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"An oil tanker passed by ten minutes ago," answered Hoker. "And what looks to be a tug with a trash barge under tow is approaching from upriver."
"Probably going to dump its load further out in the gulf," Pitt surmised. "Won't hurt to keep a sharp eye on it."
"Ready to burn," announced Rudi Gunn, who stood looking up at the monitors, a pair of earphones with an attached microphone clamped on his head.
"Okay, clear the divers off the site," ordered Pitt.
Heidi entered the control room wearing a tan corduroy jump suit, a tray with ten steaming coffee cups held carefully in front of her. She passed them around to the engineering crew, offering the last one to Pitt.
"Have I mis
sed anything?" she asked.
"Perfect timing. We're going for the first burn. Keep your fingers crossed that we laid the right amount of Pyroxone in the right place."
"What will happen if you didn't?"
"Not enough, and We accomplish nothing. Too much in the wrong place, and half the side of the ship caves in, costing us days we can't afford. You might compare us with a wrecking crew which is demolishing a building floor by floor. Explosives have to be set in exact positions for the interior structure to collapse within a prescribed area."
"Flasher is set and counting," reported Gunn.
Pitt anticipated the question in Heidi's mind. "A flasher is an electronically timed incendiary device that ignites the Pyroxone."
"Divers are free of the ship and we are counting," said Gunn. "Ten seconds."
Everyone in the control room focused their eyes on the monitors. The countdown dragged by while they tensely awaited the results. Then Gunn's voice broke the heavy atmosphere.
"We are burning."
A bright glare engulfed the Empress of Ireland's starboard topside, and two ribbons of white incandescence curled out from the same source and raced around the deck and bulkheads, joining together and forming a huge circle of superheat. A curtain of steam burst above the fiery arc and swirled toward the surface.
Soon the framework in the center began to sag. It hung there for nearly a minute, refusing to give way.
Then the Pyroxone melted the last tenacious bond and the aging steel fell silently inward and vanished onto the deck below, leaving an opening twenty feet in diameter. The molten rim of the ring turned red and then gray, hardening again under the relentless cold of the water.
"Looking good!" said Gunn excitedly.
Hoker threw his clipboard in the air and whooped. Then they all began laughing and applauding. The first burn, the crucial burn, was a critical success.
"Lower the grappling claw," Pitt said sharply. "Let's not waste a minute clearing that rubble out of there."
"I have a contact."
Not everyone's focus had been on the monitors. The shaggy haired man at the side-scan sonar recorder had kept his eyes on the readout chart. In three steps Pitt was behind him. "Can you identify?"
"No, sir. Distance is too great to enhance with any detail. Looked like something dropped off that barge passing to port."
"Did the target glide out on an angle?"
The sonar operator shook his head. "Dropped straight down."
"Doesn't read like a diver," said Pitt. "The crew probably heaved a bundle of scrap or weighted trash overboard."
"Shall I stay on it?"
"Yes, see if you can detect any movement." Pitt turned to Gunn. "Who's manning the submersible?"
Gunn had to think a moment. "Sid Klinger and Marv Powers."
