Goliath

The sound of hydraulics, coming from below, catches her attention. She looks out over the rail as a large flatbed makes its way slowly up the starboard bulkhead.

A lone figure is standing on the missile elevator platform. “Kaigbo?”

Abdul Kaigbo feels like a marionette, Sorceress—his puppet master. The computer’s strings are entwined around his nerve endings and muscles, his spinal cord and brain. If he tries to resist, Sorceress breathes her white-hot flame through his body. If he complies, his pleasure sensations are stimulated.

The lanky African looks up and spots the woman, who is waving, conveniently waiting for him on the catwalk. He is afraid for her, but he is more afraid for himself.

The lift stops, locking into position.

“Abdul, where’s the rest of the crew? Where’s your goddamn boss? Jesus, what happened to your arms?”

Kaigbo reaches out with his new prosthetics and grabs her by the wrists.

“Oww, let go! Have you lost your mind?” She sees the MEMS unit dangling from behind his neck. “Oh, shit … Gunnar! Gunnar, help—”

The African lifts her over the rail and onto the lift.

Gunnar hurries back down the catwalk, arriving too late, as the lift disappears into the darkness below, Rocky with it.

THE GAME IS NOT OVER, GUNNAR WOLFE. THE FAT LADY HAS NOT BEGUN TO SING.

Aboard the USS Virginia

The tension in the conn is palpable, every minute seeming like an hour.

Sonar technician Bob Cerba studies the Lightweight Wide Aperture Array. His heart pounds like a bass drum —

—then skips a beat as the faint signal of the Goliath appears on his display monitor. “Conn, sonar, got her. Range, ten thousand yards. She’s slowed, sir. Estimated speed—ten knots.”

“Conn, weapons, we have a firing solution.”

“Very well,” Captain Parker says. “Firing point procedures. Sierra-1, ADCAP torpedo, tube one.”

“Solution ready,” the XO calls out.

“Ship ready,” confirms the OOD.

“Weapons ready.”

“WEPS, Captain. Run-to-enable two-five-hundred yards. Shoot on generated bearings.”

“Run-to-enable two-five-hundred yards. Shoot on generated bearings, aye, sir.”

The ADCAP heavyweight torpedo punches into the sea, traveling 250 yards at high speeds before slowing to forty knots, beginning its active search. Within seconds, its pinging sonar registers two consecutive returns, its onboard computer validating the contact as the Goliath.

Aboard the Goliath

Sorceress registers the disturbance of the approaching torpedo. Within a span of seconds, the biochemical computer simultaneously:

—accesses all data regarding the Virginia-class submarine’s capabilities and the combat history of its commanding officer, Christopher Parker.

—monitors the status of Abdul Kaigbo, who has secured Commander Jackson on the missile transport lift.

—conducts another extensive sonar sweep of the vicinity.

—verifies the latest three-day forecast of the North Atlantic.

—and acquires the location of David Paniagua’s father’s winter residence from DoD files. Using this last bit of information, Sorceress completes its list of Sorceress Utopia- One targets for its next nuclear volley, a decision which ultimately determines its course and speed,

—and the fate of the USS Virginia and her crew.

A combat strategy is selected.

With a hiss of hydraulics, the computer launches one of its portside antitorpedo torpedoes, then changes course, heading northwest and away from the Virginia.

Aboard the USS Virginia

“Conn, sonar, ship’s own unit is homing. Ship’s own unit has acquired. Impact in twenty seconds. Contact is running—”

Parker and Commander Darr glance up at each other from across the Virginia’s navigation console.

“Conn, sonar, torpedo in the water.”

“WEPS, Captain. Prepare to fire antitorpedo tor—”

The explosion cuts Parker off. A moment later the shock wave hits, rolling the Virginia hard to starboard.

The sea growls in angry protest, its frozen surface fragmenting into mammoth chunks of brash ice.

“Sonar, conn—”

“Skipper, ship’s own unit has been destroyed. Contact is still heading north and away from us, bearing three-one-zero, increasing speed to thirty knots. Range—thirteen thousand yards.”

Stay with her, Parker. Don’t let her get away … “Helm, all ahead full, steady three-one-zero. WEPS, Captain, firing point procedures. Sierra-1, ADCAP torpedo, tube two.”

Aboard the Goliath

Sorceress registers the Virginia’s change in course and speed, a combat response it had anticipated. The biochemical computer floods minisub docking bay number five.

Seconds later, a remotely controlled steel Hammerhead is released into the sea.

The Goliath continues heading north by northwest, leaving its minisub behind. Invisible in the ebony sea, the mechanical shark hovers … and waits.

Secured to its belly, held firmly between its two clawlike claspers is an underwater mine.

Aboard the USS Virginia

The Virginia pushes through the black waters of the Antarctic at thirty-four knots, moving through the bitter sea like a 7,700-ton, 377-foot steel sperm whale,

—its crew too focused on the Goliath to notice the occasional orcalike clicks coming from the seafloor.

Goliath’s minisub allows the Virginia to pass overhead before accelerating after it. Hovering alongside, it pinpoints its target—a set of steel plates located just forward of the American attack sub’s retractable bow diving planes.

Chief Petty Officer Justin Bowman is stationed in the Virginia’s tactical missile room, a chamber that contains an arsenal of Tomahawk cruise missiles. He looks up, startled by the sudden sound of scraping.

Clunk.

The Chief Petty Officer’s heart thuds. Instinctively, he turns to flee—

Wa-boom!

—his existence instantly caught between a brilliant flash of light and the suffocating, thunderous embrace that impales him from behind, extinguishing his life, as the lethal detonation vents the Virginia’s forward compartments to the frigid Antarctic sea.

Captain Parker is tossed to the deck, his crippled ship twisting beneath him. Screams, explosions, and