structures crackling with energy. Imagine the size of the gun ports they'd require! Even if the cannons themselves are long gone, navigating the Explorer around those gaping holes wouldn't be easy. We'd be millimeters away from a catastrophic hull breach. And that's just the obvious danger. Remember, this was an early 19th-century ship, albeit an unusual one. Think about the sheer amount of cargo, supplies, and rigging that would have filled the interior. Imagine tangled ropes the thickness of your arm, massive wooden beams supporting the decks, and who knows what other debris scattered across the floor after a century at the bottom of the ocean. It could be a labyrinth down there, a maze of obstacles that could snag your sub and leave the crew trapped. Hell, I haven't even mentioned the worst-case scenario. What if the Leviathan wasn't simply abandoned? What if the stories about a 'celestial' storm are true? Imagine the damage such a storm could have inflicted – broken wood, shattered hatches, even internal fires. Navigating a damaged ship, especially one potentially filled with pockets of superheated air or remnants of alien energy, would be a suicide mission."
Lancaster, glimpsing the look of consternation that clouded Prester's face, said quickly, "Hold on a minute, Billy. You're painting a picture of doom and gloom here. 'Alien' energies, debris everywhere, internal fires – sounds like you're looking for reasons to give up before we even start."
A flicker of irritation crossed Riker's face, but he quickly schooled his features into a mask of professionalism. "Not at all, Sterling," he replied evenly. "I'm simply outlining the potential hazards. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say."
Prester smiled grimly. "Sterling, I'm spending a million and a half bucks on your theory. Frankly, I don't like the odds."
Lancaster rose and began pacing, as he had that day in Leclair's cluttered study when the venture was first proposed, and then he sat down abruptly. "Look, I appreciate your caution, but we can't afford to be paralyzed by fear. The Leviathan is out there, and we want it. I'm the boss of the best damn divers in the world, and I have faith in their ability to handle whatever they find down there. Sure, there might be some bumps and bruises, and a few tight squeezes past those cannon holes, but that's what I trained them for. We can't let a little danger stop us from completing the expedition. If he's right and I'm wrong, it's going to make our job more difficult but not impossible. I don't give a damn if every cannon on that ship wound up on the bottom of the sea. We still can get in there. Bertie, you of all people know we've got a demolitions expert"----he looked at Blackwood while Leclair, following the glance, sniffed disdainfully---"whom I'm convinced could break into Fort Knox if he had to. The Explorer has two little torpedoes it can fire to blow away anything blocking our path. So let's not have any more defeatism and pessimism. The stakes are too high and too rewarding for anyone to feel negative before we sail. I have never offered anyone in this room a guarantee of success, including finding the Leviathan, let alone the gold. But I still consider the odds to be in our favor, in fact, Bertie, better than when you first asked me to quote the odds."
Affection and admiration were in Prester's voice as he replied, "Sterling, if you're that confident, I'm going to throw in with you. For a million and a half bucks, we're getting a shot at thirty million, or more. Those odds we can all l I've with..."
There were murmurs of approval, but it didn't escape Lancaster that none came from Jacques Leclair. The oceanographer simply lit one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes and looked pensive---almost glum, Sterling thought, and he knew why. He decided if there was going to be any friction, it might as well surface right now so he could at least control it.
"Bertie indirectly has brought up a point that warrants discussion; namely, the disposition of the rewards awaiting us if we're successful. I've broached this subject with him before and got his typical 'Let's talk about it later.' I think we should talk about it tonight."
Lancaster paused, trying to judge their thoughts by their expressions. "From the very start, I've always felt this endeavor is both scientific and shall I phrase it--monetary. Finding and exploring the Leviathan will fulfill the mission's scientific goals, but considering the amount of money Mr. Prester has put into our venture, recovering the gold deserves equal and perhaps even greater priority. I, therefore, propose that if we succeed in our treasure-hunting efforts, Bertie Prester must be paid back in full for what he has invested thus far, plus interest at prime. After that, I suggest that the crew of this vessel receive, in addition to their regular wages, ten percent of the redemption value of the gold. The remainder will be divided equally among the seven people present here tonight, including Captain Knight. Is this satisfactory to everybody?"
Prester said, "Wait a second, Sterling." He was scribbling figures on a piece of paper and finally looked up. "Using a conservative estimate of thirty million for the wood after I'm repaid for expedition expenses, the ten crew members would divide about 3 million dollars among them. That leaves roughly twenty-seven million to be split seven ways----almost four million bucks apiece. Sterling just asked us if this arrangement is satisfactory. Well, I've got no quarrel with it whatsoever. How about the rest of you?"
A burst of applause was his answer. Out of the corner of his eye, Lancaster saw Leclair clapping, too, and he sighed imperceptibly in relief. Although he had to admit Billy's clapping reminded him of a man who had fallen asleep during a dull opera and had joined belatedly and guiltily in the applause that had awakened him. How could anyone be so blase about the prospects of getting a 4-million-dollar payoff? he wondered.
Captain Knight, maybe the only person in the room who didn't have euphoria painted on his face, decided this was an opportune time to bring up something that had been nagging at him.
He asked, "How much of this should the crew know? All they've been told is that we're going after the Leviathan and hope to bring up some valuable artifacts."
"And that they'll share in some unspecified proceeds if there are any proceeds," Prester added. "I think that at this stage that's enough information. I had in mind paying them a little bonus even if we didn't recover the wood. Any pictures or film footage we obtain of the wreck should be quite valuable in themselves."
Leclair nodded energetically as he turned to Lancaster.
"Sterlin, I trust you'll allow adequate inspection of the wreck before any salvage operations. Filming what we find down there will be an absolute necessity."
"That's why we acquired the new underwater color camera the Japanese developed. It's in the observation chamber, just below the bridge."
"How the hell can you take pictures at that depth?" Blackwell wanted to know. "That'd be like tryin' to see the bottom of an inkwell."
"Well," Lancaster acknowledged, "it's not like walking around Times Square at noon on a sunny day. Yet in 1963, the nave obtained photographs of the sunken nuclear submarine Thresher, and she was on the ocean floor at eighty-four hundred feet. We've got a superior strobe camera."
Blackwood grumbled. "Eighty-four hundred feet ain't twelve thousand, pal."
Leclair said, "I doubt whether it's any darker at twelve thousand, Mr. Blackwood. I should point out that some years ago, at the request of the American Historical Society, the U.S. Coast Guard obtained pictures of the ocean bottom in the alleged area of the sinking. It certainly demonstrated the feasibility of photography at that depth. If we have problems, they'll be of our own doing---like stirring up mud or dislodging debris."
The last remark was aimed at Lancaster in a tone that somehow managed to sound accusatory. "We'll try to be neat. "We'll try to be neat, Billy," Lancaster assured him, hoping he had kept sarcasm out of his voice. "I'd say this has been a most productive session. Alex, do you think we can get underway the day after tomorrow?"
The taciturn captain nodded. "All supplies should be aboard by fifteen hundred tomorrow. We're still working on that sonar gear, but that's almost finished. I'd say we can weigh anchor within the next thirty-six hours."
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Lancaster was heading for the cocktail lounge when Knight stopped him. "Stay behind a minute, Sterling."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"The Thresher. I knew her captain----a damn good submariner."
"What's your point, Alex? Nobody blamed him for what happened. That submarine was a lemon. The Thresher always needed repairs and if I remember right, the Navy determined she had been badly built."
Knight's square jaw tightened and his teeth clamped down on the corncob's stem. "She started breaking up at an estimated depth of less than two thousand feet. At eighty-four hundred feet, she was scattered all over the ocean floor. You're taking that sub down to twelve thousand---that's my point."
"We've tested her at fourteen thousand, Al. Not to worry. Besides, the Thresher's maximum diving depth was only a thousand feet; she would have imploded at two thousand even if she hadn't had structural deficiencies. What the hell's bugging you?"
The captain took several puffs on the pipe before replying. "Oh, I dunno. Maybe it's because I once saw a hell of a lot of men die. My men, too. Maybe a surface sailor's inherent distrust of subs. You couldn't have gotten me into the Silent Service if you had promised me the Congressional Medal of Honor for making a fifty-foot dive in peacetime. Or maybe it's the thought of you people working in that godawful depth. You've all become my friends in a very brief time, even Blackwood. I'll bet if I had had him in the Navy, he'd have spent more time in the brig than on a deck. And then there's Prester. I've never known a finer man, let alone a finer boss. Which reminds me, I know you'll be making the dives, but who else?"
Lancaster smiled ruefully. "That's been one of my headaches from the start. Everyone wants to know if the Leviathan existed. To answer your question, Blackwood, of course. Leclair and Barnes each have had diving experience and can easily be trained to handle the Explorer by themselves. We deliberately simplified and automated most of its controls for one-man operation. Riker won't need much training. I'll be taking him with me for at least one exploratory dive, but only as an observer and guide."
Knight grunted unhappily. "Seems to me, you would have been better off hiring a couple of professionals like Blackwood, maybe some guys with actual sub experience. You're putting a lot of faith into a bunch of amateurs."
"Thought about it," Lancaster admitted, "but the fewer people involved, the larger our treasure shares. Besides, I wouldn't consider either Leclair or Barnes rank amateurs; they're no strangers to deep-sea work."
"What about Prester?"
Lancaster looked surprised. "Bertie? Frankly, I hadn't thought about using him. He's done a little diving but he has no special skills."
The captain snorted. "Let me tell you something, Sterling. If you don't let him at least make one dive, he'll tell me to turn this ship around and head back to New York. There's no way you can keep him out of those subs. Hell, he doesn't need the gold. He doesn't even care if you don't recover a single damn plank. The glory of just finding the Leviathan is enough for him. But he'll have to see it with his naked eyes; he'll consider anything short of that a personal failure. And Bertie Prester doesn't like personal failures."
Lancaster said soberly, "I hadn't counted on that development. Never even discussed it with him. I've always assumed he'd let others do the dirty work. I'm going to have to think this over."
"Think long and hard," Knight warned. "Frankly, I hope you can talk him out of it. I'll sleep better."
Lancaster said doubtfully, "I imagine it would be rather hard to talk Bertie Prester out of anything he's set his heart on. Join me for a drink?"
"Naw, I'm going to check on that sonar again. See ya at dinner."
"Right." Lancaster watched the hydrant-shaped figure of the captain waddle toward the door leading to the deck, then sighed in anticipation of trying to solve the latest problem. It was solved for him in the next ten minutes.615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVYnM1ZUAei
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Prester, a glass of bourbon and water in his hand, announced, "I've got a great idea. , If we do find the Leviathan, we should name the site something fitting, something that honors the ship's legacy and our discovery."
Riker considered Prester's suggestion, then offered his own. "Leviathan's Rest is good, but we might want to go with something that captures the mystery and history a bit more. What about 'Cartwright's Deep' or 'Jefferson's Gamble'? Both names reflect the ship's intriguing past and the figures tied to it."
Prester dismissed this with a wave. "Naw. Riker, we need something that stands out and commands respect. How about 'Leviathan's Grave'? It reflects the grandeur and the finality of our find. Plus, it adds an air of solemnity to the discovery. What do you think, Lancaster? Does 'Leviathan's Grave' have your approval?"
"Not bad. Not bad at all. We were going to name it, anyway, for communication purposes. I rather like 'Leviathan's Grave'. Bertie, you have just contributed far more than a mere million and a half dollars."
"Great!" Prester enthused. "I think I'll be taking a closer look at Explorer from now on. I'll be taking a ride on her, right Sterling?"
Lancaster couldn't force either a yes or no out his mouth and settled for a nod so slight that it fell short of classifying as affirmative. But before they broke for dinner, however, he got Prester off to one side, out of everyone's hearing.
"Bertie, to tell you the truth, I hadn't planned on your making any dives. I honestly don't think it's a good idea."
"Bullshit! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."
"For one thing, you have no experience with this kind of thing. If things get a little tough, I'd want someone with me who knew what the hell he was doing."
"Gimme a break, Sterling. I've made plenty of deep-sea dives. Just ask Thaddeus."
"Yes, but I've been training him---Billy and Kim, too."
Prester stared at him, half in anger and half unbelievingly. "You're training them and leaving me on the sidelines? Who the hell do you think's paying for this junket?"
"You are, but...."
"Stuff that but up your ass, Sterling. If you're gonna train them, I demand that I get the same chance."
"Kim's had considerable deep-sea exploration experience, Bertie, and she's a professional oceanographer, as well. I'm sorry, but in my mind, she's more qualified than you are. For the same reason, I consider Leclair more qualified; like Barnes, he's a trained scientist and you're not. Neither is Blackwood, I'll admit, but you know why we need him down there. As for Riker, he knows more about the Leviathan's structure than all of us put together."
Prester sat down heavily in the nearest chair. "I wouldn't want to put this matter on a 'take me or else' basis," he said ominously.
Lancaster said very quietly, "Bertie, I don't like threats, and I'm going to forget the one you just implied. But I do realize how important this is to you. Right after breakfast tomorrow, I'll start checking you out in Explorer. But no promises; you have to qualify and I'll judge you on performance."
Prester appeared mollified. "Fair enough. And now that we've settled that, Sterling, when in the hell have you been training the others? I've never seen anything like that going on."
"You've either been conducting business as usual in your downtown office, or you've been too busy helping Knight to even notice. Mostly, they've been familiarizing themselves with the sub's controls and instruments."
"Well, I guess I gotta ask. How are they doing?"
"Better than I expected. Blackwood's quick to learn. He has a natural mechanical aptitude and an excellent grasp of fundamentals. Barnes is very good, too. Billy's the one who surprised me; he's almost as capable as Thaddeus, and with a little more practice, I think he'll surpass him. By the time we reach the site, I have half a mind to let Billy try a solo dive."
"Jesus, think that's wise? I wouldn't want to go down alone, no matter how well you taught me."
Lancaster smiled. "Sending Leclair down by himself is preferable to sending him down with Thaddeus Blackwell. They're not what I'd charitably call compatible."
"Yeah," Prester agreed with a grin. "Well, let's go eat....and Sterling, thanks."
"My pleasure," Lancaster replied, "but a word of caution."
"What?"
"If you pilot a sub like you drive a car, God help us."
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Sterling Lancaster stood alone on the deck of the Phineas Cartwright, gazing at the jeweled skyline of New York City in the distance.
It was almost midnight. Although the air was oppressively hot and humid, Lancaster preferred it to the more comfortable but confining air-conditioned cabin he shared with Riker. He was enormously fond of Billy, but not as a roommate. Riker snored like a buzz saw and Lancaster was too restless to sleep, anyway.
They would sail at 0600 tomorrow morning and Lancaster always had insomnia the night before an important mission---not from fear but from the delicious excitement of facing the unexpected. That was the way he had always lived and, he admitted wryly, was probably the way he'd die---when the unknown turned out to be more formidable than what he had planned.
Not this time, however. He was confident they would achieve the first goal: discovering the Leviathan. He was equally sure they would salvage the wood. The only thing that kept nagging him was the conviction that they would have to dissect the old ship to get the wood.
Lancaster hadn't exactly been honest with Leclair. He was troubled by the realization that there was little hope of salvaging the wood and getting inside the ship without partially destroying it. The Leviathan, if it existed and was in the condition described, would require delicate yet invasive techniques to even begin exploring its depths. They included the use of advanced diving suits and underwater cutting torches. He calculated in his mind the logistical nightmare this would entail – a series of controlled underwater detonations using shaped charges to precisely cut through the ship's hull, followed by the careful removal of debris using the Explorer. His divers would need to be equipped with underwater cameras and lights to document the process and ensure they didn't miss anything crucial. This operation would be immensely risky and costly, with no guarantees of success, and he wasn't sure how Leclair would react to the full scope of what they were facing.
Despite the night's heat, he shivered, dimly sensing how Jacques and Billy felt about the Leviathan----the fascination so many had toward a ship whose legendary life and unexplained disappearance had kept her name alive for more than a century. There had been lost ships before, yet who remembered the names of those vessels? The Leviathan was something special---a symbol of motility, arrogance, bravery, stupidity, of beauty transformed into a hideous wooden corpse; of proud, indestructible power and strength that inexplicably vanished into thin air....
"I see you couldn't sleep, either."
Lancaster, startled, turned around. Kim Barnes was inspecting him gravely. She had no makeup on and was wearing a light bathrobe over pajamas, looking like a teenager heading for an illegal midnight snack.
"Worried about something?'' she asked.
"No, just thinking."
"About what?"
"About the Leviathan. What it must have been like to be aboard her."
She nodded understandingly. "I've often thought about that. You know, the daunting experience of being on a massive, experimental warship, the biggest of its kind, cutting through the waves with an almost eerie silence despite its side. The towering masts, the expansive sails looming above me like giants, casting long shadows over the decks."
"You're forgetting the darker side of life on the Leviathan: the isolation, the harsh discipline, and the ever-present threat of enemy attacks. You would have faced long months at sea, battling not only the elements but also the mental and physical strain of such a monumental undertaking. Besides, you don't know what happened to those men and how they coped with the extraordinary circumstances they found themselves in."
She took out a cigarette and he lit it for her. "Thanks. I can understand how you would have handled being in such a bizarre situation. You would have been brave, resourceful, and steadfast, just like the men who served on the Leviathan. It's a unique kind of courage, facing the unknown and pushing through despite the fear and uncertainty."
Lancaster nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You're right. I've been called a hero more times than I can count. But in the face of the unknown, I'm not sure I would have turned to God for guidance like a 19th-century man would have. It's a different time, a different mindset. I'd rely on my training and instincts, just like I do now."
They stared at the twinkling spires of Manhattan for a few minutes.
"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" he remarked.
"In a way," she said thoughtfully. "The night hides a lot of ugliness. That's why I love flying over a big city at night. You forget what it's really like. You look down and all you see is black velvet studded with diamonds, even the bridges look like strings of pearls."
"Well," he chuckled, "that's a picturesque description."
"Sterling, you've never been married, have you?" It was more of a statement than a question, and the sudden change of subject shocked him.
He said evasively, "Is that an assumption of yours or did someone tell you?"
"Jacques told me. Said they invented the phrase perennial bachelor just for you."
"Well, that's exaggerating. I'm afraid I've never met anyone I'd be eager to spend the rest of my life with."
She tossed her cigarette into the water and looked at him with a tiny, enigmatic smile. "I suppose I've gotten cynical about marriage, too, after being divorced twice. My first husband was a drunk and my second turned out to be a secret homosexual. So I keep waiting for the proverbial knight on a white charger."
Lancaster said quietly. "I happen to be an excellent rider," and her eyes widened.
"I'll just bet you are," Kim Barnes said. "For the time being, I'll settle for your just being my friend."
He managed to coat his reply with a nonchalance he didn't feel. "I think that's smart, Kim."
Their eyes met, and both knew they were hiding from the truth. Only the sound of other voices on the deck broke the spell and Lancaster looked around for the source.
"On the fantail," he said. "It's Prester and Alex Knight."
The billionaire and the captain were conversing in tones just loud enough for their voices to carry, but not loud enough to distinguish words. Kim Barnes seemed thankful for the interruption, but Lancaster pressed on.
"Kim, if I'm out of line asking this, forgive me, but is there something going on between you and Billy? You've been spending a lot of time together and, well, sometimes I've caught him looking at you in a way..."
He left the sentence incomplete because it didn't need to be completed. She said quickly, "Sterling, I adore him as a very gentle, kind person, and I respect him for the brilliant scientist he is. But there's no romance between us---not on my part, for sure. I've noticed the way he looks at me and I just hope he doesn't say something that will force me to let him down as gently as possible." Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Do I detect a little bit of jealousy?"
"More like concern," Lancaster said with a seriousness that she seemed to find funny. "Billy's my pal; he's a lonely man who's just come off a bad marriage, and I wouldn't want anything that might, um, develop in our own, um, relationship, to hurt him."
The last was delivered so stiffly that Barnes almost laughed, but she settled for a neutral, "Well, I guess I'd better get some sleep. G'night, Sterling."
"G'night, Kim."
Once more, their glances collided, but she quickly turned away, a little flustered. He watched her disappear down a gangway leading to the staterooms and resisted a strong impulse to follow her. Sleep might come even harder now, he thought with a stab of annoyance at his own weakness, and to avoid going back to his cabin right away, he found himself straining to hear what Prester and Knight were saying.
They were still conversing earnestly, but their voices had dropped; they almost seemed to be whispering. He finally gave up eavesdropping and headed back to his cabin, anticipating more tossing and turning.
Billy's snoring had subsided to a faint, acceptable rumble and while he did think of Kim briefly, this immediately detoured his mind in another direction: Jacques Leclair. Barnes might talk glibly about letting him down gently, but it wouldn't be that easy. he knew how sensitive Billy was, how badly that failed marriage had scarred him. His wife's infidelity had piled humiliation on top of Leclair's inherent shyness and inexperience, and the result was inevitable. His self-confidence was destroyed.615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2zDdH6bW9v
Yet these scientist guys possessed the faculty of shutting themselves off from mundane personal tensions. It was a pleasanter thought, and he had another just before falling asleep....
Tomorrow they'd weigh anchor.
However, it was just as well Sterling Lancaster hadn't heard the conversation o the fantail....615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP8srNVIQax
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"You asked for my opinion and I'm giving it to you," Knight was saying.615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQREj8KGDja
"Which I appreciate, even though I think you're being too damn pessimistic."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbeczNhhYJ4
"Realistic, not pessimistic. Look, Bertie, this thing has been put together too fast. For starters, the Anasazi or the Phineas Cartwright, whatever you want to call her, isn't the right ship for anything this complex. I told you you'd be better off chartering a regular salvage vessel already equipped with the stuff that's cost you a fortune to install on this bucket. Second..."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiOpexzoLu5
"Matter of personal pride," Prester interrupted. "Besides, chartering another ship would've involved too many people asking too many questions...."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnyBSEc0zN1
"Second, I don't like the way that sub is built, no matter what Lancaster says."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkVGfxC8hzN
"He dove it to fourteen thousand feet," Prester argued. "What more do you want?"615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzsKXrM4kZK
"More testing of how well a steel pressure hull will stand up to repeated dives to those depths. Oh, and I wasn't too impressed with the welding, either."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCQuttxAsIW
Prester said, a little testily, "Well, Sterling has confidence in them, and that's good enough for me. Got any more objections?"615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCpOB8PNu7C
"Look, I understand the allure of the Leviathan, but I have to be practical here. There’s no chance of even getting inside the wreck, let alone taking the wood. The hull is likely to be encrusted with marine life and sediment, making it nearly impenetrable. Even if we manage to blow a hole into the hull, we don’t know what we'll find inside. It could be a tangled mess of decayed timbers, rusted iron, and mud, or worse, nothing at all. Have any of you taken into account the weight of the wood? Even if it’s still intact, getting it to the surface will be a monumental task. This isn't just about the wood's value; it's about the feasibility of the entire operation. We’re talking about lifting tons of material from a wreck that might collapse under its own weight once disturbed."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8uHgTzllpV
Prester leaned forward, his tone sharp and unwavering. "I understand your concerns, but you're underestimating what we're capable of. We've come prepared with the best technology and..."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWnP4Jv0MAa
Knight's expression remained steely as he responded, "Bertie, are you a football fan by any chance?"615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9cBJTQyT60
"Sure," Prester said, shocked at the change of subject."
"Because Sterling Lancaster makes one hell of a pregame fight talk. The trouble is, he doesn't have much of a game plan."615Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV2IhULsm6E
