Jack Scarlet

by Dan McGirt

  Galahad nodded in mock approval. “The sharks would go for me first. I am far more delicious and you are too stringy and full of chemical additives.”

  “Hence the brilliance of my plan. We’ll be within range by—”

  “Jack,” said MARISA through the speakers. “SARA-1 has retrieved something. I’m bringing it in.”

  “What is it?”

  “A video camera. From Sandpiper.”

  ***

  “Metadata match confirms this is the same camera that shot most of the video uploaded to the Sandpiper ViewTube channel,” said Jack. “Syon Aquashot 5630 underwater handheld.”

  Jack passed the curvy little black and yellow device to Galahad, who turned it over in his hands, shrugged, and set it on the work table in the ship’s science lab.

  “So why isn’t it underwater?”

  “Because it floats. Syon added this gimmicky ballast chamber, here. You want to use it underwater, fill the ballast. You want to use it topside, clear the ballast and the camera floats if you happen to drop it overboard.”

  “Cute. So it was floating. Which means it was dropped. Where?”

  Jack brought up a holographic vector map of their sector of the Gulf, a smaller version of the grid they viewed in the salon. “SARA-1 recovered it here, orange pin. Rewinding for drift and current patterns over the last four days, it could have entered the water anywhere in this zone.” A section of the rippling simulated water surface turned orange. “Adjust for probability.” The uniformly orange section morphed into bands of light to dark orange, with dark representing the highest probability of the camera’s location one hundred hours ago.

  “You’re assuming Sandpiper was with the camera when it hit the water,” said Galahad. “But we don’t know that.”

  “You’re right. But it’s a good working hypothesis. And we have the time stamp from the last video uploaded.”

  “This camera have GPS?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Jack.

  “We recover any video?”

  “I gave MARISA the memory card. What have we got, love?”

  “Running full diagnostic and analysis,” the AI replied. “Storage integrity is sound, with minimal data loss.”

  “Show us the last thing recorded,” said Jack.

  “Coming on monitor now.”

  On the bulkhead LCD screen appeared a close shot of the sea surface churning with a mass of fish, eels, sea turtles, jellyfish, and other marine life.

  “Night, or early evening,” said Galahad. “This is lit with floods from the ship, shot from the deck.”

  Jack nodded, mentally cataloging all the species in the water that didn’t belong there together. “Remarkable,” he murmured. “Absolutely fascinating.”

  “This is unbelievable,” said Eric. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “No one has,” said Cassi.

  “That’s Cassi’s voice,” said Jack. “The male voice is Eric Bell, another expedition member.”

  “Should we run the trawl again?” asked Eric.

  “Maybe later. Let’s see what effect sundown has. Maybe they’ll disperse. For now, keep recording. I’m going to check in with the skipper.”

  “You got it.”

  The camera continued a slow deliberate pan of the water for the better part of a minute. Then, abruptly, the fish were diving and dispersing. A distinct upwelling bulged above the surface. After a moment of confused back and forth pans, the camera trained on the disturbance.

  An enormous dark shape breached the surface. Organic, serpentine in motion, the visible portion was at least fifty feet long – and only a part of something much larger.

  Much, much larger.

  “Holy crap...” said Eric.

  The camera shook, swung up to the sky, refocused briefly on the shape – then the whole screen was nothing but an onrushing wall of water.

  “What was that?” demanded Galahad. He jabbed a finger at the monitor. “What, man? What was it?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Jack. “Let’s watch the rest.”

  Eric had lost his grip on the camera, which spun and shook as it twirled on a lanyard, giving quick glimpses of the deck, the rail, his boots, his hands, the clouded night sky. Then the shot swung up, around, and back to the sea.

  The fish were gone. So was the unknown shape.

  Then the sound came, deep and throoming, like tectonic plates grinding, like the rumble of a volcano about to erupt, and with it a high, piercing, uncanny shriek, like the worst audio system feedback Jack could recall, reaching beyond the human auditory range. Jack staggered, felt suddenly dizzy, bile rise in his throat, all the autonomic responses of flight or fight kicking in.

  Galahad doubled over and vomited on the floor.

  “Audio off!” said Jack.

  Galahad found himself on all fours, staring at a puddle of sickly yellow vomit. “Oh, man...”

  “That was...disturbing,” said Jack. He supported himself against the table. The cabin reeled around him, which was especially disorienting for Jack, who had perfect balance and rarely suffered motion sickness. What was that sound?

  Galahad raised his head. “You still want to get in the water after that?”

  “More than ever,” said Jack.

  6: Into the Soup

  Jack and Galahad sliced through the dark water ten feet below the surface, propelled by the silent high-performance electric-drive motors of their Personal Underwater Propulsion sea sleds. The PUPs cruised at a steady thirteen knots. Speed, depth, and battery duration were shown on a low power HUD on their Nereus full-face dive masks. They were thirty minutes out from the LiquiOil platform. Between the air supply on the PUPs and the gill pods in their respirator vests they had sufficient air to reach their destination, loiter a bit, and then withdraw ten miles before they’d have to surface. Jack hoped that would be time enough to find any signs of Sandpiper or its crew.

  It was a long shot. If what the recovered video showed was what Jack suspected, there was a good chance Sandpiper was gone forever. There was also a non-zero probability that Galahad was right and the San Marcan missile boats sank the research ship.

  Finding Cassi was the first priority. Jack’s secondary objective was determining what LiquiOil was up to. It was a safe bet they weren’t after oil – or at least oil wasn’t all they sought.

  Though no oil company was warm and cuddly, LiquiOil had an especially hard-edged reputation. The company had never been particular about where it bought or sold its oil. South Africa under apartheid, Iraq under Saddam, Iran under international sanctions - LiquiOil was there, often hiding behind a tangled web of go-betweens, shell companies, and shady middlemen. LiquiOil cutting a deal with an outlaw state like San Marcos was no surprise.

  And putting their platform atop a “hot spot of weirdness” was no coincidence. LiquiOil maintained a Special Engineering Group that operated autonomously within the company. Under the guise of energy exploration, the SEG investigated and exploited unusual phenomena around the world. The group's purposes were often puzzling. SEG had mounted expeditions to plunder Egyptian tombs, explore Himalayan cave complexes, and recover ancient Phoenician shipwrecks, actions that appeared to have little connection to finding new energy sources. Jack had clashed with them more than once. If SEG was on the LiquiOil platform, he wanted to know about it. That meant getting as close as possible without getting caught.

  ***

  “That’s big,” said Galahad.

  Jack and Galahad treaded water five hundred yards from the green and yellow LiquiOil platform, an immense column-stabilized semisubmersible rig of more than 65,000 tons, ten stories tall, floating atop four submerged pontoons. The platform was an island of light amid the darkness of the southern Gulf waters. Jack and Galahad floated outside the ambit of its illumination. Below them, the PUPs waited, holding in a powered hover three fathoms down.

  “This rig was working the Pirate Hole field off Louisiana three years ago,” said Jack. “LiquiOil t
raded that lease to Global Western and moved the platform down here. They’ve made some modifications.”

  “Obviously,” said Galahad.

  “And renamed it. This rig was designated Pirate One.”

  Stenciled in huge letters across the platform’s outer wall was the designation Deepfire.

  The semisub’s main deck was more than one hundred feet above water level. Topsides housed utility and living units, a power generation pod, drilling rig, two large cargo booms, and a helipad, on which a Sikorsky S-61 was parked.

  “That’s not a standard drill,” said Jack. “And that generator facility is oversized.” In normal configuration, a platform of this type would be powered by five jet engines, the same kind typically found on an airliner, putting out enough electricity to power eighty thousand homes. It looked like Deepfire’s turbine complement was twice that. “Far more power than required for conventional drilling.”

  “So they’re doing some unconventional drilling,” said Galahad.

  “They’re doing something unusual,” said Jack. “Depth exceeds four thousand feet here. No risers in place. This site isn’t in active production and isn’t set for exploratory drilling. This is looking like a SEG op to me.”

  “Want to take a closer look?”

  Jack studied the platform. “Make for the southwest column. Ghost in, ghost out. Non-lethal contact only, Gal.”

  “You know me,” said Galahad.

  “I do. Non-lethal. And radio silent.”

  The duo secured their dive masks and submerged. They left the PUPs behind for the final approach to Deepfire. SEG was likely to have a full hydrophone net deployed, plus radar, sonar – including diver detection sonar – and infrared arrays. Jack doubted any listeners could pick up the PUPs, which were as silent as sharks in quiet mode, but he wasn’t taking chances. The short-range com channel in Jack and Galahad’s masks was encrypted, but with the right gear, SEG might detect the transmissions even if they couldn’t understand them. That alone could give the game away.

  With steady, powerful strokes the swimmers reached their destination in under twenty minutes. They surfaced a few yards from the southwest hull column, opposite the drilling deck, living quarters, and helideck on the east side of the rig. Unusual for a drilling rig, there was also an extensive floating secured to the east pylons, at which were moored two French-made 19-foot rigid-hulled inflatable patrol boats – RHIBs – and a 33-meter crew boat. Directly above Jack and Galahad was the topsides power generation module.

  “No missing ship,” said Galahad. He spoke with the comlink off. The dive mask muffled his voice.

  “No surprise,” said Jack. “But if Sandpiper was in this vicinity, we might find a clue.”

  Near the center point of the rig’s underside, beneath the topsides derrick, was a large conical structure resembling the head of a gigantic spear of asparagus. It protruded some twenty feet toward the water, through a large rectangular “moon pool” opening in the rig’s hull.

  “That almost looks like the forward cowl for a submersible high-energy laser apparatus,” said Jack. “At least, if I were to build a laser for subsea drilling applications that’s what I’d—”

  “I take your word for it,” said Galahad. “Big laser. I know how those excite you.”

  “What does a laser drill let you do that industry-standard equipment won’t?”

  “Bore through harder rock,” said Galahad.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  “Swim under? What if they switch it on?”

  “I’m sure it only activates at depth. Anyway, the system would have to warm up.”

  Galahad shot Jack a dark look. “You said your lasers do not need warm-up time like an old timey TV.”

  “Those are my lasers. Designed by me. Also, completely different configuration and use case.”

  “Fine.”

  The pair submerged, swam, and resurfaced under the drill. Jack studied the conical projection, which extended another thirty feet upward into the chamber above the moon pool. Attached to the drill mechanism was a profusion of cables and tubes. Jack identified some as providing power, others as conduits for coolant. He also noted compressors, heavy winches, and a small cargo boom.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “Technical stuff. I’ll spare you the details.”

  “Thank you for that.” While Jack focused on the machinery, Galahad’s keen eyes swept the interior of the moon pool chamber for any sign of technical or security personnel. He also scrutinized the grid of narrow steel catwalks suspended beneath the topsides. It was likely they were only used for maintenance access and not regularly patrolled, but Gal didn’t want any surprises. He spotted four hatches that gave onto the walks, including one almost directly above them.

  “We should clear out if you’re through gawking,” said Galahad. “We’re floating ducks here.”

  “I want a closer look at that drill,” said Jack. “I’ll go up on the magline and—”

  “No.”

  “In and out, Gal.”

  “Bad idea.”

  Jack unclipped from his harness a small black cylinder fixed with a pistol grip and trigger. The JS-40 magbolt gun – or needler – was Jack’s invention, a handheld railgun. It magnetically accelerated customized projectiles including lethal, stun, or incapacitating rounds as well as various utility rounds. The magline round unspooled a superstrong carbon nanotube monofilament behind it, allowing the needler to double as a grapnel gun. Jack sighted at the metal rim of the moon pool.

  He pulled the trigger. The magshot flew true, attaching to the steel girder with an audible click. The monofilament unspooled behind it with a soft whizzing sound, like tearing silk. Jack gave a tug to confirm the hold, got a solid two-hand grip on the gun, and flipped the toggle to reel in the line. A T-bar grip would have been better, but clinging to the pistol worked for a short ride. Jack had sacrificed ergonomics to save weight, since being a sidearm was the needler’s main function. The line would hold more than two tons and the microrotors in the cartridge could lift three hundred pounds – more than enough to pull up Jack and his gear.

  The exofins on Jack’s dive boots retracted. A hydrophobic nanocoating instantly shed water from the dive suit surface, leaving it completely dry. Jack reached the moon pool and rolled under the yellow guardrail. He ejected the magline cartridge and snapped in a stun round. He vented his dive mask, but kept it on in case he had to leave in a hurry.

  Jack scanned the room. It appeared unoccupied, though there were ample hiding spaces for a dozen men. Wall-mounted hazardous area lights provided adequate illumination.

  Jack signaled to Galahad. There was a metallic click as Gal’s magline found its target. He soon joined Jack on the platform. Gal swapped out the cartridge in his needler and kept watch while Jack inspected an upright console. He studied the controls and the LCD screens displaying multi-colored graphs and rows of numbers, then turned his attention to the drill apparatus.

  The mechanism was more than fifty feet in length, roughly cylindrical, and eight feet in diameter at its widest point. Multiple clamps and steel cables secured it to a heavy steel scaffold. Considering the device was hanging over open water at least four thousand feet deep, Jack understood the precautions.

  The drill was partially disassembled, with access panels removed, hoses uncoupled, and components neatly arranged on several work tables. Jack took note of the liquid nitrogen tanks flanking the drill. He returned to the control console and again scrutinized the readouts.

  “Fascinating,” he said.

  “What are we looking at?” asked Galahad. He had his head on a swivel, trying to watch all entrances to the room while Jack poked around.

  “A pulsed boron laser drill,” said Jack.

  “And?”

  “Feed in enough power, prevent overheating, and you could burn a hole to the center of the earth.”

  “Why would LiquiOil want to do that?”

 
“I doubt they do. Just saying they could.”

  “Looks expensive. Why is no one guarding it?”

  “There are eight surveillance cameras.”

  “Ten,” said Galahad.

  “Plus, I set off a motion sensor when I came up. They know we’re here.”

  Galahad nodded. “Trying to fire ant us.”

  Floods near the ceiling snapped on, filling the room with brilliant light. Hatches at both ends of the chamber flew open, admitting two five-man squads uniformed in the dark green fatigues, helmets, and body armor of Special Engineering Group security forces. They were armed with Keck & Hochler NP5 submachine guns, a favorite of the SEG fire teams.

  “Drop your weapon! On the floor! Now! Hands on your head!” barked the team leader, as his men spread out with weapons trained, two maneuvering out to the flanks and advancing slowly but deliberately. The second team made similar movements, quiet and efficient. SEG recruited from elite military units the world over, paying its men ten times what any government army would or could. The SEG troops were some of the best operators in the world – and they had Jack and Galahad outnumbered and surrounded.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have come up here,” said Galahad.

  7: The Deep End

  “On the floor! Now!” repeated the SEG team leader.

  “Seen enough?” asked Galahad.

  “Yes, I think so,” said Jack.

  Jack possessed an abnormally high ratio of fast twitch muscle fibers, along with extraordinary reflexes. His unique physiology, enhanced by a personal program of advanced physical conditioning, enabled uncanny bursts of speed. He took two running steps in the direction of the laser drill, leapt into a mid-air somersault, fired a stun needle at the squad leader, and went over the safety rail into an eighty-foot dive that would have scored a perfect ten had there been any Olympic judges on hand. He disappeared into the water with barely a ripple. All before the SEG squad could even begin to react.

  Galahad was half a second slower than Jack. He hit the deck rolling and fired two shots before sliding under the guardrail and into space. Not a graceful exit, but it got the job done. Gal tucked and folded into an attitude less likely to snap his spine when he hit the water.