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She nodded, understanding now why the man had been selected as a replacement and why he had already undergone prior training. “Piezophiles are organisms that survive under extreme pressures. Like in deep-sea trenches.”
“I’ve been studying such species to better understand how our planet’s geology coevolved with life. But my main funding supports a search for—”
The elevator bumped to a stop.
Monk used the moment to ask a question of their new member. “Whoisfunding your research, Dr. Lee? Your university?”
“Of course, but also a generous grant from PLASSF.”
Phoebe didn’t recognize the acronym.
Adam did. “China’s Strategic Support Force?”
Datuk nodded. “Along with NASA.”
Monk matched Adam’s confused expression. “You’re funded bytwodifferent space agencies?”
Before the biochemist could respond, the elevator doors opened into the noisy chaos of the stern’s open hold. Men and women piled inside the cage, pushing them all out.
Phoebe followed the others, struggling to keep abreast of the men and to understand this sudden addition to their crew. The air reeked of saltwater and diesel fuel. They headed past the climate-controlled hangar where the ship’s DSV was housed during transit. The vehiclehad already been pulled free and hung in a steel A-frame over the water.
As it came into view, Phoebe forgot all about the others.
What man can compete with that?
She stumbled out onto the stern deck and gaped at their means of transportation. Their pilot—a muscular, auburn-haired Aussie named Bryan Finch—stood atop the vehicle. He bellowed and gestured to the support crew as the vessel was lowered into the water.
Phoebe studied the DSV. The submersible had been built on the frame of a Triton 36000/2. Only this one had been designed slightly larger, big enough to house five people instead of the standard two. It retained its boxy shape, all to protect a hollow sphere of Grade 23 titanium at its heart, which would carry its passengers. The forward edge of the sphere protruded out the front, forming a clamshell made of thick acrylic glass and framed by the same titanium.
The other unique feature of the DSV was a pair of gull wings that lay flat against its flanks. They could be swept upward once underwater. Their undersides were loaded with additional lights and cameras. When deployed at depth, the wings allowed the craft to glide with precision, driven by the vehicle’s ten thrusters.
It was those wings that also gave their vehicle its name—theCormorant—a seabird capable of diving fifty meters underwater.
Phoebe grinned.
Only this bird will be going far deeper.
8:15P.M.
Adam sank into his seat inside the titanium sphere. He had never considered himself claustrophobic. It was not a good trait for a geologist, a profession that often required one to be underground. But when their pilot sealed the hatch overhead, his breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded harder.
His reaction had less to do with being sealed inside a three-cubic-meter titanium ball and more aboutwherethat ball was headed.
Six miles down.
The pilot—Bryan Finch—shimmied past the passengers and took his place behind the controls. Phoebe had commandeered the copilot’s seat to the man’s left. Monk sat behind her, flanked by Datuk Lee.
It left the lone seat at the back for Adam, which he didn’t mind. He wanted to keep an eye on the Malaysian biochemist ahead of him. The man’s sudden inclusion rankled Adam’s suspicions, especially upon learning of the scientist’s connection to the Chinese and knowing the wreck upon which they were about to dive.
He had already been on edge after hearing Monk’s story of what had befallen his comrades in Singapore. From the bloodshed and subterfuge, the resources committed, there had to be more going on with the Chinese than just the cover-up of a missing submarine.
“Flooding the trunking and ballast tanks,” Bryan reported after finishing an inspection and system check.
A muffled gurgling sounded all around theCormorant.Each of the back seats had its own window at knee level, and the pair in front had a more panoramic view through the domed clamshell. As the DSV sank, the water level rose across the glass and swamped over the top of the vehicle.
“Down we go, mates,” Bryan said with a big smile.
Adam breathed heavier, fighting another wave of panic. He eyed the row of carbon-fiber oxygen tanks. He had been told there was enough air for three days, which should be plenty as theCormorant’s batteries would only last sixteen hours.
