Shadow Zone

by Johansen, Iris; Johansen, Iris

  “But there’s still resentment that civilians are going to take a major part.”

  “And one of them is a rascally Russian,” Kirov said.

  “They’ll get over it,” Dalgo said. “I’m just asking you to look at it from their point of view. This has all happened so quickly that they’re still trying to get their heads around things. They’ve been essentially vacationing in the Canary Islands for the past week, waiting to do a few low-stress runs for you. But it’s suddenly turned into something very different.”

  “I’m sensing a lot of negatives.” She stared him in the eye. “Are your men up for this assignment, Lieutenant?”

  He looked away from her and out at the minisubs in the water. He suddenly grinned. “Yes, ma’am. It’s my duty to look at all the negatives. But, to tell you the truth, my guys were bored out of their minds doing those low-stress runs in the Canary Islands. They’d mutiny if I didn’t let them take a shot at a duty like this.”

  She motioned toward the subs on deck. “Then let’s go to Marinth.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Gadaire stood in the control room, as it were, of the handmade diesel submarine that he had sold to a tribe of Somali pirates two years before. Although he had brokered the purchase and sale of the vessel, he had never actually seen it and was surprised by the poor quality of the workmanship. Constructed in a mountaintop workshop outside of Bogotá, it was one of dozens of subs built by the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia for the purpose of smuggling cocaine to Central America and Mexico. This particular model, forty-five feet long and capable of depths of over three hundred feet, was constructed to hold eleven tons of cocaine. More than enough to store his alga harvest from the Marinth ocean floor.

  “Do you think they’re finished down there?” The sub’s “captain,” Jorge Silva, was less a naval officer than a heavy equipment operator. Silva had been part of the team that built the sub in Colombia and had gone with it to Somalia to train its new owners. Two years later, however, he had still made no effort to move back home.

  “No, it’s going to take more time,” Gadaire said. He pointed to an experimental low-frequency radio he had brought to keep in touch with his minisubs on the ocean floor. “This system doesn’t work worth a damn, but stand by in case they can make contact.”

  “Will do.”

  Gadaire restlessly paced the length of the control room, which was manned by all six of the sub’s other personnel. The room, like the rest of the sub interior, was quite crude in appearance, with chipped black-rubber flooring and exposed hydraulics tubes running along the bulkhead. Welding scars randomly crisscrossed the superstructure, almost as if laid on the fly to plug leaks. It was a shit hole, Gadaire thought, but it would get the job done. Such subs evaded air and sea patrols along the South American coast every day, and this one would do the same here. It would be a simple matter to move his precious cargo to the Fuertenventura Airport, where he had a plane waiting. From there, he was off to Orissa, India. By the time he arrived there, Anna would have completed stage one of the plan that would change their lives—and the lives of millions—forever.

  It was finally happening, he thought exultantly, and no one was going to take it away from him. Not Elijah Baker, not Nicholas Kirov, and certainly not Hannah Bryson.

  Back into the void, Hannah thought. She was descending into the dark depths, piloting a vessel she hadn’t even known existed just a few days before.

  “How does it handle?” Kirov asked.

  “Not bad, but we’ve been in free fall for the last twenty minutes. Ask me again when we get to Marinth. How are you doing with the weapons controller?”

  He raised his hands, showing off the black-and-silver controller gloves. “Good. It’s very clever of them to include this onboard simulation routine in the software. It’s helping me to learn, but even experienced users can use it to warm up and quicken their response times.”

  Hannah leaned back and gazed at the dazzling 3-D graphics on the monitor in front of Kirov. “Nice. They should release it for the PlayStation in time for the holiday season. They’d make a fortune.”

  Hannah checked her far-more-utilitarian sonar screen to see seven blips representing her and the other subs descending to Marinth. She would occasionally catch sight of one of their running lights through the viewing ports, but they were far enough apart that they usually existed as mere blips on the screen in front of her.

  “What if we’re too late?” Hannah said. “We had to waste a lot of time on deck. What if Gadaire has already taken what he needs from here?”

  Kirov shook his head. “He couldn’t have. He hasn’t had enough time.”

  “If Gadaire succeeds, I could never forgive myself,” she whispered. “And India could just be the beginning.”

  “You will forgive yourself because we’ll do everything possible. And that’s all anyone can ask of themselves.”

  “He has to be stopped right here, right now.”

  Kirov gently rubbed her arm. “If he’s here, he will be.”

  Hannah smiled as she looked down at the controller glove on her arm.

  “Watch it with that thing. You might have just launched our missiles.”

  After another twenty minutes, Hannah established the audio link between her and the other Piranha subs. “We’re approaching downtown Marinth, everybody. I’m not seeing any activity on my sonar yet. Anybody else?”

  The other pilots radioed their negative responses.

  “Okay, slow to a holding pattern. I’m turning on the lights.”

  Hannah transmitted the signal, and in a few seconds the large light towers bathed Marinth in their bluish white glow.

  The common radio-communications frequency was filled with the pilots’ awestruck gasps and exclamations at the sight before them.

  Dalgo cut in. “We’re not tourists here, people. We have a job to do. Eyes peeled.”

  Hannah spoke into the radio. “Continue south-southwest. The only area of mapped TK44 is beyond the ruins. We’ll set up our perimeter there.”

  Although Hannah had studied all the additional equipment installed in her subs, she was most impressed to see one piece of technology in action—a tiny laser projector that tracked all of the other vessels in their group, superimposing the pilot’s name over where she saw each of them in the viewport. They moved low over the city, keeping a tight formation as their running lights cast blue and green highlights over the structures.

  “Incredible,” Kirov said. “I can see why Melis made this her life’s work. I’m sure there has to be a fascinating story in each and every one of those buildings.”

  “That’s true,” Hannah said, but moved her shoulders uneasily. “But something’s not right here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it. The feeling is totally different today.” Hannah glanced out the viewports. Then it hit her. “The dolphins.”

  “What dolphins?”

  “That’s just it. There aren’t any. Not one. Sometimes I’ll see hundreds on the way down. Sometimes less, but there are always dolphins in some quantity.”

  “Where do you think they are?”

  “I don’t know.” Hannah glanced outside. “I don’t like this.”

  Dalgo’s voice came over the radio. “Hannah, is everything okay?”

  She had forgotten that everyone could hear her. “For some reason, the dolphin population has deserted Marinth. It could be that our sonar or radio waves are unfamiliar to them, or . . . I don’t know. This is unusual.”

  An alert sounded from her instrument panel, and through the radio Hannah could hear that the other pilots were also getting it.

  “Incoming,” Dalgo shouted. “Brace yourselves.”

  Hannah saw a white streak ahead of her. It moved from right to left, and as she watched, it turned and headed straight for her and Kirov.

  “Hold on!” Kirov flipped a switch and raised his glove to eject a mass of highly reflective
particles from the upper compartment of their vessel. The missile roared overhead and exploded fifty yards behind them, shaking the tiny craft.

  “Where did that come from?” Hannah shouted. “Any visual?”

  “Dead ahead,” Theresa said. “I saw the ignition flash. And here’s another one!”

  More shrill alarms emanated from the instrument panel. Another streak of light raced toward their formation.

  “It’s not heading for us,” Kirov said. “It’s heading toward—”

  “Dalgo!” Hannah shouted in horror.

  A heartbeat later, Dalgo’s vessel exploded!

  Hannah’s front port was filled with a retina-searing light. Her sub rocked, and the alarms sounded even more persistently. Escaping oxygen from Dalgo’s sub ignited a fireball that shot high above the rest of the formation.

  “Oh, my God.” Hannah stared in disbelief at the place where his sub had been. Her front-port readout with Dalgo’s name faded out. Two people dead.

  “Grieve later,” Kirov said roughly, picking up on her stunned expression. “Stay in the here and now, Hannah.”

  Hannah nodded. Kirov was right. He knew about staying alive in combat situations.

  Stay in the here and now.

  Lieutenant Sandford shouted to the team, “Maximum depth, everyone. I repeat, maximum depth. Hug the seafloor. We’re giving them a shooting gallery here.” He spoke with such authority that Hannah had a tough time reconciling his voice with the slight, geeky man she had met on the surface.

  “Check your diagnostics,” she said to the team. “Those blasts could have caused some damage. Matthew, you were closest to Dalgo. Make sure your left rear flap still has full extension.”

  The team dropped into the city until they hovered mere feet over the seafloor.

  “I got a fix on them,” Theresa said. “Both missiles were fired from due south-southwest.”

  “They’re covering the TK44 seabed,” Hannah said. “We need to get over there.”

  “Okay,” Sandford said. “We’ll spin up, take positions on the perimeter of the city, and continue in an elliptical pattern. We’ll coordinate and converge on the seabed. Reynolds, you take McCallister east, I’ll take Helms and move from the west.”

  “What about me and Matthew?” Hannah asked.

  “Hold your position.”

  “And do what?”

  “Await orders.”

  “Like hell.”

  “I don’t have time to argue.”

  “Neither do I. Matthew, you go with Reynolds and McCallister. I’ll go with Sandford and Helms.”

  Sandford cursed. “I can’t babysit you, Bryson. They’re firing missiles at us.”

  “Then let’s stop talking and move.”

  Hannah heard more cursing from Sandford, but this time he had obviously tried to muffle the outburst by placing his hand over the microphone. “Just don’t get in our way,” Sandford said. Then he spoke to the team. “Okay, let’s go. And keep your eyes open for missile flashes.”

  Still hovering low over the ocean floor, the team split up and moved to opposite ends of the site. Once there, they each began the long sweep toward the TK44 seabed.

  Hannah turned toward Kirov. “Anything you would do differently?”

  “If I were Sandford?” Kirov paused. “I might have tried harder to make you stay back there.”

  “You couldn’t have talked me into it either.”

  “I know that, but Sandford doesn’t.” Kirov flipped down a pair of goggles that gave him an infrared view of their surroundings. “And Sandford isn’t thinking like the enemy. If you’re going to fight a battle, you need to take your opponent’s point of view. What’s their objective here?”

  Hannah thought for a moment. “The alga in that seabed.”

  “Exactly. If we want to stop them, perhaps we don’t waste time with hidden targets. They’ve taken their positions, and they’re just waiting to pick us off as we approach. Maybe the best way of stopping them is to remove the reason for their mission.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “Destroy the TK44?”

  “All of it. It only grows in that one area, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what we should be attacking. With that objective removed, Gadaire’s minisubs would have no reason to engage us. I’m sure they’re fairly short-range vessels. What would be left for them to do?”

  Hannah thought about it. “They’ll need to rendezvous with the mother ship.”

  “Yes, if we could follow them . . .”

  Hannah’s eyes met his. “Gadaire.”

  “They might lead us right to him.” He smiled slightly and repeated, “The first rule of warfare: think like your enemy.”

  Hannah turned on her microphone. “Sandford, do you read me?”

  “Copy, Bryson.”

  “I propose we hang back and hold positions. Send an all-frequency warning to the trespassers. Tell them that we’re about to open fire on the TK44 seabed.”

  “To try and draw them out?”

  “That’s what they may think. But it’s really to give them a chance to get clear before we blow them to hell.”

  “Negative, Bryson. We have strict orders not to harm the archaeological site or the surrounding area.”

  “The alga field is outside of Marinth. The archaeological site won’t be touched,” she said.

  “We already have a plan, Bryson. And they’re no longer just trespassers, they’re murderers.”

  And the victim was Dalgo, one of their own. Hannah couldn’t blame them for that bitterness.

  “This is purely a commercial job for them. If they can remove that TK44, then they continue to get paid. They’ll kill again to protect their mission. Let’s end it for them right now.”

  “Negative, Bryson.”

  “Listen to me. I’m angry about what happened to Dalgo, too. But this is a better way of beating them.”

  “Please keep all chatter on this channel to a minimum, Bryson.”

  Hannah switched off her microphone. “That idiot.”

  “He’s not,” Kirov said slowly. “And that’s what disturbs me. I’m afraid he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  Hannah felt a chill. “You think he has orders to—”

  Another high-pitched alarm sounded from the instrument panel, and Matthew’s tense voice came over the radio. “We’re under attack on Marinth’s west slope. Two attack minisubs, maybe Iranian Guardian class. Missiles fired, and we’re returning the favor.”

  Hannah looked out her viewport and saw the intense flashes of light near Marinth’s western spire. “I’m going over there.”

  “Negative,” Sandford said. “Stay on our present course.”

  Static from the radio.

  More alarms.

  Anguished screams.

  “I have to get over there,” Hannah said. She gripped the navigation stick. “Hang on.”

  “No,” Kirov said. “Don’t do it.”

  “I have to do it.”

  “No. He ordered you not to go. Do not abandon your commander.”

  “He’s not my—”

  Another flash of light from the west.

  “McCallister’s been hit,” Theresa said. “But I just destroyed one of the enemy minisubs. The other one is retreating. Matthew is in pursuit.”

  Hannah adjusted her microphone. “Stay sharp, Matthew. Don’t let him lead you back to the alga field. There may be others waiting there.”

  “That’s exactly what he’s doing, Hannah. I’m easing back. I’ll see you on the down-low.”

  Hannah cut her microphone and turned to Kirov. “That’s strange.”

  “What?”

  “ ‘See you on the down-low.’ That’s what Matthew and I say when we want to communicate with just each other without company execs or anybody else listening in. That’s our code to switch to a low-frequency subchannel.”

  Hannah made the change and switched on her microphone. “Are you here, Matthew?”

/>   “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about this alone. It’s about this sub I’m chasing . . . You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m positive it’s Josh.”

  She couldn’t speak, or even breathe, for a long moment. “You’re right. I think you’re crazy.”

  “It’s him, Hannah. Art experts can tell an artist’s work by the brushstrokes. I can pick out a minisub pilot’s work a mile away. Especially Josh’s. We’ve been working together for years. The way he banks a turn, how he eases off the power to ride over his undercurrent . . . It’s him, Hannah.”

  “Shit.”

  “Do you think I want it to be him?” Matthew asked. “He’s my friend.”

  “Gadaire’s spy on your Marinth expedition?” Kirov said.

  She had already thought of that. Dammit.

  “Matthew, flash him the ‘down-low’ signal with your lights.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Hannah looked at the laser projector readout on her viewport for some indication where Matthew was even though she couldn’t actually see him from the other side of Marinth. She turned to Kirov. “If we’re close enough, we flash running lights at each other when we want to go to our private channel. Uppers-lowers-uppers.”

  “Do you think Josh will respond?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I’m still having a tough time believing it’s true.”

  She heard a brief burst of static and a slight low-frequency hum on their audio channel. “It is him,” Hannah whispered. “He just switched over.” She spoke into the microphone. “Josh, it’s Hannah. And that’s Matthew behind you.”

  Silence.

  She adjusted her headset. “We know it’s you, Josh. No one pilots a sub like you. Do you want to tell us what’s going on?”

  Matthew cut in. “Talk to us, buddy.”

  Still not a word.

  Hannah spoke softly. “Two men are dead, Josh. They were good men. You would have liked them. I can’t believe you would have had anything to do with—”

  “I didn’t,” Josh blurted out. “I wouldn’t do that.”