Deep Fathom

Karen did not like the sound of that. Last shuttle…What about her?

Rolfe led her to the docking bay’s control station. He gazed through the window, then spoke into the thin- poled mike. “All set, Argus?”

Karen peeked through the window. The pilot and the last two scientists, both crammed into the rear passenger compartment, were locked into the sub.

“Systems green. Ready for launch,” the pilot radioed.

“Pressurizing.” Rolfe poked a large blue button, initiating the docking bay system.

Karen watched. As soon as the pressures equalized, the outlet pipes opened and water poured into the bay, quickly swallowing up the sub. She studied it all intently. Without Dr. Cortez here, she might need to do this herself.

All morning long she had dogged Rolfe’s steps, learning by quiet observation how the base operated. It was all user-friendly, thanks mostly to this compact control station. A bank of four monitors showed external views from all around the station. An additional two monitors for the ROV robots rested above a pair of joysticks. The remainder of the panel was devoted to the docking bay itself.

She watched the seawater level rise past the tiny porthole observation window. As the bay filled, a glint of metal caught her eye. Something small floated loose in the docking space. She dismissed it as some mislaid tool and returned her focus to the sub. Across the bay, the pilot tested the sub’s thrusters, floating up from the deck.

But again the glint drew her eye. It was the same object, whirling past the tiny window now.

Leaning closer, Karen recognized the bit of flotsam.

A pair of eyeglasses. Its lenses broken, its frame twisted and bent.

She covered a gasp with a hand over her mouth.

8:15 A.M., Nautilus

Hidden in a cloud of silt, Jack edged his sub along the base of the cliff, clinging under a lip of rock to diminish his sonar shadow to the sub above. He feathered his pedals with the lightest touches, trying to move no faster than the current. He dared not move any quicker, lest he raise a wake trail in the cloud and reveal his position. Overhead, the glow of the Perseus’s spotlight swept past in a crisscrossing pattern, searching, waiting for the silt to settle.

Jack knew he had to be gone before that happened.

Still, he forced himself to maintain a snail’s pace, flying the sub blind, no lights, guided by sonar alone. He edged forward. His goal: a side canyon up ahead. He had no idea where it led or if it was a blind alley, but knew he had to be out of the main channel before the cloud dissipated.

Then a voice blared from his radio earpiece. “I know you’re down there, Kirkland. You can’t hide forever.”

Spangler…great…no surprise there.

Jack remained silent, playing dead.

“I have your woman trapped at the sea base, and your ship impounded. Show yourself and I’ll let the others live.”

Jack resisted the urge to laugh. Sure you will.

The silence stretched. David’s voice returned again, growing more angry. “Would you like me to teach Professor Grace a few lessons in your absence? Perhaps hear her screams as Lieutenant Rolfe rapes her?”

Jack clenched his hands into fists but remained silent. Revealing himself would hurt Karen more than it would help. His best chance lay in stealth.

Ahead, a side canyon finally opened on the right. Jack guided the Nautilus into the narrow cut. He juiced the thrusters. Sonar feed began to fill the computer navigation screen. He sighed in relief. The side canyon was not a dead end. It wound far, branching and dividing.

Anxious, he moved more swiftly. He raced along the deep crack. Walls flashed past. He needed time and distance to shake the bastard.

“Where you going, Jack?” Lights flared behind him.

Jumping, Jack craned around. Damn it…

The Perseus swept down into the slot canyon after him, diving with murderous intent.

Staring behind him, Jack realized his error. A dusty spray of silt trailed behind the sub’s tail, coughed up from the seabed floor by his passage. A clear trail. A stupid mistake.

Giving up any pretense of hiding, he speared on his lamplight and floored the pedals. The Nautilus shot up, corkscrewing out of the canyon.

As he spun, a minitorpedo zipped past the sub’s dome, narrowly missing his vessel. To the left, a brief explosion flared as the torpedo struck a seamount, its thunder echoing through his hydrophones.

Jack tilted his sub into a steep dive, riding the shockwave, and dropped into a neighboring canyon. Flattening out, the bottom of his sub scraped through the silt, casting up a cloud.

What had betrayed him a moment ago could save him now. He thumbed off his lamp and coasted without thrusters, vanishing into the widening cloud of sand and silt.

He heard David over the radio, swearing. In David’s anxiousness to pursue him, he had forgotten his radio line was still open. Jack did not correct this mistake. He eavesdropped. “Goddamn you, Kirkland. I’ll see you die before this day is out.”

Jack grinned. Keep trying, asshole. He raced down the chute, gliding around an outcropping. A sonar warning chimed. The canyon ended in a flat cliff face only twenty yards away.

“Oh, shit…” He flung the thrusters in reverse, earning a high-pitched whine of protest, and flung the nose of the sub straight up. But it wasn’t enough to halt his momentum. The bottom of the Nautilus struck the wall hard.

Jarred forward, the belts of his harness dug into his shoulders. He forced himself back and worked the thrusters, climbing straight up the wall.

A new warning rang from his computer. His batteries were running low.

“Great…just great…”

Clearing the wall, Jack leveled out and sped along the mount’s summit. He prayed his power lasted long enough. Sensing movement on his left, he turned and was blinded by a shaft of light.

The Perseus flew out of a nearby canyon, straight at him.

Rather than being rammed broadside, Jack rolled the sub, taking the collision on his undercarriage. The Nautilus jolted violently. Struck at the stern, Jack’s sub spun. He struggled to right himself, to no avail. The sub struck the seamount, burying its nose in the thick silt.

Sweating, ears ringing, he fought the thrusters to tug himself out.

With a groan of stressed metal, the Nautilus popped free.

As he swung his sub upright, he peripherally saw the Perseus swinging in a tight loop, its torpedo array swiveling in his direction.

Time to go!

He slammed the foot pedals. Thrusters whined. The sub rumbled and tremored but refused to move. His front thruster assembly was jammed with sand. “C’mon, c’mon…”

He slammed the sub into reverse, blowing clear the choked props.

The Perseus sped closer, determined not to miss this time. “Ready to die, Kirkland?”

Free of debris, Jack goosed his thrusters. With no time to escape, he aimed straight for his adversary, playing a risky game of chicken, trusting in David’s cowardice. An explosion too close would threaten David’s own sub.

He floored the foot pedals and streaked forward.

Rather than shying, the Perseus remained on course.

Jack flicked on his xenon lamp. Light lanced out to stab the other sub, blinding its pilot.

At the last moment Spangler angled away.

Jack flashed under the enemy sub. He caught a quick glimpse of David sprawled on his belly in his cigar- shaped glass pod. Then the Perseus was gone.

Watching it retreat, Jack spotted the torpedo array spinning to track him as the