Deep Fathom

Deep Fathom Page 47

Ruzickov’s voice lost its exasperated tone. “You were right to bring this to my attention.” David was impressed by the man’s ability to switch gears so smoothly from one crisis to the next. The CIA director quickly put together a game plan. “It seems this professor knows more than we do. I want you to fetch her, convince her to join our team. But more importantly, her crystal sample must be confiscated. This is a black priority.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Black priority were the code words to unleash Omega team with lethal force. There was no higher designation for a mission.

“Do you truly understand, Commander? If the tensions out East turn to war, we may need a secret weapon, the equivalent of the atomic bomb during World War Two. We cannot let this discovery fall into foreign hands. And with Okinawa only a stone’s throw from the battlelines being drawn out there, I don’t want that crystal sample anywhere near there.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I will see to it personally.”

“Do so.” It sounded like Ruzickov was about to sign off.

David spoke quickly. “What about Jack Kirkland?”

Ruzickov sighed. “I told you this is a black priority mission. No word must leak out about what we’re doing. Silence him however you must.”

David smiled grimly. “I’m already on it, sir.”

“Don’t fail me, Commander.” The phone line went dead.

David slowly lowered the receiver and clicked its case closed. He sat for a moment with his palm resting atop the case. Black priority. His blood thrilled with those two words. He savored them for a moment, then stood up.

He crossed to the cabin door, opened it and barked an order to his man in the hall: “Fetch Lieutenant Handel. Tell him to bring the detonation transmitter.”

With a nod, the man hurried away.

David closed the door and leaned his back against it. He would bring a whole shitload of hurt down upon Kirkland’s head, he thought. And he knew where to strike first—at the man’s heart and soul.

At the Deep Fathom.

5:45 P.M., aboard the Deep Fathom, east of the Kwajalein Atoll

It was Charlie Mollier’s turn to prepare dinner. Behind him the galley door to the stern deck was open. But no breeze blew in to relieve the moist heat. The day had started out humid and grew worse as the sun climbed into the sky. In the galley, with both of the stove’s burners going, the heat was stifling.

Charlie, though, whistled in tune to the reggae music of Bob Marley on the tape deck beside the sink. Wearing onlya pair of baggy swim shorts that reached his knees, he swayed slightly as he stirred his homemade gungo pea and coconut soup, a family recipe. The spicy steam stung his nostrils. He smiled widely. “Nothin’ like hot food on a hot day.”

Reaching behind him, he tapped the blender. Its grinding roar drowned out the reggae music. “And margaritas, of course. Lots of margaritas!”

Ladle in hand, he spun around in sync with the chaotic melody of kitchen noises. With Jack gone, the entire ship had relaxed, enjoying the temporary reprieve. And Charlie was in an especially good mood. The moist heat, the tropical islands dotting the horizons…it was as if he were back home in the Caribbean. Bending over, he checked the oven. The fruity scent of his jerked chicken rolled out as he cracked the door open.

“Perfect,” he said contentedly.

Bent over, he felt something goose him from behind. He snapped upward with a squawk of surprise. Swinging around, he found Elvis staring up at him. The German shepherd nosed Charlie again, a small whine rising from his throat.

“Come begging, my ol’mon? You smell ol’ Charlie’s cookin’ and think to sneak a little mouthful?” He grinned at the large dog and grabbed a chicken wing from the counter-top. “Don’t go telling Jack, now. You know how he hates you begging. I’m not supposed to encourage you.”

He held out the treat. Elvis sniffed at it, then backed up a step and gazed toward the open galley door.

Charlie frowned. “What’s wrong, my ol’mon? Don’t like my cookin’?”

Elvis backed toward the doorway and barked at Charlie.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Lisa appeared in the doorway. “Now he’s bothering you,” she said with a concerned look. Lisa was dressed in a bikini. She’d been sunbathing on the aft deck. “He woke me up when I dozed off and wouldn’t leave me alone until I shoved him away.”

Charlie turned off the noisy blender. “Must be missin’ Jack. The captain’s never left the ship for longer than a day before.”

“I guess.”

From the ladder to the lower deck, Robert climbed into the galley. “Is dinner ready? I can smell your cooking all the way down in the bilge.”

Charlie waved him off with an exaggerated scowl. “Your nose could smell bacon cooking from over the horizon.” It was an ongoing joke. The young marine biologist had the most remarkable metabolic rate. He ate four times his body weight every day but remained as skinny as a bamboo pole.

“So is lunch ready?” Robert asked, hungrily eyeing the stove.

“Almost.”

Robert glanced at Lisa, kneeling by Jack’s dog. “Is something wrong with Elvis?”

Charlie shrugged. “Missing the boss, we think.”

“He was pestering me all day. It wasn’t until I hid in the cargo hold that he left me alone.”

Lisa stood. “He’s been bothering all of us…and I don’t think it’s all because of Jack being gone. I think it’s something more.”

As if understanding her, Elvis barked and wagged his tail. He edged through the galley door, then stopped and looked back at them.

“What is it?” Lisa asked. She stepped toward Elvis, and the dog moved another few steps away, stopping again, egging her to follow him. Lisa turned to Charlie and Robert. “He wants something.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Maybe Timmy’s stuck down in a well.”

The trio moved after the dog. As if realizing his message had been understood, Elvis moved quickly, leading the group up the stairs to the bridge.

“Where’s he going?” Robert asked.

Elvis scratched on the door. Lisa opened it for him, and the dog dashed toward the small hatch to the communications room.

Lisa glanced at the others with a frown, then opened the hatch door.

“Must be after a rat,” Charlie said. “When he was a pup, he was always hunting them down. Better than any cat.”

Inside the small space, Elvis had his nose pressed against a door to a lower drawer. Lisa pulled it open. Charlie crowded next to her. The drawer was full of fax paper and old receipts.

“I don’t see anything,” Lisa said.

“Maybe he wants you to fax a note to Jack,” Robert joked.

Elvis nudged between Charlie and Lisa. He began pawing at the drawer, whining in the back of his throat. His digging became more vigorous.

“Okay, ol’mon. Let me help you.” Charlie shouldered the dog aside and pulled free the drawer. He set it on the floor.

But Elvis ignored the drawer and had his nose pointed into the empty space in the cabinet. Charlie knelt on hands and knees and peered inside, but it was too dark. “Pass me a flashlight.”

Robert grabbed one from the bridge and tossed it to Lisa, who passed it to Charlie.

With his cheek close to the deck, Charlie probed the light into the dark space. “If there’s a rat in here…” he warned. Then the light reflected off something hidden in the dead space beneath the drawer’s steel runners. “Oh, shit…”

“What is it?” Lisa asked.

Charlie swore under his breath. Leaning closer, he ran his light over the array of electronics perched atop a nest of tiny gray cubes. Red LED lights blinked at him. “I think I’ve found Elvis’s rat.”

7:50 P.M., ruins off the coast of Yonaguni

Karen sipped from her water bottle as they rested inside a roofless building among the Chatan ruins. “Stories of a lost continent in the Pacific aren’t limited just to the islands,” she continued, snugging her water bottle into her pack. “During the period of the Chinese Warring States, ancient stories describe a huge land mass in the Pacific, named Peng Jia. A place supposedly inhabited by a people who could fly and who lived forever.”

“Uh-huh,” her companion responded.

Karen looked at Jack, who leaned out one of the windows. He soaked his handkerchief with cold seawater, then sat on the windowsill, draping the wet cloth over his sweaty face. They had been clambering among these ruins all day, going from one site to another, stopping only for a cold lunch of bread and cheese. So far their search had proved fruitless. They had found a handful of barnacle-encrusted pieces of pottery and broken bits of statuary, but no further evidence of writing or crystals. Just rock and more rock. The ravages of sea, sand, and currents had erased everything but the basalt bones of this ancient city.

“Tired?” she asked, realizing her litany of stories were probably falling on deaf ears by now. She sat down on the wide sill beside him. “Sorry to take up your whole day. Maybe it would be best if we headed back.” She checked her watch. “Hopefully, Miyuki has made some headway on the translations.”

Jack pulled the wet handkerchief from his face and smiled. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’ve opened my eyes on a past I never knew existed out here. I’ve traveled these seas in search of treasures for over a decade, but never heard a tenth of these stories.”

“Thanks for listening.”

Jack stood. “But you’re right. We should be heading back.”

Karen glanced out the window. Dusk was falling. Long shadows crept across the waters. She nodded.

Jack helped her stand, his grip firm on her hand. They crossed over to the building’s entrance where their motorboat was docked. Jack worked the rope loose, while Karen tossed her backpack into the stern.

Rope in hand, Jack suddenly froze. “Did you hear—” Then he was flying across the small room, tackling her to the hard floor. “Stay down.”