Treasure Of Khan Part 48

"Anything to those claims?" the president asked his national security advisor, a studious man with a lean face.

"None that we've ascertained," the man replied in a staid voice. "I'll task Langley with a further look, but all evidence points to naturally occurring earthquakes. The fact that two damaging rattles took place in close relative proximity appears to be a fluke of nature."

"Fair enough, but let's not take chances with any homegrown fanatics who want to capitalize on the situation here for a headline. Dennis, I'd like Homeland Security to elevate the terrorist threat advisory for all seaports. Let's make sure surveillance is boosted at our oil terminals, particularly along the Gulf Coast."

"Consider it done, Mr. President," replied the director of homeland security, seated opposite of the chief executive.

"Garner, I think a quick means to quell the public hysteria would be to immediately release some stocks from the Strategic Petroleum Reserve." The suggestion came from Vice President James Sandecker, a retired admiral and former head of NUMA. He was a small but intense man with blazing eyes and a fiery red Vand.y.k.e beard. An old friend of the president, he seldom addressed his boss by t.i.tle. "The oil markets should cool down over time. Releasing a portion of the reserves should dampen the immediate public fear of an outright oil shortage, and perhaps boost confidence in the markets."

The president nodded. "Write up a Presidential Order to that effect," he barked at an aide.

"A sales pitch from the bully pulpit might not hurt, either," Sandecker added, glancing toward a large portrait of Teddy Roosevelt hanging on a side wall.

"I'll do my part," the president agreed. "Contact the networks and schedule a televised address for tonight," he directed. "I'll advocate voluntary gas rationing for the next thirty days. Might help the refineries catch up on supplies. We'll get the public calmed down first, then try to figure a way out of this mess."

"There must be some options to consider," mused the chief of staff. "Temporary price freezes and mandatory fuel rationing could be inst.i.tuted quickly."

"Might be wise to promote some conservation measures publicly while privately twisting some arms," Sandecker said. "We can probably entice some of our other foreign suppliers to boost oil production. Maybe our domestic producers can help as well, though I understand the Alaska Pipeline is now operating at capacity again."

"Yes, the arctic drilling has increased production," the economic adviser confirmed. "We would otherwise be in a lot worse shape right now. But that just means the upside from our present condition is limited. The measures mentioned are all fine and good, but they will only have a minor effect on domestic demand. The ugly reality is that they will have almost no impact on the global markets. A major supply fix is what's needed and that will take months for Saudi Arabia and Iran to sort out. I'm afraid to say, there is very little we can do right now to impact the global price of oil in a meaningful manner."

The dire a.s.sessment silenced the room. Finally, the president spoke.

"All right, gentlemen, put everything on the table. I want to look at all options and every worst-case scenario. And I suspect we'll have to move fast. With the oil price holding at the current level, exactly how much time do we have before completely losing the economy?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into the economist.

"Difficult to say," the adviser replied nervously. "Perhaps a thirty-day window before we see the first major work stoppages and a.s.sociated layoffs. Once the markets have digested this initial shock, the price pressure may abate. But we'll need to see a price retreat of at least thirty to forty dollars to avoid a severe recession. The flip side is that the markets are in a very tenuous state. Another shock of any sort and we could have a global calamity on our hands."

"Another shock," the president said softly. "G.o.d help us from that."

-36-

THE EMPTY PATCH OF SAND that yielded Summer's porcelain figurine now looked like an underwater construction site. Aluminum grids and yellow ropes stretched in all directions across the seabed, punctuated by tiny orange flags staked into the ground. What had started as a sample test pit dug near the rocky outcropping had grown into a full-blown excavation project after Dirk and Summer uncovered a large framing timber buried two feet under the sand. Additional test pits confirmed that the porcelain figure and stone anchor were no random objects tossed over the side but part of an entire wreck buried between the two coral reefs.

Beautifully crafted blue-and-white porcelain plates and bowls, along with votives and carvings of jade, all hinted at a wreck of Chinese origin. Portions of the s.h.i.+p's frame also correlated with the design of a ma.s.sively sized Chinese junk. To Summer's amazement and chagrin, the potential discovery of an early Chinese s.h.i.+p in Hawaiian waters had caused a sensation. Media representatives from around the world descended on her like vultures to capture the story. After a slate of repet.i.tive news interviews, she was only too happy to slip on a tank and fins and escape the bedlam underwater. The news-hounds would lose interest in the story quick enough, she knew, and then the excavation could be resumed uninterrupted.

Summer floated over the grids and past a pair of divers blowing sand away from a large timber believed to be the sternpost. A few yards away, manual probes driven into the sand had detected another large section of wood that might be the rudder. Gliding to the edge of the work site, she kicked toward the surface alongside a drop line, holding a balled fist over her head until she broke the surface.

A brown metal barge was now moored over the site, and Summer swam the few yards over to its side ladder. Tossing her fins onto the deck, she climbed up and onto the small barge. It was little more than an open deck, with a dingy tin hut constructed at one end. A wall rack full of dive gear hung against the side of the hut, while the deck rail was lined with a generator, water pump, and several compressors. A pair of surfboards lying on the tin shack's roof offered the only hint of frivolity to the work site. The boards belonged to Dirk and Summer and were deemed standard equipment whenever they worked in Hawaii.

"How's the water?" drawled the voice of Jack Dahlgren. He was hunched over one of the compressors, screwdriver in hand, as Summer stowed her tank and dive gear.

"It's Hawaii," she smiled. "Always a delight." She toweled her hair off, then walked over to Dahlgren.

"Be up and running soon?" she asked.

"Just waiting for a final fuel and supply drop from the Mariana. We've got one compressor to run an airlift and another to provide surface-supplied air. They'll make diving in these purty waters a breeze."

"I'm more excited about applying the airlift to the last few buried areas."

The airlift was little more than a hollow tube with compressed air fed into the lower end. The pressurized air ascended up the tube, producing a vacuum effect ideal for sucking away sand and loose debris from a wreck site.

"Mariana Explorer to Brown Bess," crackled a handheld radio strung to the side rail. Dirk's voice was instantly recognized on the other end.

"Bess here. Come on back," Dahlgren replied.

"Jack, we've got the fuel and hot dogs and are ten miles away. The captain says we'll tie up on your leeward side to off-load the fuel."

"We'll be waiting." Dahlgren peered across the horizon, spotting a turquoise dot cruising toward the barge. Then the radio crackled once more.

"And tell Summer that she has yet another visitor who would like to talk to her about the wreck. Explorer out."

"Not another reporter," Summer cursed, rolling her eyes in disgust.

"Summer says she'll be happy as a clam to host another interview. Bess out," Dahlgren replied into the microphone, laughing at Summer's taciturn look.

The NUMA vessel arrived within the hour and tied up alongside the barge. While Dahlgren oversaw the loading of a fifty-five-gallon drum of gasoline, Summer climbed aboard the Mariana Explorer and made her way to the wardroom. There she found Dirk having coffee with a dark-skinned Asian man wearing slacks and a navy polo s.h.i.+rt.

"Summer, come meet Dr. Alfred Tong," Dirk said, waving her over.

Tong stood up and bowed, then shook Summer's outstretched hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Pitt," he said, looking up into the gray eyes of the taller woman. He had a powerful grip, she noted, and skin like her own that had seen much of the sun. She tried hard not to stare at a prominent scar that ran down his left cheek, instead gazing at his intense walnut-colored eyes and jet-black hair.

"Thank goodness," Summer blushed. "I was expecting another TV reporter."

"Dr. Tong is a conservator with the National Museum of Malaysia," Dirk explained.

"Yes," Tong said and nodded, then continued in choppy English. "I was attending a seminar at the University of Hawaii when I heard of your discovery. An a.s.sociate at the university put me in touch with a local NUMA representative. Your captain and brother were kind enough to invite me out for the day."

"The logistics were well timed," Dirk explained. "The Mariana Explorer happened to be in Hilo picking up fuel and supplies for the barge and will be returning that direction this evening."

"What is your interest in the wreck?" Summer asked.

"We have a sizeable collection of Southeast Asian artifacts in the museum, as well as an extensive exhibit from a fourteenth-century Chinese vessel excavated from the Straits of Malacca. Though it is not my specific area of expertise, I have some knowledge of Yuan and Ming dynasty pottery. I am interested in what you have retrieved, and thought I might offer a.s.sistance in identifying the age of the vessel through its artifacts. I, like many others, would revel in the discovery of a thirteenth-century Chinese royal vessel in the western Pacific."

"Identifying the age of the vessel is a key question," Summer replied. "I'm afraid we've uncovered just a limited number of ceramic artifacts. We sent a sampling to the University of California for a.n.a.lysis, but I'd be happy to let you examine the remaining items."

"Perhaps the context of the artifact finds will be useful. Can you share with me the condition and configuration of the wreck?"

Dirk unrolled a large script of paper sitting on the table. "I was just going to walk you through the excavation profile before Summer walked in."

They all took a seat at the table and examined the chart. It was a computer-aided diagram of the wreck site from an overhead view. Sections of timbers and scattered artifacts were displayed in a horseshoe-shaped region next to the lava bed. Tong was surprised by the tiny amount of remains and artifacts doc.u.mented in the drawing, hardly indicative of a large sailing vessel.

"We've worked with the archaeologists from the University of Hawaii to excavate nearly all of the accessible portions of the wreck. Unfortunately, we are only seeing about ten percent of the entire vessel," Dirk said.