Denzel was able to quickly shove his weapon into the ASDS ahead of him as he crawled into the driver's seat. Just in time, he pulled the hatch closed as the seam in the floor split beneath him, and the mini-sub dropped like a stone into the water.
Hurriedly Denzel fired things up, praying that the sub was in good enough shape to launch. Any number of things could go wrong here, he knew. This was a battery-powered machine, running on lithium-ion packs that had sat untended for who knew how long. He might just have sealed himself into a water-tight coffin.
To his tremendous relief, the systems kicked on, including life support. Fans whirred to life, lights danced on the displays. He flipped a switch, and a set of forward lights lit the waters ahead of him.
He was sinking, but he was alive.
He worked through the startup sequence from memory, and in a moment, he felt the vibration of the motors.
He’d done it. He’d managed to escape. He’d survived.
He was in a tiny metal tube with crushing blackness all around, with very little hope of getting out of this alive. One problem at a time. For now, he was just happy that no one could shoot at him.
"Breathe,” he whispered.
He was trained to follow orders, and he obeyed this one, taking slow breaths, inhaling and exhaling in a controlled and intentional way. He thought back on his rush through the corridors of the base, the blackness pressing in around him, and how he’d held it together. He could do the same here.
This was not Afghanistan. This was not the crushing weight of desert sand pressing in all around him, getting in his eyes, his ears, his nose. He could breathe. He could move his hands and legs. He was fine.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just breathe.”
It took several minutes—too long, too much time—but he could feel it release, the grip of the claustrophobia loosening, the press of the darkness and water sagging around him like cast-off bed sheets. He had to get to Kotler. That was the next move. He had to get to his friend and get them both out of this alive.
The mission took him then, and it didn’t matter what else he was feeling.
“Embrace the suck,” he said, his voice louder and stronger, reminding him that he’d trained for things like this.
Well … not precisely this. But he knew this sub and knew his own capabilities. He knew what he had to do.
There would be challenges.
He had righted the sub and adjusted the ballast so that he hovered as if suspended in a viscous liquid. He could stay like that for as long as the batteries held if need be.
Speaking of …
He checked the displays. The lithium-ion packs had held a 90% charge, which was impressive. The cold must have helped, Denzel mused. And really, who could say how long they'd been here? For all he knew, Van Burren may have been to this base as recently as two years ago, before his death. Maybe that was when they'd brought the ASDS. And the packs in this rig were military grade—a little tougher than what you'd find in an average laptop or hoverboard. Denzel was no real expert on these things, but he had utter confidence in the engineering.
He couldn’t stay here indefinitely, of course. He had several hours of power, particularly if he minimized his usage. But it wasn’t infinite. Every minute the sub’s systems were in use was one minute down out of an indeterminate number.
He checked the oxygen next. That was a good number. A couple of passengers could go for a few days on those levels. That was reassuring, and it did a lot to calm him.
Suddenly the ASDS shook, and Denzel heard a muffled noise. From the corner of his eye, he saw a brief flash of light.
The bad guys had some grenades of their own, it seemed, and were using them like depth charges, trying to sink him.
He had to move.
The forward lights were a dead giveaway to his location, so he cut them, and was immediately thrown into utter darkness. The press of it came back strong, but Denzel had been prepared for it. The mission. Do something. Embrace the suck.
He pushed the throttle forward, and did a slight roll, repositioning himself several feet away from his last location. Sure enough, a grenade detonated in approximately the spot he would have been had he not turned. They had anticipated his momentum and were attacking with surprising accuracy considering they were lobbing grenades into a current of water from above.
The shockwave from the grenade rocked the sub slightly, but that wasn’t really a concern. The ASDS had some anti-shock systems running, for just such a challenge. The electric motors compensated, keeping him upright and oriented in his chosen direction.
He needed to get out of here as fast as possible, however. He could dive, putting some distance between him and the surface. That would keep the grenades from being much of a threat.
He did this and checked the sonar and depth finder frequently. Without the headlights, he might as well be driving with his eyes closed, but the navigation system for the ASDS was built for this. He had a skeletal, ray-drawn view of the surrounding underwater terrain, like something out of an early video game.
It did nothing to help his claustrophobia. But he could see.
He pushed forward, the tension rising as he had to thread his way through the underwater ravine. The Nazis had taken advantage of the natural terrain here, widening where necessary but otherwise building around the existing river. There were crags of stone jutting from either side, but the gap was wide enough for a U-boat to pass through with no trouble. The ASDS was safe as long as he kept away from the sides.
Things started to narrow, and the river became a bit shallower. Still deep enough for a boat to submerge and move. Still fine for Denzel's little sub.
Up ahead, according to the sonar, was “something.”
He could start to make out the shape of it with each ping of the sonar and realized that it was the U-Boat. Kotler was up ahead. Denzel had made it, for what it was worth.
He approached, slowing the ASDS, and made his way to the starboard side of the Abigail. This was the side opposite the gangplank and catwalk, closer to the ledge where he had made his escape. He could surface here without being spotted, he hoped. Unless someone was on that ledge, he should be practically invisible.
His hope—his vague plan—was to somehow get Kotler out of that boat and into the ASDS. Using the Abigail as cover, it was possible. The trick was going to be Kotler’s escape.
And then there was the cutting rig.
He surfaced, and the ASDS adjusted ballast to float while staying upright. Denzel checked through the windows, inspecting the ledge and any other potential vantage points, including the U-boat itself. No one was visible.
He opened the hatch, letting the very welcome cold air from outside flood in. He shut off the life support systems for the ASDS, conserving air and energy, and with them went some of the ambient noise he’d already adjusted to.
He could now hear a sound, like the crackling of electricity. He could smell the acrid scent of smoke as metal gave way to acetylene. He could see the irregular pulsing glow of light generated by the torch.
They were cutting their way in.
There was the sound of a shout and then a shot, followed by the whine of a too-near ricochet. Denzel didn't waste time looking to see where it had come from and instead slammed the hatch shut, rushing through the dive sequence to put the ASDS back under water.
His heart was pounding. His head was pounding. He couldn’t breathe. The air wouldn’t come.
Life support, he thought, and frantically re-engaged the oxygen. The fans spun up, pushing air into the chamber, making him feel slightly lightheaded.
He had to warn Kotler.
He fumbled the radio at first but managed to tune it in. This unit could hit just about any frequency, but he raced through the citizen bands, knowing exactly where he'd be most likely to make contact. On CB 25 he hit the comm button.
“Mayday! Mayday! Kotler, do you read me? You there?”
A few beats passed, and Denzel worried that
he might be too late. He was about to repeat himself when Kotler’s voice came over the air.
“Roland? Where have you been? Everything alright? Are you …?”
“Hard to explain,” Denzel interrupted. “But I’m right under you. We need to get you out of that boat. The bad guys have torches.”
“They’re cutting their way in?” Kotler asked.
“We have to get you out,” Denzel repeated.
Another pause. Had Kotler understood?
“I can’t leave, Roland. Not yet. I need another hour.”
An hour? Was he insane?
“Kotler, we ain’t got it!”
“Roland, this is it. This is what Gail’s after. I have it here. And if she gets her hands on it, the game’s over for all of us. Under no circumstances should we let her get this cargo.”
Denzel thought about this. He could feel his pulse in his own throat, feel the panic rising. He took a breath, calmed himself. Set himself straight.
If Kotler was willing to risk his life to stop Gail McCarthy from getting whatever was on that sub, then it was important. It mattered. And Denzel would back his play.
“I’ll hold the line for as long as I can,” he said. “I assume you have a plan?”
“I do,” Kotler replied. “And it’s working. But I need all the time you can give me.”
“You have it. Get to work.”
They signed off, and Denzel took another few breaths. What he was about to do—it was crazy. And it might end with him being shot or blown up or worse. But Kotler needed the time, and Denzel was the only one who could give it to him. God willing.
He made some adjustments, spun the ASDS around, and pushed forward. In an eerie near-repeat of his earlier escape, Denzel found himself diving under the Abigail. At least this time he wasn’t wet and cold.
On the other side, he straightened the mini-sub, aligning himself to the gap between the U-boat and the dock. He took a few more breaths, and then worked the M4 and a few grenades into position, readying his arsenal. He raised the ASDS to the surface slowly, painfully, rising up through the gap until he leveled off. He steadied it there, surfacing with only the slightest wake, and then popped the hatch.
He was spotted almost immediately by the crew cutting their way into the Abigail. They were already on alert, with some of Gail’s team swarming up to the top of the U-Boat, covering the water on the starboard side. They were in the worst possible position to take aim at him here.
The crew abandoned their cutting and started firing on him with handguns. His distance and their angle from him gave him some cover, but it wouldn’t last long. He had to make the best of this slight advantage.
He pulled a pin on a grenade and lobbed it.
His aim wasn’t the mercenaries. Instead, he put the grenade into the gap between the gangplank and the pier, or as close to it as he needed.
The grenade detonated, and took a chunk out of the gangplank, causing it to collapse into the water below. It took several of Gail’s people with it.
Denzel leveled the M4 and managed to take out everyone who hit the water before having to retreat back into the ASDS for cover.
The remaining men and women on the catwalk were trying their damnedest to get an angle on him, but he was too close to the side and too far away from their position. The mercenaries on the sub itself, however, were maneuvering to a position that would give them plenty of reach.
Denzel sank back into the ASDS and pulled the hatch closed. He dove again, descending as quickly as possible, and maneuvered one more time to a new vantage point.
He rose once more and grinned when he realized that everyone was staring into the water where he'd gone under. No one had even considered looking this way.
He raised the hatch carefully, pulled the pin on another grenade, and was about to lob it their way when a shot rang out, grazing his left shoulder.
The grenade fumbled from his hand and into the water, detonating a moment later and sending a plume of water into the air, raining back on him like a fountain.
Denzel had ducked when the grenade went wild, and now looked up to see Gail McCarthy standing at the ruins of the gangplank, a handgun leveled on him. She was close enough, and had a good enough angle, that he knew he was done.
“Move and the next one won’t miss,” she said, her tone as icy as the frozen wasteland above.
Denzel moved anyway, and Gail proved she hadn’t been bluffing.
Chapter 21
The last batch.
Kotler nearly laughed aloud, but he didn’t dare waste the energy.
After hours of prying open crates and loading these cylinders into the torpedo tube, he now went through the procedure he had memorized down to the last flick of the switch. The final batch of the element was expelled into the underground river.
Gail’s mission had failed.
At least, this part had. Who knew what else she had in mind. And in truth, Kotler knew, she could potentially bring a crew here later to dive for the cylinders. They were watertight, after all. Something Kotler wished he'd thought about before sending them all into the drink.
Things were as they were. And he would have to make do.
Now it was time to face the outside reality.
Denzel was out there covering for him, and Kotler had picked up the occasional muffled sound of combat. He wasn’t sure what Roland was doing, but it was loud.
Now, though, Kotler might be able to end this, and hopefully without bloodshed. Though that seemed unlikely. In truth, he and Denzel would probably die here, their bodies dropped into the waters, never to be seen or heard from again.
Eventually, someone would come looking at the last known coordinates of the Cat. Maybe they'd be able to prevent Gail from making a recovery attempt for the element. That was a hope Kotler could cling to.
There was a crackle from the radio room. “Dan, are you there?”
The voice chilled him in its familiarity, and in its casual tone. He knew that voice.
Gail McCarthy, speaking so calmly that it could only mean one thing. Whatever Denzel had been up to outside, it was over.
“We have your partner, Dan. He’s been shot, but he might live. If you come out now, surrender the U-boat, we can make a deal.”
Kotler laughed out loud at that. Gail McCarthy’s deals were worse than her threats.
He wandered to the radio room, exhaustion soaked into his bones, his hands scuffed and blistered and bleeding from the hours of manual labor. He was in no shape and no mood for this. The games with Gail—he was done with them.
He rotated slowly, taking in the interior of the sub and everything it contained, one last time.
"Dan, I know you can hear me. Ignore me, and Roland dies. Talk to me, and maybe we can work this out."
An uptick of Southern charm at the end of that. A pitch of cute and coy. He knew that tone. He’d once thought it was charming. Now it turned his stomach.
He thought for a moment, then picked up the radio mic.
“Keep him safe, Gail, and I’ll come out.”
“I wouldn’t dream of hurting him!” she replied with mock astonishment. “But come out. We’ll chat. We can work this out, Dan, I promise. You know I … I genuinely care for you. I don’t want to see you hurt, I swear it.”
There was something in the tone of her voice that made Dan believe that, at the very least, she had fooled herself into believing her own words. But he knew. She might care. She might love him, even. But she could never and would never allow him or anyone else to come between her and her goals. The empire would always come first. It was her identity now—as much her true self as any identity she’d ever worn.
That was the key.
Kotler breathed deeply, exhaling slowly. "Give me twenty minutes," he said. "I have to remove all the barriers."
A bluff for time, but believable. If not for his labors with disposing of the element he would undoubtedly have built barriers in the U-boat. They would know that.
; There was a pause from the other side, and when Gail returned, he could hear the smile and the lingering laughter in her voice. "Do that, Dan. Remove all the barriers between us. You have twenty minutes."
Gail could be patient for twenty minutes. She’d been patient for a lifetime already. Everything she’d been through, every move she’d made, had been aimed at this moment. The element was onboard this sub bearing her name. Marked for her, as it were. She wouldn’t even have to unload it—her team could figure out the sub and get it moving, taking it to one of the network’s bases in more hospitable climates. Someplace warm and safe from any possible detection or intrusion.
And she’d have a more specialized team return here to begin mining for more—she had better resources than the Nazis had been able to bring to bear. She’d find more. She’d monopolize this substance and use it to conquer the world.
Time was ticking down for Dan. She could wait.
His partner was slumped against a steel support, hands bound behind him. Her people had tended to the wound in his side, removing the bullet and stopping the bleeding. Denzel was unconscious at the moment, maybe from loss of blood or perhaps from the drugs they'd given him.
She needed him alive for the moment. He was leverage against Dan Kotler. There must always be leverage against Dan Kotler. That had become a personal rule of hers, over the past couple of years. Controlling Kotler was less about dominating him and more about enabling him to dominate himself.
It was one of the things she liked about him.
Reggie was standing beside her, armed and ready for anything. The rest of her crew had cobbled together a replacement gangplank and were aligned along the top of the sub and the catwalk, weapons ready.
No tricks, Dan, she thought. Being clever won’t get you out of this one.
Time was almost up, her patience was thin, and she was about to call to him over the radio, to tell him that the consequences of being late were more than a stern reprimand. She had just raised the radio to her mouth, however, when the hatch of the sub opened with a metallic squeal.
The Antarctic Forgery Page 17