Frozen Fire (34 page)

“I have Ms. Clark and Ambassador Deen in the room. Please go ahead.”

“About an hour and a half ago, I dispatched two teams of officers to investigate a report of a pleasure boat inside our waters, tacking around the southern end of the island. Our teams were on Jet Skis, and had established visual contact with the trespassing sailboat when they noticed a disturbance on the sea surface,” the captain began, her voice scratchy and fading in and out over the tenuous connection. “They reported that the surface appeared to be bubbling.”

“Bubbling?” Victoria and Charlie said in unison and looked at each other for confirmation that they’d heard it correctly.

“Yes, ma’am, sir. ‘Bubbling’ was their term. That stopped within minutes, they said, but then another area of the surface nearby erupted into something that resembled foam.”

“Captain, did I hear you correctly? Did you say ‘foam’?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, sir. Foam. One of the teams was about two hundred yards away from the boat they were approaching when they observed the phenomena. The other team was closer. Both events occurred between their vessels and the sailboat. Both teams report watching the foamy patch getting bigger and bigger, spreading outward over the sea surface. One team described it as appearing like dish soap foaming in a sink, the other said it resembled the head of a beer. Both stated it was coming up from beneath the surface and it didn’t generate waves or high seas.” The captain paused. “One of our officers had established radio contact with the boat. She was an eighty-foot clipper cruise boat, the
Floating Dutchman
. British flag, out of Andros in the Bahamas. The captain had dispatched a crew member and a civilian passenger in an inflatable to meet our officers. Shortly afterward, the captain of the clipper issued a Mayday call.”

She paused again for the time it might take to suck in a deep breath. “Sir, ma’am, the officers who were closer to the clipper said that the captain was trying to steer away from the foam but the area was expanding and—” Her voice broke and she stopped speaking.

“Maggy, what happened?” Victoria demanded when the woman didn’t continue.

Her voice was shaky as she resumed. “They—all of them—said that the foam reached the boat and—”

“And what?”

“The clipper fell into it, as if it were tipping over the edge of something,” the captain said, her voice revealing tears and the same stunned dis-belief that Victoria felt slam through her, that she saw wash over Charlie Deen’s face.

Silence roared in Victoria’s ears, drowning out all but the faintest hint that the captain was still speaking.

“I’m sorry, Maggy, I missed what you just said. Could you repeat what you said after you said the boat capsized?” she said, willing her pulse to slow, her voice not to shake.

“It didn’t
capsize
, Ms. Clark,” the captain replied forcefully. “It
disappeared
. As if it fell off the edge of a cliff, is how my security teams described it. It went down. The crew member who was piloting the inflatable took off straight for the disturbed area. The civilian threw herself overboard and we have her in custody. She has corroborated everything our team said.”

“And these officers are credible, Captain? They weren’t under the influence of anything? The stress of the operation—” Charlie asked, his brow furrowed.

“With all due respect, sir, these officers are entirely credible or I wouldn’t be talking to you now. I’ve known them for several years. They’re all former SEALs, and all of them have Navy Crosses among their honors. If they say it happened, it happened, and it happened the way they say it did.”

Victoria looked from Charlie’s ashen face to the equally pale visage of his advisor. “Thank you, Maggy. Is there anything else?”

“One thing, ma’am. Before the boat disappeared, two of the officers had time to get out their binoculars to do some recon. They stated that it appeared as if the persons on deck suffered some sort of sudden, very violent seizures just before the boat... sank. It happened very quickly.”

“Thank you. Where are you now?” Victoria’s voice trailed off on the last word.

“Aboard a U.S. Navy ship, the
Eutaw Springs
. We haven’t had external comms for several hours, so the commander let us come aboard to handle that.”

And eavesdrop his altruistic heart out
. Victoria gritted her teeth. “Thanks, Maggy.”

Ending the call, Victoria leaned back in her chair and looked at the two silent men standing before her. “What’s going on?” she asked them softly.

Neither offered a reply.

10:25
A.M.
, Sunday, October 26, Bolling Air Force Base, Washington, D.C.

Tom Taylor opened the e-mail that had just come in marked
HIGH PRIORITY
. He read it, blinked, checked his heartbeat against the second hand of the small crystal clock on his desk, then read it again. Then he picked up his phone and punched a series of numbers on the keypad.

“What do you mean by ‘the sea surface has turned to foam’?” he asked, forgoing any greeting when his call was answered.

“Too much gas injected into liquid at high pressure will—”

“I didn’t ask you what foam is or what causes it,” Tom snapped, cutting off the nameless, faceless CIA drone on the other end of the line. “I know that. What I want to know is how can a one-hundred-square-foot section of very deep ocean turn into fucking
foam
?”

“We can’t answer that, sir. It’s a phenomenon that’s never been observed on this scale—”

“Are you telling me that it’s been observed on a smaller scale?” he demanded.

“Not by us, sir. It’s been hypothesized.”

“Why? What the hell would make someone think that the ocean would ever turn to foam?” Tom pushed a hand through his hair.

“That area of the ocean sits above a methane-hydrate bed. It’s been posited over the years that submarine methane releases might have played a role in the disappearance of vessels at sea. It’s highly speculative at this point, sir, and we’re still investigating the situation. But we’re pretty sure that the gas causing this foaming effect is methane based. Something similar has been observed in the Arctic. By Russians.”

Tom had frozen in place at the first mention of the chemical. “You think methane is causing this?” he repeated softly.

“Something methane based. The gas we’ve detected over the site is not pure. We’re trying to analyze it, but we can’t identify the other components.”

“Why not?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. It wasn’t long enough to be overtly insulting, but it was long enough for Tom to realize that the analyst on the other end of the phone was getting bored with the
conversation. “Well, sir, we can’t identify it because our equipment doesn’t recognize its properties.”

“Thank you. Keep me informed of any developments,” Tom snapped. “And you call me first. You got that?”

Tom waited for a reply, then disconnected, and punched in the cell phone number that Victoria Clark had given him.

10:30
A.M.
, Sunday, October 26, Embassy of Taino, Washington, D.C.

Charlie and Tim left for the press room, and Victoria went back to her suite. She had barely started to wrap her mind around the increasingly bizarre situation she was facing when her cell phone rang. Gritting her teeth and wishing for a single undisturbed minute so she could just breathe, she picked it up and looked at the small blue screen.
UNKNOWN CALLER
was spelled out in deepest black. She was sorely tempted to let the call go to voice mail; she was that sick of unknowns.

Not bothering to take a deep breath because she knew nothing would help to settle her nerves, she pressed a button and lifted the phone to her ear. “Victoria Clark.”

“Ms. Clark.”

The voice was all too recognizable and made her already flat mood deflate further.

“Mr. Taylor. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me what your fearless leader is up to on the seafloor,” he snapped.

“Mr. Taylor, this isn’t a secure line.”

“Then call me from a secure phone at the number I gave you yesterday. Immediately.”

Staring at the silent phone in her hand, Victoria felt a fresh wave of hot anger run through her.
I’ve had enough of being pushed around
.

She walked to the telephone sitting on the desk and grabbed the handset.

“May I help you, Secretary Clark?”

“Yes. I need a secure line,” she said crisply, knowing that Charlie had removed any such privacy from the list of luxuries to which she was entitled.

“Please tell me the number you wish to call.”

Forcing herself to remain calm, she read the number off the card and
waited for the connection. She was gripping the handset so hard her hand started to ache before the call was answered—which was before the first ring had ended.

“Mr. Taylor, it’s Victoria Clark. May I ask just what you are—”

“I’m talking about the methane that’s churning to the surface and turning the sea to foam approximately one mile off Taino’s southwestern shore,” he snapped.

She caught her breath. Her mouth was too dry to formulate a reply, not that she’d be able to speak anyway given the fear squeezing her chest.

A methane release could only mean one thing: Something was catastrophically wrong with the mining operation. There was no other explanation. The structures were designed to ensure that every movement of the material was through sealed and reinforced conduits. The entire operation was engineered to shut down if any failure was detected anywhere in the system.

“I take it that you know what I’m talking about,” Tom continued after a minute pause. “I want to know what the hell Cavendish is up to, and I want to know
now
. Because whatever it is, it’s gone seriously wrong, Ms. Clark. An unidentified methane-based compound is rising from the seafloor to the surface at high pressure, and it’s turning the sea surface to foam in the process. I’ve got NASA spinning some satellites that usually analyze atmospheres in other
galaxies
to focus on your pissant little island because no one can figure out what the fuck is coming out of your territorial waters. Now, tell me what he’s up to,” he finished in a terse and deadly voice.

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” she rasped, her heart beating as though it were about to explode out of her chest.

“That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s the truth. I just got off the phone with our—I just heard about the foam and the sailboat. Honestly. This is the first I’ve heard of the methane,” she said.

“But you’re not surprised to hear it.”

“Mr. Taylor, I don’t know what you’re thinking—”

“I’m thinking that you had better get your butt over here and tell my people what the hell is in that gas and what it’s going to do.”

“I’ll have to get back to you. I need to get the answers—”

“Wait a minute,” he demanded, interrupting her. “What did you just say about a sailboat?”

She froze, practically felt molecules colliding as everything in her came to an abrupt stop. “What?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Victoria,” he snarled. “You’re seconds away from being declared an enemy combatant. And I’ll personally come over there, throw you into handcuffs and leg irons, and haul you out of that building.”

“Back off,” she snapped. “We’re both being broadsided here, so don’t threaten me.”

“Tell me what you know.”

She pulled in a short breath. “Two of our security officers were dealing with a sailboat that entered a restricted area. It went too near the area of the eruption—”

“What eruption?” he barked.

“The methane. The foam. It—they watched it fall,” she finished lamely as the horror penetrated her imagination and threatened to crack her hard-won control.

“What fell?”

“The boat. It sank. They said it fell into the foam and disappeared,” she replied, sinking into the chair next to her. “They said it was like watching the boat fall over a cliff.”

Seconds ticked by as neither of them spoke. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to use both to hold on to the phone.

“Anything else?” Tom said at last. His voice had resumed his typical emotionless nonchalance, and Victoria shuddered.

Swallowing hard, she said, “One of the officers said it appeared as though the people on board were experiencing some sort of seizure as the boat approached the—”

“Seizure?”

“That was the word the officer used,” she said quietly.

“I want you to come over to our offices. I’ll send a car.”

She sat bolt upright in her chair. “Absolutely not. I’m needed here. And I’m heading back to the island later today.”

“Like hell you are.”

“I’m a representative of a sovereign nation, in case you’ve forgotten,” she snapped.

“You’re also an American citizen who may be involved with terrorist activity,” he shot back. “You’d be better off coming in on your own, Victoria. I really don’t want to stage a Delta Force extraction in Georgetown.”

As ludicrous as his threat sounded, she didn’t doubt his sincerity in making it. Or his ability to carry it out.

“Okay, look,” she said slowly. “Arguing with each other isn’t going to help the situation. I’m needed here.” She paused. “Mr. Taylor, the embassy has lost all contact with the island. So have our search crews. We’ve been trying to reestablish communication for the last few hours. Nothing we’ve tried has worked. I have to be here.”

“Keep me apprised,” he growled. “I’ll be expecting to hear from you within the hour.”

“You will.”

She ended the call and sat at the desk, frozen, staring at the golden leaves on the tree outside her window.

“Dennis,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

10:50
A.M
., Sunday, October 26, Taino

The volcano that was the heart of Taino was long dormant. Some scientists had even assured Dennis that it was extinct. The last eruption on Taino had happened hundreds of years ago, and in the centuries since, the deep central crater had become lush with plants and wildlife, an ecosystem unto itself. Time and weather had worn away some of the lip of the crater, and the volcano’s gently sloping lava walls rose only several hundred feet. They were covered by luxuriant growth that was, for the most part, undisturbed until the land flattened out to meet the sea.