Man From Atlantis Page 9

  Mark was near the edge of the pool.

  “Will you trust me?”

  Slowly he reached up and touched her outstretched hand.

  The admiral sat behind his broad desk. He swiveled back and forth in a slow arc. His eyes were narrowed in concentration. His hands were pressed together to form a steeple, his thumbs against his chin, his index fingers against the tip of his nose.

  Elizabeth sat in an armchair facing the desk. She was dressed in white pants and smock. Her left leg was crossed over her right, her hands primly stacked on her left knee.

  Mark stood with his back to them, staring out at the ship channel. He was wearing blue Navy work denims, and dark glasses.

  They were the only ones in the room. Over the door the SECRET sign was lit.

  Finally the admiral spoke. “You are suggesting a very hard bargain, Dr. Merrill. I sense you feel you have me at a disadvantage, and mean to make full use of it.”

  “No sir,” she said calmly. “I just think that you are asking an awful lot from Mark. He deserves something of equal value in return. What I am requesting in his behalf is the only thing I know of that I believe he wants very much. It’s a way for both of you to get what you want. Mark finds your sub. You let him go home.”

  He stopped swiveling and leaned forward over the desk on his forearms. “Doctor, if he’s suffering from amnesia as you reported, going home seems an unlikely possibility. After all, he must have got terribly lost and confused to end up on our shores near death. To send him back now might be akin to releasing to the jungle an ape raised in captivity. Don’t you fear for his survival?”

  Elizabeth glanced uncomfortably over at Mark, who remained motionless with his back to them, looking out the window. “Medical science can’t determine the duration of his amnesia, Admiral. It may be only a recent occurrence that wouldn’t interfere with his basic experience and instincts. No, I wouldn’t worry about him returning to the sea.”

  “And what if it didn’t work? What if he ended up washed back up on the beach just like before?”

  “I would hope, Admirai, that if he ever returned, he would always be welcome here.”

  “Doctor, this is the Navy! This isn’t some mission where the misfits of the world can drift in and out for meals and showers whenever they please!”

  He leaned back, huffing, his face flushed. Gradually he relaxed. “Sorry. Forgive my outburst.”

  “In any event, Admirai,” she went on calmly, “one thing is certain. Mark wants to return to the ocean. He wants to be free.”

  “And in this particular instance we’re dealing with here, he wants to go on this mission with no tether line.”

  “I’m sure he won’t go into the water with it.”

  “Not even for his own safety?”

  “No. You’ll just have to trust him.”

  “And with just one supervisor to whom he is responsible—you.”

  “You’ll have to trust me also. And I’m the only one he trusts. That must be quite clear to you-now.”

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They averted their eyes from each other.

  Then the admirai addressed her quietly. “Doctor, you’d better be right. For both our sakes.”

  They locked eyes for a moment. Then the admira! snapped open a file in front of him and took out a sheaf of documents. He spread a series of pictures across the desk. “This is the sub that’s down.”

  Elizabeth rose and stepped to the desk. “Mark?” He turned, and she motioned him over. “These are the pictures of what you’ll be looking for.”

  Mark stared down at the pictures of the Sea Quest, an odd-looking acrylic globe on catamaran skids, with various arms, sensors, ports, lights, and cameras visible on the outside. His eyes shifted slightly to the pictures of the two-man crew: standing at attention, leaning against the sub, crouching together and smiling at the camera. He stared closely at each picture on the desk before moving to the next, as if committing their details to memory.

  Then he looked up at the admirai.

  “These were the two men on board, Commanders Philip Roth and David Hendricks. You find us this sub and the bodies of the men...”

  Mark glanced quickly at Elizabeth.

  “... and I’ll consider your request.”

  Elizabeth tensed. “It’s not a request, Admiral. It’s a deal or the whole thing’s...”

  “Yes, Doctor?” He smiled faintly.

  She clenched her fists and her voice exploded: “This man has a name! Mark Harris! And he has rights! Just like—”

  “I know his name,” the admiral’s voice rose too, “and I know his rights! He has whatever rights I say he has! And I don’t need any rudder orders from you!”

  His big fist thumped down on his desk. They glared at each other.

  Then Mark’s hand came down firmly to cover the admiral’s fist.

  The admiral looked up, startled.

  Mark’s other hand came down softly on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  “Yes.” Mark’s voice stunned them. “I say yes to the admiral.”

  They could only gape as he spoke for the first time.

  Mark nodded slowly and looked at each of them in turn, his face impassive, his hands on them with gentle firmness. “I say yes.”

  The room fell silent. Mark shifted his left hand from the admiral’s fist up to his shoulder, and he applied soft, insistent pressure to both him and Elizabeth, guiding them back into their seats. He looked at the pictures on the desk.

  “I will find your Sea Quest. And your... bodies.”

  chapter 5

  Given their knowledge that he had fully developed vocal cords, that Mark suddenly spoke was not as curious as why he had not spoken before. But whenever Elizabeth questioned him about it, he just shook his head.

  Still, his speaking now was of enormous assistance in their hurrying ahead with preparations for the mission. That he could make statements and reply to questions cut the time it took to deal with him in half. He spoke simply and seldom. He was not one for chitchat. He responded when asked something, asked questions himself when necessary, or offered brief comments when appropriate.

  It was early evening when the small, blue Navy minibus carrying Mark and Elizabeth and their equipment pulled up near the USS Moon River, a World War II submarine tender converted to scientific use, moored at the dock.

  The deck of the gray ship was alive with seamen at work among the thick cables anking in and out of the diving well’s open hatches, with men manning lines and davits and cranks and hammers and wrenches. The air was filled with hammering and hollering and creaking as preparations were completed. Men walked up the gangplank laden with gear and returned to the dock empty-handed for additional equipment.

  Elizabeth and Mark approached the gangplank, stood aside while a row of men passed, then walked up and stepped onto the deck.

  One of the men who was seated on the deck working with wrenches on some diving gear looked up. He was broad-built and sturdy, with a square face and square hands, and dark, curly hair. He wiped his oil-smeared hands on a rag, rose to his feet, and he walked over to them. Still wiping his hands, he smiled broadly and said, “How you doin’? One of you must be Dr. Merrill.”

  Elizabeth smiled back. “I’m Dr. Merrill. This is Mark Harris.”

  The man stuck out his hand, then quickly pulled it back and wiped some more. “Glad to meet you. I’m the master diver, Ernie Davis. Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mark looked around curiously, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

  “Well, Doctor, you runnin’ the show?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Davis.”

  “Good deal. That’s just fine.” He cocked his head to look at her, then shook it slightly. “just fine. Let me take you to the OIC, Mr. Johnson.”

  He led them past bunches of sailors absorbed in their preparations, around some coiled hawsers, under networks of electronic wires, to a calmer part of the deck where Lieutenant Comman
der Arnie Johnson stood.

  Davis made the introductions as the ship’s commander scrutinized the pair.

  “Well, let’s see what we have here,” Johnson said. “As I understand it, Ernie will take Mr. Harris down on the platform, and he’ll go in at two hundred feet.” He looked at Mark. “What sort of rig are you using?”

  “Mr. Harris will be testing some new equipment,” Elizabeth put in quickly. “A re-breathing turtle pack with a self-heating luralite suit.”

  “That so? Well, somebody’s gotta test the new stuff. As for us, we still like our old Kirby-Morgans. Maybe we’re a little old-fashioned there. But we don’t have much time for testing. We’re working all the time, so our stuff’s gotta be tried and true. Old Kirby-Morgans. Right, Chief?”

  Ernie Davis nodded. “Keeps us from getting our tails caught in the cracks.”

  “You have tails?”

  All eyes quickly turned toward Mark.

  Ernie reflected Mark’s deadpan delivery. “I got ’em the same time they put in the gills.”

  “I see.” Mark nodded.

  Davis smiled. Johnson continued to stare uncertainly at Mark.

  “These divers and their jokes,” Elizabeth said, forcing a slight smile.

  Johnson looked at her. “By the way, Doctor, my orders show that Mr. Harris will not be using a tether line. I take it that’s not a joke.”

  “Correct.”

  He looked back at Mark. “Nobody steps off that platform at two hundred feet without a tether.”

  “Well, Mr. Harris does,” Elizabeth’s voice became firmer, “in this case. This new equipment requires exceptional freedom.”

  “Freedom’s fine, but at that depth we—”

  “So that’s the way it’ll be. We’ll all just follow the orders that you received. Are there any other problems?”

  “All right.” Commander Johnson rubbed the back of his neck. “But you know the area you’ll be running your tests is close by the spot where the Sea Quest went down.”

  “We know.”

  “And where the Russian research sub was lost last year.”

  “No, we didn’t—”

  “And the French sub went down there the year before. It’s a dangerous part of the world.”

  Mark and the commander studied each other.

  Elizabeth scuffed one toe on the deck. She gave the commander a warm smile. “I’m sure with your ship up top, Mr. Harris will be fine.”

  “Well, there’s not much we can do if he gets lost or tangled up down there, without a tether.”

  “We understand.”

  “I will be fine,” Mark said.

  “Mr. Davis will show you to your quarters. We cast off in an hour.”

  The commander spun on his heel and walked off.

  Elizabeth carefully stowed her gear. Then she washed her face, combed her hair, and put on a small amount of makeup. She sat on the edge of the bunk and stared at the wall. She soon became aware of faint groans in the hull as the ship moved from the dock, and a bit later felt a gentle heave as the ship moved into the open Pacific. She enjoyed the feeling of the ship’s movement, as she always did. But this was not a pleasure trip. Not even an ordinary work trip, where she might look forward to diving herself.

  This would be the supreme test for Mark Harris—in several ways. She dared hope it would not be the last. That he would not be hurt. That he would not disappear. That it would be successful.

  But even success in this case was not a pleasant thought. Success would mean that while finding and recovering the Sea Quest, he would also find and recover the body of Phil Roth. Success would be a sad event.

  Suddenly she felt very tired. She lay down on the bunk and closed her eyes, and soou the rhythmic rolling of the ship lulled her to sleep.

  Mark stared at himself in the mirror. He traced the outlines of his face with his fingers, and then ran his palms down the smooth skin of his chest. He took a deep breath and watched his chest expand.

  He ran the sink full of water and ducked his head into it. Elizabeth had arranged for a special tub to be installed in a little-used storeroom, and there he would later immerse himself for sleep. But meanwhile the sink would allow him a quick, restorative belt of water. He remained bent over the sink for several minutes, until there was a knock at the door.

  He put on his sunglasses and opened the door to see Ernie Davis, who smiled and held up a palm.

  “Hi there. Thought you might like to take a little tour of our ship, see what we got on board.”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on, grab a shirt. The boss is strict about no bare chests, especially when we got a dame on board.”

  “A dame.” Mark took his shirt off the wall hook and slipped it on.

  “Yeah, a looker too, ain’t she? You’re lucky. I’d love to test some stuff for her. We’ll check out the decompression units first, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  They wound through passageways and stooped through bulkheads and finally entered a control room with a large TV monitor.

  “This is our deck decompression chamber,” Davis said. “Maybe you been in one like it. Deep-diving-system Mark II Mod Zero. Let’s see who’s on TV.”

  They stepped to the monitor. It showed in the chamber a big blond man in a loose shirt and swim trunks seated, elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.

  “That is one of your divers,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, right. Jack Turner. Real deep-diving sucker. Strong as an ox. Little short on judgment,” Ernie tapped his head with the point of his finger; “likes to chase sharks around, punch ’em in the nose. But so long as we send him down with somebody stable he’s one of our best.”

  “When he comes back... you put him. in there.”

  “Regular decompression, sure. Same routine you’re used to.” He looked quizzically at Mark.

  “Better to have gills, like you.”

  Ernie narrowed his eyes. “You givin’ me the razz?” Then his look brightened and he winked. “Yeah, you got me, all right. Superdiver like you, I guess you got the right to razz me. I’m just a working stiff. Let’s grab a cup of java.”

  Three divers, two still in wet suits, were sitting at one galley table drinking coffee and bantering. They waved at Ernie when he stepped in.

  Ernie walked over, Mark right behind him. “Hey, Popeye, where’s the five you owe me?”

  One of the wet-suited divers banged his mug down. “Where’s the broad you owe me, you yo-yo?”

  “Jam it, Popeye. Wait’ll you get a look at this guy’s boss.” He turned to Mark. “This is Popeye. He’s big as a bear and almost twice as smart.” He laughed. “Popeye, this is Mark Harris. Civilian diver.”

  They all said hello and nodded greetings. Mark nodded back.

  Ernie guided Mark into a seat, shoved a mug in front of him, and filled it with coffee from a round silver pot. “Old Mark here, he’s gonna walk off the stage over by Harmony Ridge.” He slapped him on the back. “He’s real good with the razz. Cream and sugar?”

  Mark lifted the mug and smelled it. He put it back down on the table.

  Popeye slid over beside Ernie. “Harmony Ridge. Ain’t that where we got those funny sonar blips? Remember?”

  The other divers leaned forward over the table.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” one of them said. “The signals.”

  “Those weird signals,” Popeye said. “Just for a while. Then nothin’.”

  “Yeah, and just that one time. For a few minutes. Never could figure it out.”

  “You got any ideas on it, Ernie?”

  “Sure. Sea monsters.”

  “Probably. Big old jobs like they got in Loch Ness.”

  “No.” Heads turned toward Mark. “There are no sea monsters in the place you call ‘the trench.’”

  Ernie shrugged. “Thirty-six thousand feet down. Who could know?”

  “I know.” Mark looked at Ernie through his sunglasses. “I have been there.”

  There w
as an uncomfortable silente while the divers looked at their mugs. Then Ernie chuckled. He slapped Mark on the back. The other divers joined in the laughter.

  “See why I like him?” Ernie said. “He catches you that way. Sucks you right in. He’s all right.”

  “What you goin’ down after?” one of the divers asked Mark.

  “Testing. Equipment.”

  “What kind?”

  Mark looked at him silently.

  “1 don’t think he’s supposed to talk about it,” Ernie said. “Some secret re-breathing garbage.”

  “Down there?” The diver shook his head. “Wow.”

  “Well, I guess we should be movin’ on, Mark.” Ernie stood up. “Don’t blame you for passing on the coffee. That’s another thing we’re old-fashioned about on this ship—old Navy coffee.”

  The ship plowed through the dark ocean, churning up a wake that sparkled under the light of a half-moon. The waves swooshed by the sides and the engines rumbled below decks. Wind of the mid-Pacific sang in the rigging and antennae above.

  Mark leaned against the railing and stared down finto the black sea. He was the only figure on deck until Elizabeth approached from behind and leaned on the railing beside him.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” she said softly, “for me at least.” The warm wind tossed her hair and curled it around her face. “I suppose for you it’s not as great a pleasure—the moon, the wind, the air—as it is for... someone like me.”

  He stared silently at the steely black swells.

  “Are we close to your home, Mark?”

  He raised his head slightly to look out across the ocean.

  “You still remember nothing about where in the ocean you’re from?”

  “Perhaps... when I am deep in the ocean... I will remember.”

  She was silent for a moment. She pulled a strand of hair out of her eyes and looked at him. “Perhaps when you’re deep in the ocean you’ll forget that we’re up here waiting for you.”

  “No.” His answer was quick and firm.