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The tender pulled alongside the red hull, and Simms cut the engine after securing a line to a cleat at the stern. They clambered onto the oversized swim step and up a stainless steel ladder to where Des and Leonid were waiting in the morning sun.
“Good to see you!” Des called down. “I caught some of the news broadcasts about the excitement on the island. Can’t say I’m too upset to be out here.”
“We’re going to spend at least one night aboard, so we’re right there with you,” Sam said. He looked to Leonid. “And how are you, my Russian friend?”
Leonid scowled and waved a fly away. “We’re making progress,” he allowed, as though unhappy with the work. Sam knew better than to query him on what was wrong and instead looked over his shoulder at the pilothouse.
“Let’s see what you’ve been up to,” Sam said.
The interior of the pilothouse was a mirror of the previous day, with the exception of the images on the monitor, which revealed considerably more of the stone blocks that composed the wall. As the divers worked along the far end of the structure, clouds of debris and bubbles filled the surrounding water until it had all the clarity of mud.
“Looks like you’re getting a lot of it cleared,” Remi said. “Check out the size of those blocks. It must have taken years to quarry them and get them to shore, much less build the structure.”
“We cleaned off some of the base and it looks like they used a combination of landfill and smaller rock and gravel to create the islands. We’re estimating that the bay was only fifteen or so feet deep when it was built, based on that,” Leonid observed.
“Sounds like a safe bet,” Sam said, peering at the monitor. “Can you imagine the size of the earthquake to drop the bottom almost eighty feet?”
“Assuming that there hasn’t been more movement in the intervening years. Looking at this, I think it happened in stages. The first catastrophic shock, where the entire shelf shifted, possibly creating a fissure that sucked the shoreline into it. And then smaller events, each depressing the bottom farther.” Leonid sighed as though exasperated. “We’ll know for sure once we have more time to study it.”
Sam grinned. “Patience is a virtue, my friend. Nothing happens fast in this business, as you know.”
Leonid threw him a dark look. “One of the many things I hate about it. Did I mention that I’m susceptible to seasickness?”
“No, that was one of the few things you haven’t complained about.”
“Only because I didn’t know until I tried sleeping last night.”
Des snorted and tried to cover the sound with a cough. Remi smiled and Sam fought the urge to laugh.
“If you dive some, I understand that will equalize the motion and you’ll sleep like a baby,” Sam offered.
“You lie, don’t you?” Leonid said, but his voice sounded a little hopeful.
Sam’s face could have been carved from stone. “It’s true.”
“I know better than to trust you, American deceiver,” he replied.
The quiet of the pilothouse was shattered when a tiny speaker near the helm crackled and a disembodied metallic voice with a thick Aussie accent sounded from it.
“Captain. You there?” Kent Warren, the dive leader, called.
Des moved to the microphone and lifted it to his mouth. “Yes, Kent. What is it?”
“You probably can’t see it yet, but we cleared something that one of the big brains should come down and have a look at.”
Sam looked to Des with a raised eyebrow.
Warren sounded hesitant. “I could be wrong, but it looks to me like an entry.” He paused, and the comm line hissed with faint static. His next words sent a jolt through everyone on the bridge. “And unless I’m mistaken, it’s been used recently.?
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CHAPTER 22
Sam slipped the dive mask over his head and glanced at Remi, standing beside him in a wet suit. “Fits you like a glove,” he said, admiring her figure.
“It’s too loose, but I’ll manage. You ready to do this?”
“I was born ready.”