Risky Business

Mariana Trench

Terry wiped the sweat from her brow, then continued twisting an iron crossbar.  Another fifteen minutes passed before she was able to wrench one end of the bed frame free.  Aided by the additional leverage, the other end followed quickly.

She stood, slapping the two-foot hollow bar in her hand, feeling its weight against her open palm.  It wasn't nearly as good as the Russian's hunting knife, but at least she wouldn't be unarmed.

Terry checked her watch:  2:10 a.m..  She eased open her cabin door and listened.  Hearing only the sounds of the Benthos 's generators, she crept barefoot into the hall, iron bar held tightly within her right fist, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Access tube or companionway?  The Russian prefers the tube . . .

She tiptoed to the companionway, listening.  She could hear the voices of the crew talking in the galley, discussing the immense prehistoric fossil the Prometheus had unearthed hours earlier.  Entering the sealed stairwell, Terry lifted the watertight hatch at the base of the staircase and descended quietly, closing the seal behind her.

Level F.  Ship's stores, equipment rooms, and the nuclear reactor.  Keep going . . .

Terry opened the next companionway hatch, listening carefully before heading down the last flight of stairs which led to G deck, the only level considered off-limits to all but Benedict's personal staff.  She held her breath, again hearing only the hum from the ship's generators.  Creeping barefoot across the tile floor, she darted down the empty corridor to the entrance of the submarine docking station.

Terry pressed her ear to the watertight door.  Realizing the futility of the gesture, she held her breath and pushed open the door, entering the vault.  The empty circular room yawned back at her.  Heart fluttering, she ran to the conning tower of the Prometheus protruding out from the center of the docking-station floor.  Pulling open the sub's outer hatch, she climbed down the ladder and into the vessel.

The sub was dark, save for the fluorescent glow coming from dozens of control consoles.  She crept forward, listening, terrified at being alone in a docked sub surrounded by sixteen thousand pounds per square inch of water.

Locating the computer console, she sat down, then booted the system.  All day Benedict Singer had infuriated her, playing with her emotions, manipulating her like a puppet.

This time, it was her turn.

The Geo-Tech menu appeared on the screen, just as it had hours earlier.  Using the mouse, she highlighted TOKAMAK.  She was about to press ENTER when she heard a noise in the docking chamber above.

Footsteps!

Her heart pounding out of control, Terry searched desperately for a place to hide.  She hurried to the rear of the sub, smashing her shin painfully against another console before ducking into the bathroom.

She heard the seal open.  Whoever was out there was descending into the Prometheus!

Terry was convinced it was the Russian.  Wiping the sweat from her palms, she gripped the iron bar tightly in both hands and raised it over her head.

She could feel the vibrations of the man's footsteps.  She heard him pause at the computer station, then continue moving aft, approaching the bathroom.

Aim for his head, one good shot, then don't stop till he's dead . . .

The door began opening—

Terry swung the iron bar toward the head of the silhouetted figure.

The man sideswiped the bar, then grabbed her arm and twisted it expertly behind her back.  Terry started to scream, but her assailant was too quick, clamping his hand over her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath.

'Terry, it's Heath!"

The viselike grip released her.  She bent over, gasping for air.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded, still out of breath.

Heath inspected the iron rod.  "Yeah, this would have hurt."  He handed it back to her.  "Better save it for Sergei."

"What are you doing here?"

"I saw you leave your room and figured this might be where you were heading.  A very dangerous move.  Come here.  I want to show you something."

He led her by the arm to the computer station.  "The GTI file you were about to access requires a security code.  Failing to enter the correct code within sixty seconds would have resulted in all sorts of security devices going off."

Terry stared at the monitor, sweat dripping down both sides of her face.  "Why did you follow me?  Are you trying to protect me from the Russian?"

Heath grinned.  "Sergei won't be bothering you tonight.  I slipped him a little something in his tea at dinner.  Right now, he should be sleeping like a Russian wolfhound.  Tell my why you were accessing the Tokamak file."

She sat down next to the computer.  "Benedict's been toying with me ever since we arrived onboard the Benthos, and I'm tired of it.  This afternoon was the worst.  I don’t know if he's intending to let me live or die, but I decided it was my turn to screw with him for a change."

"What do you know about Tokamak?"

"Nothing."

"Terry, I can't help you if you lie to me."

"I'm not lying.  Who are you?  Do you really know Jonas?"

Heath rubbed the sweat from his brow.  "I don't know him personally, but we both worked together on a deep-sea project for the Navy about eleven years ago."

"Eleven years . . ."  The realization dawned on her.  "The Mariana Trench dives?"

Heath nodded.  "It was a top-secret mission.  To this day, Jonas still has no idea what it was really about.  Shaffer and Prestis—the two men who died when Jonas panicked in the abyss—they were my colleagues."

'So you're with the Navy?"

"Not anymore."

"But you're not a paleo-biologist—"

"Tell me what you know about Tokamak."

"CIA?"

"Terry, I can't help you if you won't cooperate."

"You are CIA, aren't you?"

"Terry, enough.  Right now, you're endangering both of our lives."

"Look, I told you, I really don't know anything about Tokamak.  When I was aboard the Goliath, I . . ."  She smiled, embarrassed.  "I guess you could say I did a little covert operating myself.  I stumbled across some kind of high-tech lab hidden within the bowels of the Goliath and—"

"Within the Goliath?  Where?"  Heath seemed excited.  "How were you able to access it?  What was inside?"

She told him about the stairwell hidden within the ship's old missile silo, then described the lab.

"This large machine," Heath asked, "did it look like a giant toroidal—a giant doughnut?"

"Yes.  How did you know that?"

"Jesus . . ."  Heath rubbed his face again.  "How familiar are you with fusion?"

"As in atom bombs?"

"No, no, that's fission.  Fusion is the process that powers the sun and stars.  It occurs when two atoms of hydrogen, usually an isotope of deuterium and one of tritium, are heated at super hot temperatures until they fuse together, releasing an incredible amount of energy.  When this happens, matter enters a new state—plasma."

Heath turned off the computer.  "We're probably still a good twenty-five years away from placing a fusion reactor on-line, but the potential benefits are enormous.  Imagine an energy source that's virtually inexhaustible, environmentally friendly, and produces no combustion products, greenhouse gases, or even by-products that can be made into weapons."

"Sounds too good to be true."

"Some bureaucrats might agree.  We're still in the experimental phases and it's very costly, but things are progressing.  To make fusion happen, the atoms of deuterium and tritium must be heated to temperatures exceeding one hundred million degrees, then he held together long enough for fusion to occur.  The sun accomplishes this using gravity.  On Earth, we have to use a magnetic field to confine the gases."

"So what's a tokamak?"

"Tokamak means toroidal chamber in Russian.  Coils wrapped around the outside of the toroidal or doughnut create a magnetic field inside the chamber, which, in turn, stabilizes the fusion plasma—"

"Now you're way over my head.  Just tell me how Benedict is involved."

"Hear me out.  The main challenge of fusion is to be able to contain the hot plasma for a sufficient amount of time.  This relates to problems with the fuel itself, specifically tritium, which is radioactive.  Several years ago Israeli Intelligence learned of a secret meeting between Benedict Singer and Osama bin Laden, exiled Saudi millionaire and financier of the National Islamic Front, a terrorist organization linked to the attack of the World Trade Center, as well as several other bombings, including there ones on the Kenya and Nairobi embassies.  At this meeting Benedict demonstrated a prototype fuel that created a fusion reaction said to have been off the scale of any energy reaction previously accomplished.  Bin Laden and his Arab associates were so impressed that they agreed to finance GTI's work in exchange for partial control of the technology.  With their backing and influence, Benedict has been able to recruit some of the brightest minds in Russian and the Middle East to help him construct what may turn out to be the world's first true tokamak fusion reactor."

"What happens if Benedict succeeds?"

"If he succeeds, he'll change the balance of power for decades to come.  Up to now, fusion has been a shared technology among the world's nations, a united effort to pool our resources for the common good.  Fusion would legitimize bin Laden's influence on our entire global economy.  It would be the equivalent of Hitler developing the atomic bomb before the United States.  It's vital that we determine what Benedict's mysterious fusion fuel source is, and whether it's stable.  CIA's been following him for years, attempting to infiltrate his organization.  We got our first break when Benedict contacted Scripps in search of a paleo-biologist."

"Obviously, you're not a paleo-biologist.  Aren't you afraid Benedict will see through the charade?"

"I have a working knowledge in the field, enough to get by.  So far, things have gone okay, although the first real challenge to my cover just came up."

"That fossil?"

"Yes.  The object is an incredible specimen of a prehistoric reptile I've never seen before.  Benedict's demanding that I come up with answers to its origin, and fast."

"Could it have been related to the species that chased after us today?"

"Too early to say.  I'm probably in way too deep.  But I need to provide Benedict with information soon, before he suspects something."

"What can I do to help?"

"For one thing, stay the hell away from these computers," Heath advised.  "The CIA believes that Benedict's fusion fuel may be aboard the Benthos.  There's some kind of storehouse located on G deck that's off-limits to everyone except Benedict and his piranhas.  If I could just get a look inside, I'd know what he's up to."

"Wish I could help, but right now I'm just struggling to keep from being killed."  Terry gave him a nervous smile.  "Maybe you could kill Sergei for me, you know, in the line of duty."

"I'll run as much interference for you as I can without jeopardizing my cover, but I can't help you unless you stay in your cabin.  Tonight was very foolish.  I suggest you speak with Benedict about joining him on board Prometheus again.  You know, appeal to his ego, speak some Latin to him or something.  With any luck, you'll be topside in a few days.  So no more chances, okay?"

"Okay."

They exited the sub, Heath escorting her back to her quarters.  The CIA agent said good night, then returned to his own cabin, unaware that the microlens hidden in the ceiling had recorded their every move.