“Bloodhound, this is Narwhal. We’re seeing a rapid deterioration in the weather conditions up here. Request you break off survey and return to the surface.”

A long pause followed Gunn’s transmission, and then a static-fi lled reply was heard.

“Roger, Narwhal,” came a gruff voice with a Texas accent. “Breaking off survey in thirty minutes. Bloodhound , over and out.”

Gunn started to reply, then thought better of it. It was pointless to argue with the pair of hardheads at the other end, he thought. Yanking off the headset, he silently shook his head, then sank into a high-back chair and waited for the half hour to pass.

Chapter 24

24

LIKE THE CANINE IT WAS NAMED FOR, THE BLOOD- hound scoured the earth with its nose to the ground, only the ground was two thousand feet beneath the surface of the Beaufort Sea and its nose was a rigid electronic sensor pod. A titanium-hulled two-man submersible, the Bloodhound was purpose-built to investigate deepwater hydrothermal vents. The submerged geysers, which spewed superheated water from the earth’s crust, often spawned a treasure trove of unusual plant and sea life. Of greater interest to the men in the NUMA submersible were the potential mineral deposits associated with many hydrothermal vents. Discharged from deep under the seabed, the vents often spewed a mineral-rich concoction of small nodules containing manganese, iron, and even gold. Advances in underwater mining technology made the thermal vent fields potentially significant resources.

“Water temperature is up another degree. That ole smokestack has got to be down here somewhere,” drawled the deep voice of Jack Dahlgren.

Sitting in the submersible’s copilot seat, the muscular marine engineer studied a computer monitor through steely blue eyes. Scratching his thick cowboy mustache, he gazed out the Plexiglas view port at a drab, featureless bottom starkly illuminated by a half dozen high-intensity lights. There was nothing in the subsea physical landscape to indicate that a hydrothermal vent was anywhere nearby.

“We might just be chasing a few hiccups from down under,” replied the pilot. Turning a sharp eye toward Dahlgren, he added, “A bum steer, you might say.”

Al Giordino grinned at the jest of the much younger Texan, nearly losing an unlit cigar that dangled from his mouth. A short, burly Italian with arms the size of tree trunks, Giordino was most at home riding a pilot’s seat. After spending years in NUMA’s Special Projects group, where he had piloted everything from blimps to bathy scaphes, he now headed the agency’s underwater technology division. For Giordino, building and testing prototype vessels such as the Bloodhound was more of a passion than a job.