Free Dragon by Clive Cussler Page B

Harris. He immediately saw the look of concern in Harris’ eyes.
    “Problem?” he asked tersely.
    Harris spoke through a great gray beard that matched his hair. “That disturbance has triggered a growing number of shocks in the seabed. So far, most all are small and shallow. We can’t actually feel them yet. But their intensity and strength are growing.”
    “How do you read it?”
    “We’re sitting on a fault that’s unstable as hell,” Harris went on. “It’s also volcanic. Crustal strain energy is being released at a rate I’ve never experienced. I’m afraid we could be looking at a major earthquake of a six-point-five magnitude.”
    “We’d never survive,” Pitt said stonily. “One crack in one of our domes, and the water pressure will flatten the entire base like leas under a sledgehammer.”
    “I get the same picture,” said Harris dismally.
    “How long have we got?”
    “No way to predict these things with any certainty. I realize it’s not much comfort, and I’m only guessing, but judging from the rate of build I’d guess maybe twelve hours.”
    “Time enough to evacuate.”
    “I could be wrong,” Harris came back hesitantly. “If we actually experience initial shock waves, the big quake might he only minutes behind. On the other hand, the shocks could taper off and stop just as easily.”
    He’d no sooner gotten the words out when they both felt a slight tremor beneath their feet and the coffee cups on the dining table began to clatter in their saucers.
    Pitt stared at Harris, and his lips pulled into a tense grin. “It seems that time is not on our side.”

9
     
     
     
    T HE TREMORS INCREASED with terrifying swiftness. A distant rumbling seemed to move closer. Then came sharp thumping sounds as small rocks tumbled down the canyon slopes and struck against the suboceanic buildings. Everyone kept glancing up at the great arched roof of the equipment chamber, fearful of an avalanche breaching the walls. One tiny opening, and the water would burst inside with the shattering power of a thousand cannons.
    All was calm, no panic. Except for the clothes they wore, nothing was carried but the computer records of the project. Eight minutes was all it took for the crew to assemble and ready the deep-sea vehicles for boarding.
    Pitt had known instantly that a few must die. The two manned submersibles were each designed to carry a maximum of six people. Seven might be crammed on board for a total of fourteen—the exact number of the project team—but certainly no more. Now they were burdened with the unplanned presence of the crewmen from Old Gert .
    The shocks were coming stronger and closer together now. Pitt saw no chance of a sub reaching the surface, unloading survivors, and returning in time to rescue those left behind. The round trip took no less than four hours. The suboceanic structures were slowly weakening under the increasing shocks, and it was only a question of minutes before they would give way and be crushed by the onslaught of the sea.
    Giordino read the dire signs in the fixed expression on Pitt’s face. “We’ll have to make two trips. Better I wait for the next—” 
    “Sorry, old pal,” Pitt cut him off. “You pilot the first sub. I’ll follow in the second. Get to the surface, unload your passengers into inflatable rafts, and dive like hell for those who must stay behind.”
    “No way I can make it back in time,” Giordino said tautly.
    “Think of a better way?”
    Giordino shook his head in defeat. “Who gets the short end of the stick?”
    “The British survey team.”
    Giordino stiffened. “No call for volunteers? Not like you to leave a woman.”
    “I have to place our own people first,” Pitt answered coldly.
    Giordino shrugged, disapproval in his face. “We save them and then sign their death warrants.”
    A long, shuddering vibration shook the seabed, chased by a deep, menacing rumble. Ten seconds. Pitt stared down at his wristwatch. The shock