by Steve Alten
The general turns to the Chief Petty Officer standing by at the locking chamber’s main console. “Give us a moment.”
The chief moves out of earshot.
Gunnar clicks his heels together, standing at attention. General Jackson looks him over, then whispers in his ear. “How’s your hip?”
“Still sore, sir.”
“But the wound has healed sufficiently?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then this is it. Whatever you may have done in the past, whatever is haunting you, this is your chance for redemption. Show no mercy. Kill Covah and his crew and return the Goliath to where she belongs.”
“Understood, sir.”
“God be with you.”
“Or stay out of my way.”
Bear grabs his arm, squeezing the bullet-resistant material of the carapacelike suit. “Son … watch over her. For me.”
Gunnar nods, then scales the sub and lowers himself inside.
Rocky watches him stow the OICW gun beneath the seat, then check the M-4 carbine hanging from his shoulder holster. “So? Where the hell’s David?”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t my turn to watch him.”
As if on cue, David drops feetfirst into the tight cockpit. “Sorry, boys and girls, duty called.” He reaches up and seals the dorsal fin hatch above his head, then squeezes into the copilot’s seat, squishing Rocky into the middle in the process.
The Chief Petty Officer activates a switch on his main control console. Instantly, the platform on which the Hammerhead minisub and its skid rests begins descending into a rectangular-shaped lockout chamber located beneath the decking. As the vessel drops belowdecks, a hatch closes from above, sealing it inside.
The chief turns two levers, flooding the garage-size berth beneath their feet.
Gunnar places the prototype’s control helmet on his head and activates the optical display, then adjusts the small eyepiece over his right eye so he can see. Functioning similar to that of an Apache chopper pilot’s helmet, the headgear is linked directly to the minisub’s external sensors located in the Hammerhead’s snout. An image appears in Gunnar’s right eye—the interior of the dry dock, now filling with water.
The three passengers feel the sea lift the neutrally buoyant craft away from its skid. Moments later, the outer hatch of the docking chamber opens, exposing them to the Atlantic.
Gunnar throttles up the minisub’s pump-jet propulsor and accelerates out of the Colossus.
“Wolfe, can you hear me?”
Gunnar flips the toggle switch on the ship-to-ship. “Go ahead, Commander.”
“Come to course two-seven-zero. The Goliath has detected us. She’s abandoned the Vengeance and is running at forty knots. We’ll give chase, but this is your race.”
“Understood.”
Viewing the underwater world with his right eye, the control console with his left, Gunnar presses down on the foot pedals and sends the steel Hammerhead racing after the Goliath.
David retrieves a CD from his satchel and places it into a hard drive he has rigged to the prototype’s control console. “You need to get us within—”
“I know, I know, two hundred yards. This thing better work.”
“It’ll work. just drive the boat.”
Gunnar rockets the prototype past the enormous starboard wing of the Colossus, the faster minisub racing ahead of the 610-foot behemoth doing sixty knots.
Sonar pinpoints the Goliath, three thousand yards ahead.
Two thousand yards—the minisub closing fast.
Fifteen hundred yards—the minisub passing through a stream of bubbles.
Seven hundred yards—and now Gunnar can make out a dark mass looming ahead. “I can see her … damn, she’s big.”
Three hundred yards. “I’m approaching her starboard wing.”
“Stay beneath her, or she’ll sideswipe us like a fly.”
Gunnar adjusts his course, dropping beneath the steel leviathan.
Two hundred yards. “Now, David, now!”
David activates the acoustical beacon, the high-pitched sonic clicks reverberating like dolphin-speak throughout the sea.
One hundred fifty yards—the minisub tossing within the behemoth ray’s turbulence.
“David—”
“Give it a chance.”
One hundred yards. Gunnar weaves in and out of pockets of current, struggling to keep his vessel steady.
Then, without warning, the five monstrous propulsion units simply shut down and the Goliath slows to a crawl.
Aboard the Colossus
“Conn, sonar, confirm. The Goliath’s engines have shut down. The ship is slowing to drift. Fifteen knots … ten …”
Commander Lockhart glances at General Jackson. “So far, so good. Chief, take us in, make your course—”
A sudden shudder, as if the ship has run aground, followed by a chorus of groans as computer consoles begin lighting up like Christmas trees.
Lockhart grabs the 1-MC. “Damage control—”
“Conn, engine room, propulsors two, three, and four have shutdown.”
“Conn, electronics. Main computer’s not responding. Backup systems are down as well.”
“Conn, reactor room, we’ve got a major emergency. Both primary and secondary cooling circuits on reactors three and four have shut down!”
“Can you scram the reactors?”
“Negative. We’ve tried, but the computer’s gone haywire, it keeps overriding our commands. All backup cooling systems have failed, and the fuel rods are continuing to heat.”
“Can you shut it down manually?”
“Still trying, but the controls have overheated.”
Lockhart’s skin tingles with fear. “Chief, how soon to a meltdown?”
“Ten minutes … maybe. Pipes are bursting everywhere, we’re ankle deep in radioactive water. Fuel rod temperature just passed thirteen hundred degrees, the paint’s burning on the outer plating.”
“Get your men out of there. Seal off the compartment. Chief of the Watch, emergency blow, all main ballast tanks.”
“Belay that order,” Jackson says, pulling the captain aside. “Commander, technically, this vessel does not exist. Do you understand? You cannot surface her.”
Lockhart grits his teeth. Thinks. We’re still over the continental shelf. “Chief, how deep is the seafloor?”
“Nine hundred thirty feet.”
“Very well. Emergency descent, set her down on the bottom. Radio, launch distress buoys. Commander Terry, give the order to abandon ship. I want every crewmen in escape suits in three minutes.”
Aboard the Hammerhead minisub
Gunnar maneuvers the minisub beneath the inert Goliath. As he glides beneath its massive propulsion units, a square of luminescent yellow light appears up ahead, growing larger as the enormous doors located along the stingray’s belly open, beckoning him to enter.
David grins from ear to ear. “Told you it would work. Now take us inside and let’s finish the job.”
Gunnar pulls back on the joystick, guiding the prototype up through the opening and into the flooded chamber of the hangar bay. He sets the vessel down upon the decking closest to the forward wall of the compartment and waits for the bay door to reseal and the chamber to drain, his heart pounding with adrenaline.
The reverberations of hydraulics hum beneath them as the hangar bay closes. High pressure air shoots into the compartment as several dozen ramjet pumps situated beneath the decking suck seawater from the chamber.
The water drains quickly. Bright overhead lights ignite, shining down through the sliver of aqua blue Lexan glass located above Gunnar’s head.
And then the lights go out.
“David?”
“Relax, G-man, a minor glitch.”
“Maybe.” Gunnar frees himself from his harness, then removes a pair of ITT Generation-5 night-vision glasses from a side compartment of his console. He adjusts the glasses over his eyes, the interior changing from black to pea
soup green.
Reaching above his head, he unseals the dorsal hatch. A whoosh of air as the hatch pops open and the cabin equalizes. He hears water dripping against an otherwise silent backdrop.
Gunnar leaves the OICW weapon beneath his seat and releases the safety of his M-4 carbine. Quietly, he climbs out of the minisub, gun drawn, his eyes searching for movement.
Left, right, center—nothing. Murphy’s Laws of Combat: If your attack is going really well, it’s probably an ambush.
Rocky jumps down from the minisub, fanning out to Gunnar’s left. “All clear. David, do your stuff.”
David remains in the minisub.
“David, let’s go—”
A sudden flash of steel, and Gunnar’s world goes topsy-turvy as one of the monstrous robotic claws snatches him about the knees within its six-foot-long tripod pincers. Lightning smooth, inhumanly graceful, the mechanical hand pivots 180 degrees around its wrist and rises, whisking him upside down and away from the deck with gut-wrenching force.
The carbine clatters to the floor.
The hangar lights flash on.
Gunnar tosses aside the night-vision glasses and looks around, helpless. He sees Rocky hanging upside down from the other mechanical hand, and then, from across the hangar, a slight figure steps out from behind a huge generator and walks toward him.
From around the perimeter, seven more men appear, their Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifles drawn. One of the Arabs collects Gunnar’s carbine.
Simon Covah looks up at Gunnar, a crooked smile plastered on his disfigured face, the upper right corner of his scarred mouth twitching from the effort. “Welcome aboard. It’s been a while.”
“You don’t look well, Simon. But then, I’m not used to seeing you from this angle.”
“Sorceress, lower Captain Wolfe, gently please.”
Gunnar drops, then is pivoted right-side up and released. Sorceress? The computer’s active …
Three of Covah’s men move in, aiming their guns at the former Ranger. Two Arabs search him thoroughly, removing his weapons and bulletproof skin.
David’s head pokes out from the minisub’s open hatch. “Is it safe?”
“It’s safe.” Covah greets him with a hug. “Well done, my friend. So good to see you.”
“You too.” David reaches into his satchel and removes several vials. “For you.”
“David, you fucking bastard—”
David looks up at Rocky, smiling nervously. “Sorry, Simon. I had no choice in bringing her.”
Covah ignores Rocky’s string of expletives, more interested in Gunnar. “Tell me, Gunnar, did you come all this way to kill me?”
“The thought had occurred to me.” He glances up at Rocky. “Would you mind?”
“Are you certain? From what David’s told me, she prefers you dead. I seem to remember the two of you always enjoying a love-hate relationship, but this—”
“Just lower her.”
“Of course. Sorceress, lower Commander Jackson … gently.”
In one fluid motion the massive appendage swivels and drops to the deck, easing Rocky to the floor. Two of Covah’s men push her to the rubberized decking and search her.
Covah holds his hands wide in front of Gunnar. “Before you cast final judgment, I only ask that you afford me a chance to explain.” He turns to his men. “Strip and search them both thoroughly, jettison every article of their clothing, then take them to their stateroom. Treat them as guests, but do not let your guard down.”
Taur Araujo, an ex-guerrilla leader from East Timor, points his gun in Rocky’s face. “Whatever you’re wearing, remove it … slowly.”
Covah glances upward at the scarlet sensor orb. “Sorceress, what is the status of the Colossus?”
SHIP IS DISABLED. CURRENT POSITION, SEAFLOOR, THREE POINT SIX KILOMETERS DUE NORTH.
David’s eyes widen in wonderment. “Anna’s voice?”
Covah nods. “I find it … comforting.”
“What did you do to the Colossus?” Rocky says, as her Special Ops clothing is pulled from her body.
“Gave her a little virus.” David answers, affording himself a quick look at Rocky’s naked physique. “By now her reactors should be overheating, her missile silos popping open.”
“Sorceress, take us to the Colossus,” Covah rasps. “Reflood the hangar the moment we leave and begin removing all of Colossus’s nuclear missiles.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
Gunnar turns to Covah. “Don’t do it, Simon.”
“Please trust me, Gunnar, trust that my agenda is yours. You know, David and I went to great pains to bring you here. There’s so much I want to share with you, but there’s so little time. I have a plan, a plan that will justify all you’ve done and make up for all you’ve sacrificed.”
“You’re part of this,” accuses Rocky, “I knew it!”
Gunnar ignores her. “What are you going to do, Simon?”
Covah smiles. “My friend … we’re going to change the world.”
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”
—John Donne
“Death comes to everyone. We must stand proud as Afghans in the defense of Islam.”
—Mullah Mohammed Omar, Leader of the Afghanistan Taliban, following the terrorist attacks on America
“I loved you too much … that was my problem … I loved you too much.”
—O.J. Simpson, star football player, known wife-beater, who was acquitted of murder addressing his ex-wife’s coffin at her funeral
“I wanted to make him thoroughly sick so that he would give me permission to divorce him.”
—Maria Groesbeek, a South African woman who killed her husband with insect poison
CHAPTER 12
Aboard the Colossus
General Jackson, Commander Lockhart, and two officers huddle inside the alcove, waiting their turn to use the forward escape trunk, a pressurized two-man chamber that can be flooded, allowing trapped submarines access to the sea.
“All right, Adams, Furman, up you go.”
The two officers climb up a short steel ladder, sealing the hatch behind them.
Lockhart turns to the general, adjusting the hood of the Navy’s Steinke egress/exposure suit over Jackson’s head. “Ever done this before?”
“No.”
“The suit contains an air reservoir breathing system. Wait until I close the hatch before using the air port to charge the suit. Remain under the chamber’s air bubble with me until the outer hatch opens.”
Lockhart checks the escape trunk’s pressure gauge. “All clear. All right, General, up you go.”
Jackson climbs the steel ladder into the tight, eight-foot-high-by-five-foot wide chamber, his thoughts once more turning to his daughter. She’s okay, she’s alive. By the time you surface, there’s a good chance the Goliath will be on the surface, under Rocky’s command …
Lockhart climbs into the chamber and seals the hatch behind him. Using an air hose, he inflates Jackson’s suit, a combination life jacket and hooded breathing apparatus. The commander charges his own air reservoir, then twists open a red valve.
Frigid seawater rushes in from the floor, rising rapidly around the two men as they huddle together beneath an air bubble flange.
The outer hatch opens above their heads. Jackson feels an invisible hand grab his body, yanking it forcefully up through the open hatch. Instinctively, he raises his arms over his head, his buoyant egress suit rocketing him out of the Colossus and into the pitch dark sea—
Whumpf!
The impact shatters both Jackson’s wrists and drives the breath from his lungs. For a chaotic moment, he rolls along the ceiling of an immovable object like a bug on a ceiling.
Breathe! He inhales a humid breath within his inflated headpiece, fighting to focus through the dizziness and pain. Out of the pitch-dark he sees a halo of light … below and in the distance, shining down upon the sloping spine of the Colossus. Rising up through the ligh
t is a long object, guided by invisible hands …
A missile!
And suddenly he realizes—
He is pinned against the underside of the Goliath, trapped eight hundred feet below the surface, witnessing the theft of the Colossus’s nuclear weapons.
The Bear panics, thrashing against the rubberized metallic surface that prevents him from rising as his mind dissects the nightmare his eyes are seeing.
Scrambling across the flattened surface, he heads for a blinding beacon of white light and claws his way toward it—
—and suddenly he is free, shooting upward past the edge of the death ship’s prow, catching a frightening glimpse of two demonic scarlet eyes—
—and the shadow of his enemy watching from behind the viewport’s glass.
Higher … faster … flying up through the shivering blackness like a bullet, until his upper torso shoots out of the water and falls back into the roaring sea. For a dizzying moment he just bobs like a cork, surrounded by darkness and pelting rain. And then a pair of hands grabs him from behind, pulling him closer.
The crew of the Colossus drifts like weeds on a deserted Sargasso Sea, huddling en masse beneath an ominous gray morning sky.
Aboard the Goliath
Simon Covah stands before the immense scarlet viewport, watching as Colossus’s crewmen fly upward through the prow’s beacon of light like human missiles.
David and Thomas Chau stare at the black-and-white images appearing on the theater-size computer screen above their heads. Video sensors mounted along Goliath’s underbelly reveal the dark winged hull of the Colossus , the downed ship half-buried in silt. External underwater illuminators pierce the lead gray depths for the benefit of Covah’s crew, revealing twelve pairs of open vertical missile silo hatches situated within Colossus’s protruding spine.
A swarm of shark-shaped minisubs weave in and out of the light, moving with military precision as they escort each Trident II (D5) nuclear ballistic missile on its journey into the bowels of the Goliath.