Polar Shift by Clive Cussler Page B

the joystick, giving the vehicle subtle commands to compensate for shifts in current. With each move of the joystick, he had to be careful that the ROV didn’t get tangled in its umbilical.
    The mood was somber in the crowded remote sensing center. Crew and scientists had squeezed into the room after word of the Southern Belle ’s discovery had spread throughout the ship. The silent spectators gazed at the ghostly images of the dead ship like mourners at a funeral bier.
    Reality had set in after the initial excitement of the ship’s discovery. Those who follow the sea know that the solid deck under their feet rests on an undulating liquid foundation of ocean water that is as treacherous as it is beautiful. Everyone on the Throckmorton knew that the sunken ship had become a tomb for its crew. All were aware that they could suffer the same fate. There was no sign of the men who had gone down with the Southern Belle , but it was impossible not to contemplate the last terrifying moments of the cargo ship’s doomed crew.
    Totally focused on his task, Zavala brought the ROV down to deck level and ran it over the deck from bow to stern. Normally, he would have to be careful that the vehicle didn’t get tangled in the masts and radio antennae, but the Belle’ s deck was as level as a billiard table. The camera picked up ragged metal stubs where the cranes and booms used to handle cargo containers had been snapped off like toothpicks.
    As the ROV soared over the aft end of the ship, its lights picked out a large rectangular opening in the deck.
    Zavala murmured an exclamation in Spanish. Then he said, “The deckhouse is gone.”
    Austin was leaning over Zavala’s shoulder. “Try searching the area immediately around the ship,” he suggested.
    Zavala worked the joystick, and the vehicle rose higher above the deck. It moved around the ship in an expanding spiral, but there was no sign of the deckhouse.
    Professor Adler had been watching the show in stony silence. He tapped Austin lightly on the arm and led him to the far end of the room, away from the crowd clustered around the ROV monitor.
    â€œI think it’s time we talked,” the professor whispered.
    Austin nodded and returned to the control console. He told Joe he would be in the ship’s recreation room, then he and the professor left the survey center. With the rest of the ship’s complement working or watching the pictures of the Belle , they had the rec room to themselves. It was a comfortable space, with leather furniture, a television set and DVD, movie cabinet, pool table and Ping-Pong table, some board games and a computer.
    Austin and Adler settled into a couple of chairs. “Well,” Adler said, “what do you think?”
    â€œAbout the Belle ? You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce why it went to the bottom. The deckhouse was blasted off.”
    â€œWe have the satellite pictures showing wave activity. There’s no doubt in my mind that she was hit by one or more killer waves far bigger than anything we’ve seen before.”
    â€œWhich brings us back to your theories. You were reluctant earlier to talk about them. Has finding the ship changed your mind?”
    â€œI’m afraid my theories are out of the ordinary.”
    Austin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I’ve learned that nothing is ordinary when it comes to the ocean.”
    â€œI’ve hesitated up to now because I didn’t want to be labeled a humbug. It took years for the scientific community to accept freak waves as fact. My colleagues would rip me to shreds if they knew what I was thinking.”
    â€œWe couldn’t let that happen,” Austin said reassuringly. “I’ll respect your confidence.”
    The professor nodded. “When the empirical evidence of these waves became too strong to deny, the European Union launched two high-resolution-image