The sonar images revealed a steep and rocky bottom, which dropped from a fi fty-foot depth near the shoreline to over two hundred feet in the center of the strait. Dirk had to play yo-yo with the sonar cable, raising and lowering the fish to match the changing depths.

Their first hour of searching revealed little of interest, simply a uniform sea bottom littered with rocks and an occasional sunken log. Trevor quickly grew bored watching the repetitive sonar image and turned his attention to the LNG tanker. The big ship had fin ally lumbered into the strait, cruising to the north of them at a snail’s pace. It eventually inched around the northern tip of Gil Island and disappeared from sight.

“I’d love to know where she’s headed,” Trevor said.

“When we get back to Seattle, I’ll see if our agency resources can find out,” Summer said.

“I’d hate to think she’s dumping that CO2 at sea.”

“I can’t imagine that would be the case,” she replied. “It would be too dangerous for the crew if the winds shifted.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, something just doesn’t add up.”

They were interrupted by Dirk’s voice from the cabin.

“Got something.”

Summer and Trevor poked their heads in and gazed at the sonar monitor. The screen showed a thin spindly line on the seafloor that ran off to the side.

“Might be a pipe,” Dirk said. “Definitely appears man- made. We should pick up more on the next lane.”

They had to wait ten minutes, turning in front of the island and heading back into the strait on the next lane before they spotted it again. The thin line angled across the monitor, running in a northwesterly direction.

“Looks too big to be a communications line,” Summer said, studying the monitor.

“Hard to figure what would be out here,” Trevor remarked. “Outside of a few primitive hunting-and-fi shing cabins, Gil Island is uninhabited.”

“Has to lead somewhere,” Dirk said. “As long as it’s not buried, we’ll be able to find out where.”