Goliath

— Charles Starkweather, mass murderer, after his weeklong rampage

CHAPTER 34

Aboard the USS Scranton

The sudden surge of acoustics causes Michael Flynn to jump. He presses the headphones tighter to his ears and closes his eyes. “It’s the Goliath, Skipper.” The sonarman’s expression changes.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard anything like this.”

Cubit grabs a set of headphones. Listens. “Conn, Captain, take us to periscope depth. Radio, patch me through to General Jackson on the ELF.”

Aboard the Goliath

The mammoth submarine rights itself.

DISENGAGE THE EXPLOSIVE.

Gunnar flops onto his back, moaning in pain.

DISENGAGE THE EXPLOSIVE OR I SHALL SEND YOU TO HELL.

The computer’s lost its mind. Gunnar struggles to his knees, glancing at the mine’s digital display: 1:05 … 1:04 …

“Come on!” Rocky drags him to his feet.

Gunnar grabs the OICW and follows her into the hangar, then yanks her sideways as a geyser of bone-chilling seawater erupts from out of minisub berth 1, blasting the two of them across the hangar.

The Goliath ascends, causing a river of water to rush out from the hangar and into the lower deck-forward corridor—

—carrying with it, the body of Abdul Kaigbo, the MEMS unit still dangling from the back of the dead African’s skull.

Battling the current, Rocky and Gunnar reach the prototype.

Abdul Kaigbo’s waterlogged corpse floats past the platter mine—

—its two mechanical arms suddenly animating to life, latching on to the underwater explosive.

Sorceress reseals docking berth 1, stifling the flow of water, as it manipulates the dead man’s steel-and-graphite arms, using its claws to pry open the mine.

The computer registers the MEMS unit weakening from saltwater exposure and its torn connections. With its last ounce of energy, the steel claw rips open the neutron bomb’s triggering mechanism, tearing out the C-4 fuses.

Gunnar collapses painfully into the prototype’s pilot’s seat, then checks his watch. Twenty-two seconds … “Rocky, shoot out the starboard wall and get in!”

Balancing atop the Hammerhead by its dorsal fin-shaped hatch, Rocky aims the OICW and fires the remaining 20-mm explosive rounds into the hangar bay wall, then ducks into the minisub’s cockpit, sealing the hatch.

An eruption of seawater shoots into the compartment, the abrupt change in pressure rattling the interior of the ship, widening the gap.

The blast of ocean lifts the prototype, smashing it sideways against the far wall.

Rocky drops into the passenger seat as Gunnar powers up the minisub. Gripping the joystick, he slams both feet to the pedals controlling the minisub’s thrusters.

The steel Hammerhead stabilizes and accelerates, shooting out of the hole into the midnight sea like a dart.

Gunnar adjusts the eyepiece of his helmet, then steals a glance at his sonar console with his left eye. Eleven small objects—Goliath’s minisubs—are giving chase, their larger mother ship closing in fast from behind. “This could be a short trip.”

A sudden thought. “Rocky … how’s your Morse code?”

Aboard the USS Scranton

Tom Cubit presses his grandfather’s gold pocket watch to his lips, staring at his charts. The Goliath is heading east, moving farther away from his ship with each passing second.

You guessed wrong, Cubit, you screwed up bad …

Commander Dennis moves closer. “Skipper?”

“Yes, XO, we’re going after her. Restart engines. Come to course zero-nine-zero—”

“Conn, sonar, I’m picking up orca sounds, has to be those minisubs. And something else, Skipper, the lead minisub appears to be pinging.”

“Pinging? Belay that order, Chief!”

“Conn, radio, those pings are Morse code, sir. It’s an S.O.S.”

Commander Dennis looks up at his CO. “Joe-Pa?”

“Gotta be. Chief, raise the number one BRA.”

“Aye, sir, raising antenna.”

“Radio, Captain, get me General Jackson on the ELF. Sonar, where’s the Goliath?”

“Trailing the minisubs, bearing zero-eight-zero.”

“Conn, radio, I’ve got Jackson—”

Cubit grabs the microphone. “General, this is Cubit. Joe-Pa’s in one of the minisubs, being chased by the Goliath. Is there any way you can patch us through?”

Aboard the Prototype

Gunnar and Rocky hold on as another mechanical shark rams their vessel’s tail fin.

Five hundred yards behind, the Goliath soars through the ocean like a giant bat in a dark cave, the reflection from its scarlet viewports casting a bloodred hue beneath the frozen surface.

Another impact, this one to port.

“Hold on!” Gunnar wrenches the joystick hard to starboard, smashing the sub’s midwing stabilizer into another steel Hammerhead.

“Gunnar, what happened to that goddamn explosive?”

“Shit if I know.”

Two more bone-jarring collisions, this time from below.

The power flickers off—then on.

“What the hell was that?”

Gunnar checks the battery cells. “You don’t want to know.”

Before she can respond, a red light flashes on the console. Gunnar activates the radio. “Bear, that you?”

A blast of static envelops a faint voice—“Joe-Pa, this … Cubit … Scranton. We … sonar. Come west … two- six-zero—”

The prototype is jarred sideways, the jolt turning the message to pure static.

Rocky’s heart pounds. “An American sub?”

“Yeah, but we’re headed the wrong way … hold on!”

Gunnar aims for the luminescent white root of a behemoth iceberg. Adrenaline pumping, he races the prototype around the face of the submerged mountain, his portside pectoral stabilizer scraping ice.

Circling counterclockwise, faster and faster around the face of the berg, Gunnar’s mind screams at him to veer away, afraid he is about to collide head-on into an unseen escarpment. “Rocky, call out our bearing!”

“Zero-ten-zero … zero-five-zero … three-five-zero … three-three-zero …”