Jonah wrinkled his nose, trying not to imagine. If Hassan didn’t want to tell him, he was probably better off not knowing. “Any other updates?” His voice was no more than a rough croak, and his chest hurt with every spoken syllable.
“There’s a woman with us. She calls herself Freya, not that we could verify that—or anything about her, for that matter.”
“Freya.” Jonah awkwardly rolled the name around his mouth, his words lost to the gentle hum of the submarine’s electric engines. “Fre-ya. Freeeeeeeeya.”
“I must admit, she strikes a rather unconventional figure.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s been confined to your quarters.”
“Good. Locked from the outside, I assume.”
“Of course. And Dalmar has been stationed on the other side of the door. I didn’t want to take any chances after seeing what she’d done to you—and with bare hands alone—a fact that Dalmar found quite amusing.”
Jonah ignored the last part of the update. “I don’t suppose we managed to get the SABC CEO aboard? You know, the whole point of coming to Tokyo?”
“Unfortunately, no. Freya carried you out of the penthouse alone. It’s the only reason we allowed her aboard the Scorpion.”
“I remember sirens—did the escape back to the sub go okay? And were you able to return the sedan to the yakuza? I hope you didn’t just abandon it on some corner where it’d get towed or stolen or whatever.”
The doctor shot him a pained look and pulled the tablet computer out from behind his back. “I’m not sure if I can adequately explain what happened. The Scorpion recorded some footage of the chase—perhaps you’d best see for yourself.”
A soundless video flashed into view, a fish-eyed perspective shot from one of the conning tower cameras. The Scorpion plunged headlong through a narrow canal with roadway on either side. The borrowed yakuza sedan slid into view on the left, pursued by black SUVs, as more police cars paralleled on the other side, firing at their quarry through open windows. The powerful sedan hesitated for a moment before surging forward over the curb, wheel yanked hard over as it smashed through a metal railing. Soaring through the air over the canal, the car did a hard belly flop onto the deck of the Scorpion, sliding to a stop with wheels hanging over either side of the hull.
Jonah’s eyes went wide as he watched Alexis stagger from the driver’s seat and to the deck hatch. Dalmar and Freya followed, dragging Jonah’s unconscious body with them. Hassan barely escaped a tidal wave of white foam as the submarine began to dive, the surge hurling the badly damaged sedan across the deck and off the side moments after the hatch closed.
“You don’t see that every day,” Jonah marveled as the tablet went dark once more. He caught a glimpse of himself in the blank, reflective glass—his eyes were both black and puffy, his splinted, tape-covered nose bloody and nearly twice its usual size.
“Quite. I believe it may be some time before any of the crew is comfortable allowing Alexis to drive again.” The doctor reached down and disconnected the long IV line, securing the hollow needle embedded in the back of Jonah’s hand with a strip of medical tape. He silently prepared a shot, lifted Jonah’s arm and pressed the syringe directly into Jonah’s injured ribs. “I gave you something to counteract the pain,” he said. “You’ll feel fairly well for the next few hours.”
“And then?”
“You’ll feel terrible. I recommend as much bed rest as is possible under the present circumstances. I took the liberty of re-aligning your nasal septum while you were unconscious as well—it was quite badly broken.”
“Thanks,” said Jonah. He unconsciously reached up with one hand to touch the tape over the bridge of his nose; it still felt loose, swollen. It’d take time to heal, time he wasn’t sure he had. “Did Freya say anything to the crew?”
“Barely a word. She stated in no uncertain terms she’d only speak with you, and that she was quite happy to wait until you were awake, however long that might be.”
“Gotcha,” said Jonah. “But she’s not my first priority right now. I’m going to need to check in with the rest of the crew first. It’s too bad our mutual kidnapping plans failed. It was a decent enough idea.”
“Given the amount of attention our presence attracted, the man was no doubt quite valuable.”
“It’s not a total loss. I’m willing to guess she has pieces of the puzzle that we don’t. Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with a clearer picture what we’re up against.”
“I’m not certain I would be quite so forgiving—the woman beat you to within an inch of your life.”
“It’s not forgiveness,” said Jonah as he gently touched his still-swelling black eyes. “It’s pragmatism. We’re pawns in this game—not players—and by the looks of things, she was just as played as we were.”
The doctor shrugged. “I could only speculate.”
Jonah drew himself up to a sitting position with a grunt. He allowed himself a few moments of dizziness, eyes closed once more, before grasping at the narrow doorframe and dragging himself to his feet. With the doctor at his side, he staggered over the cabin threshold and into the narrow corridor that connected the length of the submarine.
“Steady on!” said Hassan, throwing a supportive hand underneath Jonah’s armpit, holding him up as he swayed from side to side.
“I’m good; I’m good,” grunted Jonah as he used the corridor wall to steady himself. “Got any stronger pain meds? Like maybe something meant for horses?”
“Yes—but not if you want to stay on your feet.”
Jonah frowned and muttered his annoyance. He looked into the command compartment and picked out the empty chair at the communications console. With one final burst of energy, he limped towards it and flopped down, letting out a long, slow wheeze of relief as he leaned his head back to rest.
Vitaly barely looked up from his computer. “Your solution always crash,” complained the Russian, waving his hands in the air with open frustration. “Crash submarine into door, crash truck into ocean, crash big ship into big island, now crash car into Scorpion.”
“I can’t take credit for that,” said Jonah as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs over the low desk. “Alexis was driving. I wasn’t even conscious.”
“You bad influence. Still your fault.”
“I’m going to go forward, get some antibiotics,” said Hassan, excusing himself with an amused smile.
Jonah heard the heavy thump of steel-toed boots as Alexis approached from the engine compartment. “Nice driving, Tex,” said Jonah over his shoulder. “I always wanted to die in my sleep.”
“You’d better not be making fun of me,” said Alexis, crossing her arms. “I should have listened to my mom and gone to law school. Lawyers don’t shoot at people, or get chased around the whole goddamn ocean by the Japanese navy. Lawyers don’t crash stolen cars onto submarines on purpose to flee the cops.”
“It was borrowed, not stolen.”
“Law school maybe not better,” said Vitaly. “Too many lawyer in America. Drive down salary. But smuggling is growth market.”
“See?” said Jonah. “You’re in a growth market. Even Vitaly says so.”
Vitaly didn’t laugh. He instead swiveled from his console and grabbed submarine’s control yoke with one hand, using the other to furiously type a systems diagnostic command into his keyboard.
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel resistance,” he said. “Unusual vibration, drag on yoke.”
“Did we pick up some debris in the harbor?” asked Alexis. “Maybe some floating rope or a commercial fishing net?”
“I do not know,” said Vitaly. He reset the system, nodding pensively as he experimentally tugged at the control yoke again. The Scorpion responded easily to his touch. “I think maybe fixed?”
Then the submarine began to abruptly tilt, a little shift at first, but was quickly followed by a sharp lurch. “We’re yawing,” said Alexis. “I can f
eel it, too. We need to re-trim.”
“Trim is within usual parameter,” said Vitaly. The yoke began to buck and jerk in his hands. “This should not happen. Something wrong.”
The yoke suddenly ripped itself out of Vitaly’s grasp, moving on its own as it slammed into the metal guard welded to the deck. The submarine teetered into a lazy, descending corkscrew, nosing down sharply. Jonah tumbled out of his chair and onto the deck as the other two struggled to hold onto anything they could grab.
“I have lost control!” said Vitaly, straining against the yoke with both hands, ass on the deck, feet splayed. Jonah crawled up beside him and shoved his shoulder into the metal stalk, trying to force the yoke upright. The command compartment running lights flickered and died, leaving them in darkness until the emergency lighting erupted in red. Alarm klaxons began to blare, only adding to the chaos.
Alexis stared at the rebooted navigation console in horror. “The conning tower hatch release has been triggered!” she shouted. “The computer is trying to open it!”
Jonah’s mind reeled. “Flood the ballast tanks!” he ordered, his shoulder still underneath the yoke. “Take us deeper!”
“Are you insane?” screamed Alexis. “Deeper?”
“Do it now!” said Jonah. “The only thing keeping those hatches closed is water pressure. We need as much as possible to work against the hydraulics—we get too close to the surface and we’re fucking dead!”
Swearing in disbelief, Alexis entered the commands. The submarine’s nose lurched downwards once more, sending Jonah’s stomach into his throat as the Scorpion spun ever deeper into the harbor, hull moaning like a wounded animal.
“Passing four hundred feet! Four hundred fifty!” shouted Vitaly.
Alexis grabbed her monitor in fury, shaking it violently. “I’m locked out—I can’t override the hatch command!”
Jonah looked up the conning tower shaft to see the hatch. It flexed, hydraulics straining against the increasing exterior pressure. A single jet of aerosolized water hissed from the rim, condensing into a steady trickle of foamy seawater. The stream flowed down the interior ladder, dripping salty water onto Jonah’s forehead from above.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM. One after another, the internal bulkhead doors began to slam shut on their own, metal hinges squealing as they sealed themselves automatically.
“Internal communications are offline!” Alexis typed ineffectually at the console keypad before smashing at it with balled fists. “We can’t talk with any other compartment.”
“What the fuck is happening to my sub?” demanded Jonah.
A massive whooshing sound erupted from all around, shaking every inch of the Scorpion. “Tanks have blown! We’re going up again!” shouted Vitaly.
PIIING-PIIING-PIIING-PIIING-PIIIING—a non-stop gong of sonar pulses reverberated and echoed throughout the sealed compartments, drowning out the blaring klaxons and howling system failure alarms. Jonah cupped his hands to protect his hearing. His eardrums felt like they were about to implode. The navigation computer picked up the ricocheting acoustic signals, painting a vivid green 3D wireframe model of the rock-strewn harbor seafloor and gathering naval fleet above. The sub suddenly jolted from its corkscrew, turning to lock laser-like on a massive, bulbous fuel ship. The Scorpion’s diesel engines roared to life, supplementing the power of her electric drive. Jonah’s ears popped as the thirsty diesels inhaled cabin air, belching exhaust through an emergency shunt into the submarine’s interior. Coal-black smoke poured from every ventilation duct, filling the compartment with choking, sulfuric gas.
“I’ve lost all control!” shouted Vitaly, trying in vain to shove the control yoke over and somehow alter their course as they raced towards the surface.
Jonah heard the sound of protesting metal as the bulkhead door behind him began to open. Through sheer force of will and muscle, Freya wrenched the heavy steel against frozen hydraulics. She wedged herself halfway through before Jonah and Alexis scrambled to her aid, holding it open so she could slip through.
“Help me!” Vitaly shouted from beneath his own console. Freya sprinted across the room and slammed her shoulders into the control yoke beside him, trying to somehow push the submarine off its suicidal course. Her added strength forced a wobble into the rudder, slowing the submarine to a violent shake.
“I’ve seen this before!” she shouted, one eye locked on the looming fleet above, muscles straining against the yoke. “Your computer network is fucked—disconnect it now!”
“We cannot do this—the server run everything!” protested Vitaly. “Let me re-set system!”
“It won’t work! Disconnect before it’s too late!” shouted Freya.
Jonah ripped a hand-held radio out of the nearest desk, depressing the talk button. “Any crew near the engine compartment, disconnect the central server!” he shouted. Only hissing static answered him. He shot a worried glance at the communications console—the Scorpion’s radio transmitter had autonomously matched his frequency, drowning it out in white noise. He began to cough, barely able to see through the thick, choking diesel exhaust pouring from the vents, clutching the plastic valve Hassan had dug into his chest. “Alexis, you’re with me—engine room, now!”
The yoke jerked free, throwing Vitaly to the deck as Freya gritted her teeth and braced her feet, still trying to change the direction of the hurtling Scorpion. The wobble evened out as the submarine picked up speed once more, surging towards impact. Jonah and Alexis pried open the bulkhead door to the crew quarters, forcing themselves through before it could slam shut behind them.
“How long do we have?” said Alexis, breathless in the thick smoke.
“Two minutes before impact—tops,” said Jonah, gasping. He crawled forward in the dark, airless corridor, running face-first into Dalmar’s sprawled body. Sun-Hi wore an oxygen hood as she stood over the unconscious pirate, fruitlessly trying to drag his body away from the engine room and to safety.
Jonah ignored them both as he and Alexis pried open the bulkhead hatch to the engine compartment and forced their way in. Alexis led, feeling her way past the battery banks and the deafening engines.
“It’s down here!” she shouted, her voice all but lost to the roar. She slammed her palm against the metal deck grating to indicate the location of the server. Jonah wrapped his fingers around the metal and together they lifted, pulling the section of grating off, and leaning it against the battery bank. Both dropped into the crawlspace below, landing hard atop the thick electrical wires surrounding the hot, humming computer. Jonah tried to pull the wiring free, bare hands straining against the unyielding cables. Alexis unscrewed the thickest electrical cord and shoved it hard against the CPU. Jonah smelled ozone and burnt air as the arcing line connected, sending a spider web of electricity across the server as the dim lights around them flickered and died. The engines seized a second later, the churning din replaced with total silence as the Scorpion drifted unpowered beneath the waves. Jonah’s still-ringing ears picked up the faint grinding of the rudder and stabilizers shifting, no doubt altering their course away from the tanker.
Sun-Hi’s masked face appeared above them through the sooty clouds as she dropped two oxygen hoods to Jonah and Alexis. They both slipped them on. “What now?” said Alexis, voice muffled by thick plastic.
“We search every inch of the Scorpion, inside and out,” said Jonah. “We find what did this.”
Jonah swam alongside the matte-black hull of the submerged Scorpion, suspended in darkness. He let his powerful flashlight play against her sides, feeling the awkward position of the heavy crowbar in his weight belt. Vitaly had settled the Scorpion on a patch of muddy bottom just fifty feet from the surface of the storm-wracked harbor, uncomfortably close to the traffic above. There were dozens of churning ships above; the nearest silhouetted in the stormy moonlight, all weighed down with arms and men. It was a haphazard collection—destroyers and their escorts, minesweepers, patrol ships, fuel tanker, and troop-laden civilian pleasure-cr
uisers.
He inhaled against his scuba regulator, listening to the Darth Vader-like sound of hissing clean air. The crew was still stuck searching the submarine interior, which began with a very thorough examination of anything Freya had touched. He doubted she was responsible. After all, she would have died with the rest of them, but he wasn’t in the mood to take chances. His crew had shut down nearly every system with the sole exception of air filtration as they slowly brought the carbon monoxide down to a safe level.
Hassan had all but thrown a fit when he learned of Jonah’s plans to inspect the submarine’s exterior, giving him a laundry list of potential dangers relating to his broken ribs and punctured lung. But it’d likely take him weeks to completely heal, weeks they simply didn’t have. Jonah made a mental note to start training someone else as a diver, at least for the easy jobs like this.
He shone his flashlight across the last of the starboard hull, carefully looking for any unexplained objects or unexpected damage. It was all taking longer than he’d hoped. Large swaths of the sub were a mess of missing paint, deep scratches, and warped metal; the weeks since her recent retrofit had been absolutely brutal. He tried the receiver in his built-in radio, but heard nothing but warbling, artificial static in return. Whatever had taken over their computers was still jamming the signal.
Jonah did a lazy barrel roll as he contemplated the situation. The Scorpion had been significantly upgraded since falling into mercenary hands: computers, consoles, and general system automation reducing the necessary number of crew. By his calculations, she might have once sailed with forty men or more. But the new systems meant it could be manned by a handful, including some with no prior experience aboard any vessel much less a submarine.
He gave the massive propellers a wide berth as he passed, reminding himself that they still might churn to life on their own, sucking him into the blades. His light was powerful enough for a detailed inspection even at a distance, and he soon eliminated the stern and moved onto the port hull.
RED SUN ROGUE Page 27