Deep Fathom (39 page)

Off near the coast, the cutter raced away, moving faster, disappearing around the headlands of Nahkapw Island.

As he stared, hopeless, a light rain began to fall, pebbling the seas around him. Then he rolled onto his stomach and began the long swim back to the
Deep Fathom
.

Three hours after Jack's escape, David stood in the pilothouse of the sleek cutter. Rain sluiced and beat against the window. The storm was worsening, but he did not care. The cover of rain and mist had allowed them to escape once again. Hidden by the heavy morning fog, they had traveled over fifty miles, putting as much distance as possible between them and Pohnpei Island.

Off to the north, he could see the small atoll of Pingelap. His men were busily offloading their equipment into the cutter's launch. After they finished and collected their prisoner, they would scuttle the ship and travel to the nearby empty beach. An evac helicopter was already on its way to collect them.

Over the scrambled radio, David listened as Nicolas Ruzickov continued to chastise him. Not only had the mission almost been a total failure, it had been a sloppy one, implicating the U.S. government. The American embassy on Pohnpei was already spinning the events like a whirling top, extolling the local authorities and spouting assurances that they would root out the culprits involved. The ambassador had vigorously denied any knowledge of David's men or what they were doing at Nan Madol. Funds were already being wired into the private accounts of critical Pohnpeian officials. David knew there was no problem or embarrassment that couldn't be made to disappear by throwing enough cash at it. By tomorrow, all evidence of U.S. involvement would be muddied away.

Ruzickov finished his tirade. “I have enough problems with the war. I don't need to be cleaning up your messes, Commander.”

“Yes, sir, but Jack Kirkland—”

“Your report stated that you eliminated him.”

“We believe so.” David remembered the seas erupting around the ship, bobbling and rocking the vessel. There was no way Jack could have survived, he thought, but his eyes narrowed. He could not be sure. The bastard had more lives than a damn cat. “But his crew, sir. We believe they still possess the crystal.”

“That objective no longer matters. The researchers managed to collect their own sample. They're experimenting with it as we speak, and so far the initial results are intriguing. But more importantly, Cortez believes translating the inscription on the obelisk may accelerate his research. So forget the fragment of crystal. Your mission's top priority is to bring the anthropologist to Neptune base.”

David clenched his fist. “Yes, sir.”

“After you accomplish this, you'll help the Navy's team extract the crystal pillar and return it to the States. Only then will you be allowed to tie up these loose ends.” Anger ran clear in the former Marine's voice.

Heat rose to David's face. Never before had he been reprimanded by the CIA director. Three dead, one severely injured. The mission would be a black mark on his record.

“Did you hear me, Commander Spangler?”

David had stopped listening, too filled with anger and shame. “Yes, sir. We'll evacuate the professor to the sea base immediately.”

A long sigh followed. “Commander, the conditions out East are worsening as we speak. A major sea battle is raging around Taiwan. Okinawa is under repeated missile attacks. And in Washington there is already talk of a nuclear response.” Ruzickov paused to let the significance sink in. “So you understand the importance of your efforts. If there is any way to utilize the power hidden in that crystal, it must be discovered as soon as possible. Every means must be utilized to accomplish this end. Private wars and vendettas have no place here.”

David closed his eyes. “I understand. I won't fail you again.”

“Prove it, Commander. Bring that woman to the Neptune.”

“We're already on our way.”

“Very good.” The line went dead.

David held the receiver a moment.
Fuck you
, he added silently, then slammed down the phone.

In the distance, a
whump-whump
echoed over the waters. Their evac helicopter was early. David cinched up his jacket and pushed out the door into the rainstorm. He crossed to Rolfe.

The lieutenant commander turned at his approach.

“Get the woman up here,” David ordered him.

“I think she's still unconscious.”

“Then carry her. We're leaving now.” David watched as his second-in-command swung away. He placed his fists on his hips. Maybe he had been too rough on the woman,
he thought, recalling how after losing Kirkland, he had vented his frustration on her. But he would no longer tolerate failures—not from himself, not from his men, not from her.

Rolfe reappeared, climbing from the doorway with their captive slung over a shoulder.

The rain seemed to revive the woman a bit. She stirred, raising her face. Her left eye was bruised and blood dribbled from her nose and split lip. She coughed thickly.

David turned away, satisfied she would live.

No, I wasn't too rough.

The strip of water between Taiwan and the Philippines was tight with ships, many with guns blazing. Admiral Houston watched the fighting through the green-tinted windows of the bridge. Overhead, the sky was choked with smoke, turning day to a gloomy twilight. That morning the
Gibraltar
had joined the battle group of the USS
John C. Stennis
, consisting of the massive Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, its air wing and destroyer squadron.

Just as the
Gibraltar
arrived, an attack by the Chinese air force began. Jets roared across the skies, bombarding the ships below with missile fire. In response, Sea Sparrow anti-aircraft missiles blasted skyward. A handful of jets exploded, tumbling in fiery streams into the ocean—but the true battle was only beginning. The Chinese navy, over the horizon, had soon joined the conflict, bombarding the region with rocket barrages.

All day, the sea war had raged.

Off to the south, a destroyer, the USS
Jefferson City
, lay burning. An evacuation was under way. ASW helicopters from the
Gibraltar
were already in the air, rising like hornets to aid in the defense of their section of the sea.

To Houston's side, Captain Brenning shouted orders to his bridge crew.

Houston stared out over the smoke and chaos. Both sides were chewing each other apart. And for what?

An alarm sounded. The Phalanx Close-in Weapons System at the front end of the island's superstructure swung its 20mm Gatling guns and began firing, chugging out fifty rounds a second. Off on the starboard side an incoming missile, a sea-skimmer, blew apart about two thousand yards away.

Orders were screamed.

Rocket fragments rained down upon the
Gibraltar
, pounding and peppering the ship's Kevlar armor panels. The ship bore the assault with minimal damage.

“Sir!” One of the lieutenants pointed. Two of the ASW helicopters, pelted by the missile shards, tumbled into the sea. At the same time, the Phalanx CIWS defensive guns near the fantail sponson rattled as more missiles bore down on the beleaguered ship. Mortars were launched by the SLQ-32, throwing up a cloud of chaff against the attack.

The
Gibraltar
echoed and rattled with frag impacts.

Captain Brenning said, “Admiral, we must retreat. The zone is too hot for the helicopters.”

Houston clenched his fists, but he nodded. “Order the flight deck cleared.” As his command was relayed, Houston turned toward the
Jefferson
, bearing silent witness to the death of so many sailors. He watched as the fires worsened. Tiny lifeboats fled the sinking giant.

Then a huge explosion blew near the ship's stern and a fireball rolled over the ship. Lifeboats, too near, were thrown through the air. The great ship's bow rose ominously, its stern sinking. In seconds the
Jefferson
slipped deeper and deeper. Houston refused to look away.

“Sir!” a lieutenant yelled from the radar station. “I have multiple vampires vectoring in from the north. Thirty missile signatures across the board.”

Captain Brenning responded, screaming orders.

Houston continued to watch the
Jefferson
sink. He knew the limits to the
Gibraltar
's defense systems and made a silent prayer for his crew as the first explosion blew out the fantail section of his ship.

Karen sat in the Sea Stallion helicopter. Through the windows, she watched dully as the ocean passed beneath her. Her face ached, and she could not completely swallow away the taste of blood. The beating from this morning had left her weak and sick. She had already vomited twice.

Across from her, Spangler lay slumped in his seat, eyes closed, lightly snoring. Three of his men took up the other seats, strapped in. One of them, Spangler's second-in-command, stared at her. She glared back at him. He looked away, but not before she spotted the flicker of shame on his face.

She returned her attention to the sea, thinking, plotting. They might hurt her physically, but she would not give up fighting. As long as she lived, she would strive for a way to thwart Spangler and his team.

As she stared at the passing water, she leaned against the cool window. Even with all the horror of the past day, one worry remained foremost in her mind—
Jack
. Bound to the cell's bed, she had heard the muffled explosions, felt the ship rock.

She closed her eyes, remembering the pain in his eyes as he swung through the door and left her behind. Was he alive? She made a silent promise to herself. She would survive, if only to answer that question.

Jack stood at the head of the worktable in Robert's wet lab. His crew were seated around its length, including two newcomers to the
Fathom
: Miyuki and Mwahu. The pair had boarded a few hours ago.

The police had questioned all of them, but it was clear where the blame lay. They were released. The chief of police seemed more interested in seeing them gone from the area, than in getting to the bottom of the night's attack and kidnapping.
Jack suspected an unseen hand urging the whole matter to be brushed under the rug.

Rogue pirates
was the final lame answer. The chief of police promised to continue the search for the missing anthropologist, but Jack knew it was a line of bullshit. As soon as they left, the matter would fade away.

“So what do we do from here?” Charlie asked.

With a wince of complaint from his wrapped rib cage, Jack lifted the backpack at his feet. It was Karen's bag. He dumped its contents on the worktable. The crystal star rattled on the tabletop. Beside it dropped the platinum-bound book recovered from the crypt.

“We need answers,” he stated fiercely. He slid the book toward Miyuki. “First, we need this translated.”

Miyuki opened it. Jack knew what lay inside. Earlier, he had studied it himself. Its pages were thin sheaves of platinum, crudely etched with more of the hieroglyphic writing. “Gabriel and I will get to work on it immediately.”

Mwahu leaned over the book as Miyuki closed it. He touched the single symbol drawn into its top cover. A triangle within a circle. “
Khamwau
,” he said. “I know this mark. My father teach. It means ‘danger.' ”

“That's a real surprise,” Kendall McMillan said sarcastically. Eyes turned in the accountant's direction. Jack had offered to leave the nervous man on Pohnpei, but he had refused, stating, “With the cover-up going on here, I wouldn't stand a rat's ass of a chance getting off this island alive.” So he had stayed on the
Fathom.

Returning his attention to the book, Jack said, “Mwahu, since you know some of the ancient language, maybe you could help Miyuki with its translation.”

Next, Jack passed the crystal star toward Charlie. “I need you to research its properties and abilities.”

The geologist smiled, eyeing the artifact greedily.

“George…” Jack turned to the gray-haired historian. “I want you to continue researching the lost ships of this Dragon's Triangle. See if you can spot any other patterns.”

He nodded. “I'm working on a few theories already.”

Kendall McMillan frowned, speaking up again. “How is
any of this going to pull our asses out of the fire? Why don't we just lay low? Keep running.”

“Because we'd never stop running. They'd never stop hunting us. The only way out is to discover the true reason for the crash of Air Force One.” Jack leaned on his fists. “That answer lies at the heart of it all. I just know it!”

Lisa spoke up from the other end of the table. “But Kendall's right. What are we going to do in the meantime? Where are we going to go?”

“Back to where we started. Back to the crash site.”

Lisa frowned. “But why? It's heavily guarded by the military. We won't have a chance of getting near there.”

Jack's voice grew tight. “Because if David is heading anywhere, it's there.”

Lawrence Nafe listened to the late night reports from each of his Joint Chiefs. The news was grim. The Chinese naval and air forces were holding U.S. forces at bay.

The Secretary of the Navy stood at the foot of the table. “Following the earthquakes, military bases up and down the West Coast are still struggling to dig out of the rubble, hampering an ability to sustain a prolonged conflict across the Pacific. A second aircraft carrier, the USS
Abraham Lincoln
, and its battle group are en route from the Indian Ocean. But it's still three days out.”

“So what are you saying?” Nafe asked, exhausted and irritable.

Hank Riley, Commandant of the Marine Corps, answered, “We're fighting this battle with one hand tied behind our back, sir. Our supply lines across the Pacific are weak at best. After the tidal waves, Honolulu is still under three feet of water. Its air bases—”

“I've already heard from the Air Force Chief of Staff,” Nafe said sourly. “I need answers, alternatives…”

General Hickman, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, stood. “We do have one option left to consider.”

“And what is that?”

“As has been mentioned already, we're fighting this battle with one fist tied behind our backs. We can change that.”

Nafe sat up straighter. This was what he came to hear—answers, not problems. “What do you propose?”

“A limited nuclear response.”

A hush fell over the Situation Room. Nafe's hands gripped his knees. He had already discussed such an option with Nicolas Ruzickov earlier in the day. Nafe tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Have you formulated a plan?”

The general nodded. “We break the blockade decisively. A balls-out response. Military targets only.”

Nafe's eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“From two Ohio-class subs off the coast of the Philippines, we strike three critical zones with Trident Two missiles.” The general pointed out the targets on the highlighted map. “It'll break the back of the blockade. The Chinese will be forced to retreat. But more importantly, they'll get the message how serious we are to protect our interests in the region.”

Nafe flicked a look toward Nicolas Ruzickov. A similar scenario had been proffered by the CIA director. It was clear his influence and string-pulling had reached all the way to the Joint Chiefs. Nafe assumed a look of somber thoughtfulness, playing the concerned patrician. “A nuclear response.” He shook his head. “It's a sorry day that the Chinese have driven us to.”

“Yes, sir,” the general agreed, bowing his head.

Nafe sighed, sagging as if defeated. “But tragically, I see no other choice. Proceed immediately.” After an appropriately long pause, he dragged himself to his feet. “And may God forgive us all.” He turned and strode to the room's exit, flanked by his Secret Service.

Once out the door, Nicolas Ruzickov was not long in catching up with him in the hall, matching his stride.

Nafe allowed a slim smile to shine for a moment. “Well done, Nick. Well done indeed.”

Lisa spotted Jack by the bow rail, staring at the horizon. Overhead, the skies were slate-gray, with thin scudding clouds and a perpetual haze that even the noon sun had failed to burn away. Jack stood in his customary red trunks, a loose shirt open in front.

Elvis sat by his side, leaning against Jack's leg. Lisa could not help but smile at the loyalty and affection in the simple gesture. One of Jack's hands lightly ruffled the fur behind the dog's ear.

Lisa crossed to him, compelled by the need to get something off her chest. “Jack…”

He turned toward her and winced, fingering the Ace bandage wrap around his chest. “What?”

She moved to his side, put her hands on the rail. The solitary moment gone, Elvis loped to a sunny spot on the deck and sprawled out.

Lisa stared out at sea, silent for a moment, then spoke. “Jack, why are we doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

She turned to him, leaning a hip against the rail. “We've got the crystal. Miyuki says she's close to a translation. Why don't we just keep a low profile until we have answers, then send the entire story out to the
New York Times
?”

Jack gripped the rail with fists. “If we did that, Jennifer would be dead before the first paper hit the stands.”

Silently, Lisa stared at him, searching his face to see if he recognized his slip of the tongue. He just kept staring off to sea. “Jennifer?”

“What?”

“You just said
Jennifer
would be as good as dead.”

Jack finally looked at her, his face a mask of hurt and confusion. “You know what I meant,” he mumbled, waving off any significance.

Lisa grabbed his hand. “She's not Jennifer.”

“I know that,” Jack snapped.

Lisa kept him from turning away. “Talk to me, Jack.”

He sighed, but his shoulders remained tight. “Karen's in this danger because of me. I…I ran off, leaving her with that madman.”

“And you explained why. Karen was right. Staying would have only gotten you both killed. If she's as strong as you say she is, she'll survive.”

“Only as long as she's useful to that bastard.” He twisted away. “I have to try to rescue her. I can't just keep running away.”

Lisa touched his shoulder lightly. “Jack, for as long as I've known you, you've been running away. From Jennifer, the shuttle accident, your past. What's stopping you now? What does this woman mean to you?”

“I…I don't know.” Jack sagged, head hanging over the rail, studying the waves. Finally, he looked at Lisa again. “But I'd like the chance to find out.”

She slipped an arm around his waist. “That's all I wanted to hear.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, swallowed back the twinge of sadness and the ache in her heart. Jack had finally opened himself, if only a crack, to a woman…and it wasn't her.

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, seeming to sense her sorrow. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not, Jack. But Christ, you've picked a hell of a time to fall in love.”

He returned her smile and kissed her forehead. They stood in each other's arms until Mwahu called from an open doorway. “Miyuki says come!”

Jack slipped from beside her. “She's translated the language?”

Mwahu nodded vigorously. “Come!”

Lisa followed Jack as he strode after the dark-skinned islander. Belowdecks, Miyuki had set up a computer station atop Robert's long worktable. The work space was crowded with printouts, scribbled notes, and coffee mugs.

Miyuki looked up from a sheaf of papers with a worried expression.

“You've succeeded?” Jack asked.

She nodded, straightening her papers. “Gabriel succeeded. But Mwahu's help was critical. With his ability to apply context to a score of symbols, Gabriel was able to compile the entire vocabulary. He's translated everything—the crypt's book, the pillar's inscription, even the writing in the Chatan pyramids.”

“Great! What have you learned?”

She frowned. “The obelisk inscription appears to be mostly prayers, asking the gods for a good harvest, fertility, that sort of thing.” She teased out one page and read. “ ‘May the sun shine on the empty fields and make them fertile…may the bellies of our women grow heavy with children as plentiful as the fish of the sea.' ”

“Not much use,” Jack concurred.

“But the other writings are more interesting. They both describe the same thing—an ancient cataclysm.”

Jack picked up the book from the table. “Karen suggested something like that. A lost continent sunk during a great disaster.”

“She was right.”

He raised the platinum book. “What does this say?”

Miyuki looked grim. “It appears to be the diary of Horon-ko.”

“Our most ancient teacher,” Mwahu interjected.

Miyuki nodded. “It recounts how his people, a seafaring tribe, once fished and traveled throughout the Pacific, some ten to twelve thousand years ago. Though they were fairly nomadic, their homeland was a large continent in the middle of the Pacific. They lived in small coastal villages and seaside towns. Then one day a hunter returned from a journey to the inner continent with ‘a piece of the sun's magic.' A
magical stone that shone and glowed. Horon-ko spoke at length of how the gift granted his people the ability to make stones fly.”

“The crystal!” Jack said.

“Exactly. They excavated other crystals…all at the same location deep in the interior of their continent. They carved tools and worship fetishes.”

“What does it say about the crystal's properties?”

Lisa interrupted. “Maybe Charlie ought to listen to this.”

Jack nodded. “Gather everyone. They all should hear this.”

It took less than five minutes to reconvene in Robert's lab. Once everyone was settled, Lisa motioned to Miyuki. “Go on.”

With a nod, Miyuki quickly repeated the story, then continued anew. “These crystals changed Horon-ko's people. They were able to build great cities and temples throughout many lands. As they spread, their society constructed elaborate mines, searching for more crystals. Then, one day, they found a rich vein of crystal buried in the heart of a hilltop. Over the course of fifteen years, they excavated the entire hill away, exposing the crystal spire.”

“The pillar!” Jack exclaimed.

“So it would appear. They worshiped the spire, believing it a blessing from their gods. It became a great pilgrimage spot. In fact, Horon-ko was one of the priests of the pillar.”

“And this great cataclysm?”

“That's the strange part,” Miyuki replied, turning to her computer system. “Gabriel, could you read the translation starting from section twenty?”

“Certainly, Professor Nakano,”
the computer responded from the tiny speakers.
“ ‘There came a time of bad omens. Strange lights were seen in the north. Ribbons of light, like waves of the sea, rode the night skies. The grounds trembled. The people came to the god pillar to pray for help. Sacrifices were made. But on that last day, the moon came and ate the sun. The goddess of night walked the land.' ”

“An eclipse,” Charlie mumbled.

Gabriel continued,
“ ‘The god pillar, angry at the moon, blazed brightly. The ground shook. Mountains fell, seas rose. Fires opened in the ground, swallowing villages. But the gods did not forsake us. A god of light stepped from the pillar and ordered us to build great ships. To gather our flocks and people. The god spoke of a terrible time of darkness, when the seas would rise up and swallow our land. In our great ships, we must travel the drowning seas. So we gathered our seeds and our animals. We built a great ship.' ”

“Like Noah's ark and the flood,” Lisa whispered.

Gabriel continued his recitation,
“ ‘The god spoke true. A great darkness filled the skies. For many moons the sun was gone. Fiery pits blazed, openings to the lower world. Killing smoke filled the air. It grew hot. The seas rose and took our lands. In great boats we traveled to the Land of Big Ice, far to the south. And once there—' ”

Miyuki cut him off. “Thank you, Gabriel. That's enough.” She stood. “The remainder of the book relates how the survivors kept their civilization's history alive. They traveled all around the world, finding other races of man to whom to pass on their stories and teachings, until eventually they were spread so thin that their civilization ceased to exist. Only Horon-ko and a handful of others returned to the grave of their homeland to die. He warned those that remained to beware the old places and avoid trespassing lest the angry gods reawaken.” Miyuki sighed. “It is there the tale ends.”

Jack glanced around the room. “So what do you all think?”

No one spoke.

Jack eyed George. “Does this help with your research into the Dragon's Triangle?”

“I'm not sure.” The old historian had remained quiet during the discourse, smoking a pipe. He cleared his throat. “Earlier today I came up with intriguing statistics concerning the lost ships of the region. But I'm not sure what they mean.”

“What did you find out?”

“Let me show you.” He rifled through his pockets, searching one then another. Finally, he yanked out a folded computer printout. “I plotted the number of recorded disappearances for each year, going back a hundred years.” He unfolded the paper.

“As you can see, there's a pattern.” He tapped the paper. “The number of incidences peak and trough very regularly. The numbers grow to a certain peak then taper back off. The size of the peak varies, but not the frequency. There's a distinct clustering every eleven years.”