The Mahogany Ship (Sam Reilly Book 2) (2 page)

Gulf of Mexico, Present Day

The day was warm, even for summer. Sam Reilly looked at the
sea below; it was calm, the rays of light glistening off the ripples beneath
the helicopter blades. It was still too early for hurricane season, but all the
same, he was keen to complete this case in time to be far away before they
came.  

In the water up ahead he could see what he was after.

It was painted sky blue. And along the ship’s steel hull, in
large emerald writing, were the words MARIA HELENA and below in smaller writing
– Deep Sea Expeditions. From the distance, it looked like nothing more than an
oversized tugboat or possibly an old icebreaker converted into a science vessel.
On the aft deck a helipad could be seen – the only indication that it was anything
more than a tugboat.

What couldn’t be seen were the two most advanced submarines in
the world. Both stored in its hold, Sea Witch and Rescuer One accessed the sea
through a moon pool below the waterline of the Maria Helena. Nor could a casual
observer know that it was loaded with some of the most advanced naval and
observational equipment in the world, some of which would make the U.S.,
Russian, and Chinese navies jealous.

The sight of his ship made him smile.  

Minutes later he was landing on the aft section of the ship,
where several engineers eagerly awaited his arrival near the small helipad. Sam
turned the main switches to off and waited for the whine of the rotary blades to
settle, while his skipper, Matthew, approached. The man’s shaved head ducked
well below the spinning blades high above.

Matthew’s hazel eyes and ordinarily serious face displayed a
generous smile alongside his genuine pleasure. Holding out his hand, he said, “Welcome
back, sir.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be back,” Sam replied as he shook the
skipper’s hand and then climbed out of the cockpit, beaming with pride.

At six feet exactly, Sam Reilly had a physique more
resembling a gymnast than a marine biologist. He was solidly built, with
perfectly proportioned muscles, the result of a lifetime of strenuous activities.
Of all of his adventures, the ocean had the strongest pull. He had brown hair
in wavy ruffles, which softened his piercing blue eyes. Underneath which, he wore
a smile, which most adequately portrayed a man who had it all, and was smart
enough to know it.

He’d missed his ship and the people who served aboard. The
man was by far the most conservative of his crew. Somehow, Sam had often
thought, he seemed to take the responsibility of the safety of all persons
aboard, as a skipper is obliged to, much too seriously. Their views had come to
blows a couple times in the past year as a consequence. That aside, he
respected the man very much, as the expert he was.

“So, this is our new helicopter?” Matthew mused.

“Sure is. I’ve just taken possession of her at Florida Keys.
A Sikorsky MH-60, AKA, ‘Knight Hawk.’ Her long range fuel tanks will come in
useful, since Tom destroyed the last one a few months ago. It’s a little
larger, and much more up to date. It also has a few additional toys, which Tom
will like.”

Entering the maintenance deck on the way towards the mission
room, Sam handed the helicopter’s maintenance book over to Veyron Blanc, his
chief engineer. Having no relationship to the car whatsoever, the French
engineer held a separate Doctorate in Mechatronics and in Submersibles. He was
also one of the sharpest minds Sam had ever encountered, and in his line of
work there were an abundance of extremely intelligent people. The man had
little to do with the maintenance of the helicopter, but liked to be kept up to
date with anything within his fleet of expensive machines.

Veyron took the logbooks, nodded at Sam, a gesture that he’d
come to understand meant,
I’ll talk to you later – I have a new toy to look
at.
Like many engineers Sam had met, Veyron had more interest in mechanical
contraptions than people. However, Sam was starting to discover that there was
a lot more to his engineer than an almost autistic obsession with machinery. It
was a side of him that few on board the Maria Helena realized.

Sam made a mental note to catch up with him shortly.

Genevieve Callaghan approached with thick European hot
chocolate. “Here, boss. I thought you might like one of these after your
flight.”

“Thanks, Harry – you’re wonderful. You don’t know how much
I’ve missed you,” he said, embracing her tightly and kissing each of her cheeks.

“I missed you too, handsome.” Her big brown eyes and long
lashes, like those of a gazelle, greeted him with a look that appeared almost
seductive with affection. Although, Sam knew that she, of all people on board,
had no interest in him that way. “Of course, what you meant to say was that you
missed my cooking!”

“That too.”

Genevieve was a kind of Jack of All Trades on board, who
managed the kitchen with an ability bordering on divinity. She’d once trained
under a Three Michelin Star chef, but that was where, much to her parent’s
chagrin, her feminine attributes finished. Everyone on board called her Harry –
after the violent cop, Harry Callaghan, AKA Dirty Harry – whom her personality
and surname more accurately reflected. She was excellent at everything she did,
an expert martial artist, athletic, and short-tempered as hell. For some reason
that no one aboard had yet to determine, she also spoke perfect Russian.

Sam sat down with Matthew and opened his computer tablet.  

Harry took the sign it was time to work. “Be sure to catch
up soon, and tell me all about this beautiful girl I hear has stolen you.”

“I will. You can bet on it.”

Matthew smiled.

It wasn’t like him to pry into Sam’s personal business. “How
was your sojourn in the Caribbean with that beautiful girl? What was her name,
Aliena?”

“Aliana,” Sam corrected him. “And it was great. But, now I’m
here again, and that means it’s time to get back to work and solve this disaster
– before hurricane season really takes off and it becomes a problem for all of
us.”

“Understood.”

Sam looked around the otherwise empty mission room and asked,
“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Tom Bower.”

“He’s still below on a dive – should be up soon.”

“Good, get him back up here. I want him to bring me up to
speed with our problem and what he’s done about it.” Sam looked at Matthew and
said, “What have we got so far?”

Matthew gave a quick whistle, and a man monitoring the dive
gave the signal for Tom to return to ship.

Matthew then turned on the overhead projector.

“As you know, summer can be a tough time for many species in
the Gulf of Mexico, when the combination of nutrient-rich river runoff and warm
temperatures can rob coastal bottom waters of oxygen. Where that happens,
shrimp, fish, and other creatures can be forced to flee to fresher waters,
leaving a so-called ‘Dead Zone’ behind.”

“I read the report. I’ve heard about them, but didn’t know a
lot about those that affected the Gulf of Mexico. Here, the Dead Zones are
caused by runoff from land rich in nutrients such as nitrogen and phosphorous.
These elements aren't toxic, but they are potent fertilizers. In fact, in the
Mississippi River, which drains about forty percent of the continental United
States and most of its Midwestern farmland, agricultural fertilizers are the
main source of these elements. Air pollution and urban development also
increase nutrient runoff. When these nutrients find their way to the Gulf of
Mexico they cause unnaturally large algal blooms. The algae then die and sink
to the bottom, where they're decomposed by oxygen-consuming bacteria. During
the warm summer months, when there is little mixing in the water column, the
bottom water can stagnate and become hypoxic, or low in oxygen. If the hypoxia
becomes severe enough, you have a Dead Zone.” Sam wasn’t reading from notes –
he had a memory bordering on photographic. “So, what’s so different about it
this time?”

“Well, I’ll show you. See here? This is a normal graph of a
typical summer Dead Zone. See the purple markings? They represent the Dead Zone
for last year.”

Sam followed the graph along the coastal region of up to two
miles off shore from the numerous landfalls, which make up the Gulf of Mexico,
“And this year?”

“Check this out…”

In front of him, the projector displayed an image of the
entire Gulf of Mexico covered in red.

There must be a mistake. If this is right, the world is in
for serious trouble!

“Are you sure that’s right?”

“It’s right – and to make matters worse, normally this only
affects ground feeding fish, such as shrimp, crustaceans, etc. But this year
we’re talking about widespread devastation of sea life.”

“And at the current rate, if we can’t stop the progression?”

“The world’s oceans will be rendered inhospitable to all but
the most resilient of sea creatures within two to three years.”

“Do we have any idea what’s causing their demise?”

“Yes, and no.” Matthew looked worried.

Sam knew why. He was a kind boss, but he wanted answers, and
had little time for people sitting on the fence. “All right, what do we know?”

“Analysis of the dead sea creatures show that they have been
affected with hydrogen cyanide.”

“The Mexican silver mines?” Sam realized instantly.

“Probably, but it will be hard to prove.”

“Why? Where’s the primary source of the contamination?”

“Tom’s managed to trace the source of their original
contamination to a location below us – about three hundred feet to be exact.”

“Someone’s been dumping something they shouldn’t?”

“That’s what we thought at first, but not necessarily. It
looks like something way more interesting than that.”

“What is it?”

“No, Tom would kill me if I took away all his thunder,” Matthew
complained.

“Forget Tom. I’m the one paying for this project.”

“Who wants to forget me?” Tom said as he walked in, his dive
suit still dripping wet.

“I do, you tall bastard.”

*

Tom was stoked to see Sam again, and his big, cheeky grin
beamed from ear to ear while he shook Sam’s hand. It was solid. Not the type of
handshake where a man tries to impress another with the strength of his grip,
but instead, simply the firm handshake of a man whose hands were as strong as a
vice.

It had only been a week, but the project just didn’t feel
right without Sam. And then, after his most recent dive, he couldn’t believe
his buddy missed it. Sam was going to be pissed when he discovered this was
more than a simple case of someone dumping something they shouldn’t in an
environment that couldn’t deal with it.

His wetsuit was still dripping, having come straight up from
the ship’s moon pool. When his boss said come now, he didn’t wait to get dry.

“Good to see you, Sam,” he said, giving his friend a giant
bear hug.

“You too, Tom. Now, what have you got for me?”

He expected such a reply from Sam – the man was focused when
he started a new project.

“You’re not going to believe what we’ve found.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, so the cause of this year’s apocalyptic Dead Zone was
hydrogen cyanide…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Sam interrupted his thunder. “Often used in
mining, probably one of the local Mexican silver mines.”

“Okay, so I see Matthew’s filled you in. But the next part
is what you’re going to find really interesting, my friend.”

“What?”

“The sources of the contamination weren’t dumped here at
all, as we expected. Instead, it came from an underwater tunnel, and guess who
owned the tunnel?”

“Michael Rodriguez, the owner of the closest silver mine?”

“Good guess, but no. A man by the name of Ajtzak Wikea.”

He waited for the name to ring a bell in Sam’s ear, but it
didn’t.  

“Never heard of him. What does he do?”

“Not what he does, but what he did.” Waiting for the words
to sink in, Tom continued, “He lost the future hope of the Mayan empire, after
losing its greatest weapon at the Ciudad Del Carmen in 1443 to an unknown enemy.”

Sam’s eyes focused and his smile turned radiant, “The Ark of
Light – I’ve read about it, and often wondered if there was any truth to the
stories. Myth has it that it was a powerful scepter, covered with ornate
jewels, and at the center a giant diamond, which had the ability to regulate
the direction and intensity of the sun. Enough power to destroy ships with one
shot – but it’s never been found, and neither has any evidence of its
existence. Like all longstanding myths, I can imagine that its origins had some
semblance of truth.”

“That’s the one…”

“What else do we know about Ciudad Del Carmen?”

“Not a lot. So far, all we know is little more than what the
tourist brochure says – that what was named “Ciudad Del Carmen” in the 16
^th
century by the Spanish invaders, was a Mayan fortress dating back thousands of
years that served as a trading outpost between the Aztec and Mayan civilizations.”

“Do we have the archeological maps of the Mayan fortress?”

“Sure do. It took some work, but we convinced someone from
the University of Mexico to email them to us.”

“And what did they show?” Sam asked.

“Nothing that would indicate an underground passage deep
below the sea.”

“So what we’ve found is an entirely new section of the
building?”

“Looks like it.”

“Okay, so how did our fifteenth century friend get involved
in all this?” Sam asked, shaking his head.

“That I don’t know. But the tunnel leads somewhere, and I
think it’s time you and I find out where – so we can stop this before it
destroys most of the planet’s sea life.”

“Sounds like a plan. When do we dive?”

“The Rock will be ready in two hours.”