cigarettes and scanned the van's interior. Everyone else present seemed calm, which only made Mark feel more tense. Larry Nelson was sitting perfectly still at the diving operations monitoring station along with the sonar operator, Peter Rosenthal. Just beyond them were the two watch standers, who were in front of the diving system's operating console. Although their eyes were constantly scanning the pressure gauges of the two pressurized DDCs and the diving bell, the rest of their bodies were motionless. Across from the watch standers was the winch operator. He was perched on a high stool in front of the window looking out on the central well. His hand rested on the gear shift for the winch. Outside, the cable attached to the shackle on top of the diving bell was being played out at the maximum permitted velocity. From a neighboring drum came a second, passive cable that contained the compressed gas line, hot water hose, and communications wires. At the far end of the van was Captain Jameson, absently sucking on a toothpick. In front of him were the controls that formed an extension of the bridge. Even though the ship's propellers and thrusters were being controlled by computer to keep it stationary over the well head, Captain Jameson could override the system if the need arose during diving operations.
"God damn it!" Mark spat. He slammed a pencil he'd been unconsciously torturing to the countertop
and stood up. "What's the divers' depth?" "Passing through six hundred ten feet, sir," the winch operator reported. "Try the Oceanus again!" Mark barked to Larry. He started to pace back and forth. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it was getting worse. He began to lambaste himself for encouraging Perry Bergman to go on the dive. Being personally aware of Dr. Newell's interest in the seamount and her desire to make purely exploratory dives, he worried that she might try to impress the president to get her way. That might mean she'd pressure Donald to do things he might not normally do, and Mark was aware that Dr. Newell was the only person on the ship who potentially had that kind of influence over the normally strictly-by-the-book ex-naval line officer. Mark shuddered. It would be a disaster of the first order if the submersible got wedged in a fissure or a crevice where it may have descended to examine a particular geological feature up close. That had almost happened to the submersible Alvin, out of Woods Hole, and the near tragedy had been on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, not that far away from their present location. "Still no response," Larry said after several unsuccessful tries to raise the Oceanus on the UQC. "Any sign of the submersible on side-scan sonar?" Mark demanded from the sonar operator. "That's a negative," Peter said. "And bottom hydrophones have no contact with their tracking beacon. The thermocline they found must be impressive. It's like they dropped down into the ocean floor." Mark stopped his pacing and looked back at the clock. "How long has it been since that tremor?" he asked.
"That was more than a tremor," Larry said. "Tad Messenger measured it four point four on the Richter scale."
"I'm not surprised--it knocked over that pile of pipe on the deck," Mark said. "And as much as we felt it up here, it would have been a hell of a lot worse on the bottom. How long ago was it?" Larry looked down at his log. "It's been almost four minutes. You don't think that has anything to do with our not hearing from the Oceanus, do you?" Mark was reluctant to answer. He was not superstitious, yet he hated to voice his worries, as if articulating them made them that much more possible. But he was concerned that the 4.4 earthquake may have caused a rock slide that trapped the Oceanus. Such a catastrophe surely wasn't out of the question if Donald had indeed descended into a narrow depression at Suzanne's insistence. "Let me talk to the divers," Mark said. He walked over to Larry and took the mike. While he
"God damn it!" Mark spat. He slammed a pencil he'd been unconsciously torturing to the countertop
and stood up. "What's the divers' depth?" "Passing through six hundred ten feet, sir," the winch operator reported. "Try the Oceanus again!" Mark barked to Larry. He started to pace back and forth. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it was getting worse. He began to lambaste himself for encouraging Perry Bergman to go on the dive. Being personally aware of Dr. Newell's interest in the seamount and her desire to make purely exploratory dives, he worried that she might try to impress the president to get her way. That might mean she'd pressure Donald to do things he might not normally do, and Mark was aware that Dr. Newell was the only person on the ship who potentially had that kind of influence over the normally strictly-by-the-book ex-naval line officer. Mark shuddered. It would be a disaster of the first order if the submersible got wedged in a fissure or a crevice where it may have descended to examine a particular geological feature up close. That had almost happened to the submersible Alvin, out of Woods Hole, and the near tragedy had been on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, not that far away from their present location. "Still no response," Larry said after several unsuccessful tries to raise the Oceanus on the UQC. "Any sign of the submersible on side-scan sonar?" Mark demanded from the sonar operator. "That's a negative," Peter said. "And bottom hydrophones have no contact with their tracking beacon. The thermocline they found must be impressive. It's like they dropped down into the ocean floor." Mark stopped his pacing and looked back at the clock. "How long has it been since that tremor?" he asked.
"That was more than a tremor," Larry said. "Tad Messenger measured it four point four on the Richter scale."
"I'm not surprised--it knocked over that pile of pipe on the deck," Mark said. "And as much as we felt it up here, it would have been a hell of a lot worse on the bottom. How long ago was it?" Larry looked down at his log. "It's been almost four minutes. You don't think that has anything to do with our not hearing from the Oceanus, do you?" Mark was reluctant to answer. He was not superstitious, yet he hated to voice his worries, as if articulating them made them that much more possible. But he was concerned that the 4.4 earthquake may have caused a rock slide that trapped the Oceanus. Such a catastrophe surely wasn't out of the question if Donald had indeed descended into a narrow depression at Suzanne's insistence. "Let me talk to the divers," Mark said. He walked over to Larry and took the mike. While he
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