Blue Gold

Zavala was a brilliant marine engineer who had directed the construction of many ma

The sub was originally named the DeepSee, an homage to its predecessor and to its intended function as an exploration vehicle. When Admiral Sandecker heard the designation he cringed at the pun. Shown the scale model, he gri

The NUMA ship cruised south from San Diego into Mexican waters, staying well offshore. Near Ensenada the Sea Robin began to follow the coast more closely. The ship passed several fishing boats and a couple of cruise ships. Before long the vessel was about a half mile from the open mouth of the cove Austin and

Zavala had scouted out earlier from land. Austin scoured the rugged cliffs through powerful binoculars and studied the back of the tortilla factory. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Large signs posted on either side of the lagoon warned of dangerous hidden rocks. Highlighting the warnings were caution buoys strung across the opening.

The Sea Robin sailed beyond the cove and headed into a small inlet. As the anchor slid into the sea, Zavala eased into the mini-sub and made his last-minute checks. With the dome se cured the cabin was watertight and carried its own air supply. Zavala was dressed comfortably in shorts and his new purple Hussong's T-shirt.

Austin, who would be immersed in water, was suited out in full scuba gear and extra air tank. He climbed onto the back of the Brogan with his fins resting on the pontoons and fastened a quick-release harness attached to the sub. The dome was latched tight. At his signal a crane hoisted the sub in the air, then lowered it into the sea. Austin unhooked the slack holding lines and gave Zavala the go-ahead to dive. Within seconds they were sinking into the sea in an explosion of bubbles.

The battery-operated thrusters kicked into action with a high-pitched hum, and Zavala steered for open water. The sub rounded the point of jagged sea-wet rocks and followed a course directly into the mouth of the lagoon. They stayed at a depth of thirty-five feet, moving well under Mach One at a comfortable five knots. They used a combination of Austin's observations and the mini's instruments to navigate. Austin kept his head low to reduce water resistance. He was enjoying the trip, particularly the schools of brightly colored fish that scattered like wind blown confetti at their approach.

Austin was glad to see fish for a less aesthetic reason. Their presence meant the water was still safe for living things. He had not forgotten that unknown forces killed an entire pod of huge creatures that were hardier and more adaptable to their marine environment than a puny human being. Although sensors in the sub's skin automatically sampled and tested the ambient waters,

Austin knew that by the time he learned conditions were un healthy it might be too late.

'Approaching the mouth of the lagoon. We're going right up the middle," Zavala reported. "Plenty of room on either side. Mooring line from a warning buoy off to starboard."

Austin turned to the right and saw a thin black line ru

"Yeah," Zavala said as they cruised by. "No rocks under the buoy."

"Bet you a bottle of Cuervo that all the other warnings are phony, too."

"I'll take the bottle but not the bet. Someone wants to keep people out of here."

"That's obvious. How's this buggy handling?"

"Getting into a little backwash from the water swishing out of the lagoon, but it's still easier than driving on the Beltway," Zavala said, referring to the highway that separates Washington from the rest of the country geographically and politically. "She handles like an-uh-oh."

"What's wrong?"

"Sonar is picking up multiple targets. Lots of them. About fifty yards dead ahead."

Austin had been lulled into complacency by the tranquility of the trip. In his imagination he pictured a line of underwater guards waiting in ambush.

"Divers?"

"Sonar hits are too small. Little or no movement."

Austin strained his eyes in an attempt to pierce the gauzy blue.

Thinking ahead, he said, "What's the Brogan's top speed if we have to get out of here in a hurry?"

"Seven knots, pedal to the metal. She was made more for vertical travel than horizontal, and we're carrying a couple of hundred extra pounds of beef."

"I'll join Weight Watchers when we get back," Austin said. "Move in real slow, but be prepared to make a dash for it."

They crawled ahead at half speed. Within moments dozens of dark objects materialized, stretching from the surface to the bottom and rolling off both directions in a great wall.

Fish.

"Looks like a net," Austin advised. "Stop before we get snagged."

The Brogan slowed to a complete halt and hovered in place.

Austin ducked his head in reflex as a streamlined silhouette glided in from above and behind him. The shark was only there for an instant, long enough for Austin to see its round white eye and to estimate the hungry predator's length at more than six feet. Its toothy jaws opened then clamped shut to grab half a struggling fish in one bite before disappearing from sight with a flick of its high tail fin.

Zavala had seen the same thing. "Kurt, are you okay?" he shouted.

Austin laughed. "Yeah. Don't worry. That guy doesn't want a tough old human to chew on when he's got a whole seafood buffet."

"Glad to hear you say that, because he invited some of his friends for di

Several more sharks swooped in, grabbed a bite, then, wary of the sub, quickly left. It was less a wild feeding frenzy than a gathering of discriminating gourmands picking from the choicest items on the menu. Hundreds of fish were caught in the- fine mesh. They came in all sizes, shapes, and species. Some, still alive, were making fruitless attempts to free themselves, only to attract the attention of the sharks. Others had only their heads left, and bones marked the remains of many more.

"No one has been tending the net," Austin said.

"Maybe someone hung it here to keep nosy guys like us out."

"I don't think so," Austin said after a moment's reflection. "That net is made of monofilament. You could cut your way through it with a nail clipper. No electrical wiring, so it doesn't seem to have an alarm signal attached."

"I don't get it."

"Let's think about it. Whatever, sir! that lagoon killed a pod of whales. The locals would begin asking questions if they started seeing hundreds of dead fish. The folks who bring you Baja Tortillas don't like attention. So they stick the net here to keep the fish out and any dead ones in."

"Makes sense," Zavala agreed. "What next?"

"Keep on going."

Zavala's fingers danced over the computer screen that con trolled the sub's functions. Two mechanical arms on the front of the Brogan unfolded and extended like a telescope to within inches of the net. The claws at the end of each arm grabbed the mesh and tore it open like an actor parting a curtain. Pieces of fish in various states of decomposition drifted off in every direction.