Deep Fathom (44 page)

Karen's image flickered. “Maybe we'd better. The last scientists are due to leave in an hour, leaving me alone with David's second-in-command. If there's gonna be a rescue, it'll have to be soon. But what about the pillar? What are we going to do if we don't hear from Dr. Cortez?”

“Pray we do. Pray he's been too damn busy making arrangements to save the world to bother updating us.” But even Charlie knew that such a prayer was unlikely to be answered. “Listen, Karen, I've been working on something, something we might try. Let's all keep in close contact from here.”

“I'll try, but it'll be difficult. Lieutenant Rolfe is below assisting in the launch of the next sub. I feigned an urgent need to go to the bathroom to make this call.” She checked
her watch. “And I'm running out of time. I should be getting back down there.”

“Then let me patch you through to Jack.” Charlie turned to Miyuki.

The professor hit a button and spoke aloud. “Gabriel, can you patch this line to the
Nautilus
.”

A pause.
“I am afraid I cannot comply. There appears to be some sort of interference.”

Karen's brows knit with worry, then her image flickered, giving way to static, which ate the rest of the transmission.

“Gabriel, get her back!” Charlie ordered.

“I am afraid I cannot comply. There appears to be some sort of interference.”

Before Charlie could ask for clarification, the sound of someone running down the stairs drew his attention.

Robert's voice came over the tiny intercom speakers, “We've got—”

“Company,” Kendall McMillan finished as he burst into the room. “Two ships, military, circling around from both sides of the island.”

They all moved toward the stairs except Miyuki, who remained at her computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “I'm not abandoning Karen,” she called to him. “I'll keep trying to reach her, let her know what's happening.”

Charlie nodded. “Do your best. But if we're boarded, hide that computer. It may be all that stands between us and the end of the world.”

He climbed to the stern deck of the
Fathom
and watched a long ship sweep around the southern coast of their little islet.

An air horn blared from its deck, followed by a message.
“Prepare to be boarded! Any resistance will be met with deadly force!”

McMillan stared. “What are we going to do?”

“We have no choice,” Charlie said. “Not this time. We
surrender.”

Karen tried typing in Gabriel's address again. Still no answer. Checking her watch, she pushed out of her seat. She could delay no longer without risking suspicion. She frowned one last time at the computer. The abrupt end to her conversation with the
Deep Fathom
threatened to send her into a panic.

Crossing to Level 2's ladder, she climbed down, her mind still on the communication glitch. As she reached a leg down to the next rung, her ankle was grabbed and yanked.

She squawked and fell from the ladder.

Rolfe caught her, clamping her upper arm. “What took you so long?”

Karen swallowed, avoiding his accusing stare. She forced a tremor into her voice; not all of it was feigned. “It…it's…”

“It's what?”

She glared at him. “It's my time of the month, if you must know!”

Rolfe's face grew a shade more ruddy. It seemed even these tough SEAL-trained assassins did not care to know about such fine womanly details. “Okay then, but stick by my side. We're just about to launch the last shuttle to the surface.”

Karen did not like the sound of that.
Last shuttle
…What about her?

Rolfe led her to the docking bay's control station. He gazed through the window, then spoke into the thin-poled mike. “All set,
Argus
?”

Karen peeked through the window. The pilot and the last two scientists, both crammed into the rear passenger compartment, were locked into the sub.

“Systems green. Ready for launch,” the pilot radioed.

“Pressurizing.” Rolfe poked a large blue button, initiating
the docking bay system.

Karen watched. As soon as the pressures equalized, the outlet pipes opened and water poured into the bay, quickly swallowing up the sub. She studied it all intently. Without Dr. Cortez here, she might need to do this herself.

All morning long she had dogged Rolfe's steps, learning by quiet observation how the base operated. It was all user-friendly, thanks mostly to this compact control station. A bank of four monitors showed external views from all around the station. An additional two monitors for the ROV robots rested above a pair of joysticks. The remainder of the panel was devoted to the docking bay itself.

She watched the seawater level rise past the tiny porthole observation window. As the bay filled, a glint of metal caught her eye. Something small floated loose in the docking space. She dismissed it as some mislaid tool and returned her focus to the sub. Across the bay, the pilot tested the sub's thrusters, floating up from the deck.

But again the glint drew her eye. It was the same object, whirling past the tiny window now.

Leaning closer, Karen recognized the bit of flotsam.

A pair of eyeglasses
. Its lenses broken, its frame twisted and bent.

She covered a gasp with a hand over her mouth.

Hidden in a cloud of silt, Jack edged his sub along the base of the cliff, clinging under a lip of rock to diminish his sonar shadow to the sub above. He feathered his pedals with the lightest touches, trying to move no faster than the current. He dared not move any quicker, lest he raise a wake trail in the cloud and reveal his position. Overhead, the glow of the
Perseus
's spotlight swept past in a crisscrossing pattern, searching, waiting for the silt to settle.

Jack knew he had to be gone before that happened.

Still, he forced himself to maintain a snail's pace, flying the sub blind, no lights, guided by sonar alone. He edged
forward. His goal: a side canyon up ahead. He had no idea where it led or if it was a blind alley, but knew he had to be out of the main channel before the cloud dissipated.

Then a voice blared from his radio earpiece. “I know you're down there, Kirkland. You can't hide forever.”

Spangler…great…no surprise there.

Jack remained silent, playing dead.

“I have your woman trapped at the sea base, and your ship impounded. Show yourself and I'll let the others live.”

Jack resisted the urge to laugh.
Sure you will
.

The silence stretched. David's voice returned again, growing more angry. “Would you like me to teach Professor Grace a few lessons in your absence? Perhaps hear her screams as Lieutenant Rolfe rapes her?”

Jack clenched his hands into fists but remained silent. Revealing himself would hurt Karen more than it would help. His best chance lay in stealth.

Ahead, a side canyon finally opened on the right. Jack guided the
Nautilus
into the narrow cut. He juiced the thrusters. Sonar feed began to fill the computer navigation screen. He sighed in relief. The side canyon was not a dead end. It wound far, branching and dividing.

Anxious, he moved more swiftly. He raced along the deep crack. Walls flashed past. He needed time and distance to shake the bastard.

“Where you going, Jack?” Lights flared behind him.

Jumping, Jack craned around.
Damn it…

The
Perseus
swept down into the slot canyon after him, diving with murderous intent.

Staring behind him, Jack realized his error. A dusty spray of silt trailed behind the sub's tail, coughed up from the seabed floor by his passage. A clear trail. A stupid mistake.

Giving up any pretense of hiding, he speared on his lamplight and floored the pedals. The
Nautilus
shot up, corkscrewing out of the canyon.

As he spun, a minitorpedo zipped past the sub's dome, narrowly missing his vessel. To the left, a brief explosion flared as the torpedo struck a seamount, its thunder echoing
through his hydrophones.

Jack tilted his sub into a steep dive, riding the shockwave, and dropped into a neighboring canyon. Flattening out, the bottom of his sub scraped through the silt, casting up a cloud.

What had betrayed him a moment ago could save him now. He thumbed off his lamp and coasted without thrusters, vanishing into the widening cloud of sand and silt.

He heard David over the radio, swearing. In David's anxiousness to pursue him, he had forgotten his radio line was still open. Jack did not correct this mistake. He eavesdropped. “Goddamn you, Kirkland. I'll see you die before this day is out.”

Jack grinned.
Keep trying, asshole.
He raced down the chute, gliding around an outcropping. A sonar warning chimed. The canyon ended in a flat cliff face only twenty yards away.

“Oh, shit…” He flung the thrusters in reverse, earning a high-pitched whine of protest, and flung the nose of the sub straight up. But it wasn't enough to halt his momentum. The bottom of the
Nautilus
struck the wall hard.

Jarred forward, the belts of his harness dug into his shoulders. He forced himself back and worked the thrusters, climbing straight up the wall.

A new warning rang from his computer. His batteries were running low.

“Great…just great…”

Clearing the wall, Jack leveled out and sped along the mount's summit. He prayed his power lasted long enough. Sensing movement on his left, he turned and was blinded by a shaft of light.

The
Perseus
flew out of a nearby canyon, straight at him.

Rather than being rammed broadside, Jack rolled the sub, taking the collision on his undercarriage. The
Nautilus
jolted violently. Struck at the stern, Jack's sub spun. He struggled to right himself, to no avail. The sub struck the seamount, burying its nose in the thick silt.

Sweating, ears ringing, he fought the thrusters to tug himself
out.

With a groan of stressed metal, the
Nautilus
popped free.

As he swung his sub upright, he peripherally saw the
Perseus
swinging in a tight loop, its torpedo array swiveling in his direction.

Time to go!

He slammed the foot pedals. Thrusters whined. The sub rumbled and tremored but refused to move. His front thruster assembly was jammed with sand. “C'mon, c'mon…”

He slammed the sub into reverse, blowing clear the choked props.

The
Perseus
sped closer, determined not to miss this time. “Ready to die, Kirkland?”

Free of debris, Jack goosed his thrusters. With no time to escape, he aimed straight for his adversary, playing a risky game of chicken, trusting in David's cowardice. An explosion too close would threaten David's own sub.

He floored the foot pedals and streaked forward.

Rather than shying, the
Perseus
remained on course.

Jack flicked on his xenon lamp. Light lanced out to stab the other sub, blinding its pilot.

At the last moment Spangler angled away.

Jack flashed under the enemy sub. He caught a quick glimpse of David sprawled on his belly in his cigar-shaped glass pod. Then the
Perseus
was gone.

Watching it retreat, Jack spotted the torpedo array spinning to track him as the
Perseus
fled. A finger of fire spat from the array.

“Oh crap!”

Jack straightened in his seat. The nearest canyon lay too far away. His sonar picked up the incoming torpedo as it sped toward him. He found himself leaning forward, as if that would increase his speed. “Move it…”

Laughter sounded over his radio. “Adios, asshole!”

Jack realized he would never make the canyon. He searched for other options and spotted a large boulder resting on the seamount's summit. Slamming the left pedal, he dove at a steep angle toward it.

“Suicide, Jack? At least die with honor!”

Jack's gaze flickered between the speeding torpedo and the oncoming collision. He bit his lip, calculating. At the last moment, he blew out his ballast tanks and gunned his thrusters. The nose end of his sub slammed into the silty bottom in front of the boulder—and
bounced
.

With the increased buoyancy, the tiny vessel flipped over the boulder, like a gymnast flying over a vaulting horse.

But the torpedo couldn't.

The huge rock burst under the
Nautilus
. The blast shoved up the sub's stern, peppering its underside with shards. Jack whooped, riding the concussion while sucking up new ballast. The shock wave shoved him right over the edge of the canyon.

He dove, dropping like a lead weight straight into the next chute.

Near the bottom, he angled out, skimming along the seabed. Relief and excitement mixed, but it was short-lived. The dark waters above him soon grew lighter as David pursued, closing in with his faster sub.

Jack examined his sonar readings. A strange shadow showed up ahead. He kept his lamps lit, unsure what was coming.

He needed a place to hide—and soon!

Sliding around a slight curve in the canyon, he spotted the anomaly. An arch of rock spanned the chute, a high bridge of thin stone.

He glided under it. It was too small to hide him, but it gave him an idea. He slowed and settled to the silty bottom.

It was time to even the odds.

Lawrence Nafe stood before the computerized strategy map glowing on the rear wall of the White House's Situation Room. Behind him were gathered the Joint Chiefs, the Cabinet, and the Secret Service.

On the map, the tiny island of Okinawa glowed red.