Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

She nodded.

“No.”

She looked back at her notes, and the tape continued. Finally, it reached the point of the initial attack.

Paul pressed the headphones against his ears once again but kept his eyes on Gamay. Each time it reached this point she got agitated. And this run-through was no different. She’d already begun tapping her pen nervously.

“I’m taking her deeper into the ship,” he heard Gamay say on the tape in reference to Rapunzel.

A slight change in the background noise was detected, marked by a spike in certain frequencies on the computer screen.

Several seconds later the Matador’s controller spoke.

“Paul, we’re picking up a sonar contact.” “What kind?”

“Unknown. West of you and very faint. But moving fast.” Paul listened to the sound. It was more discernible this time, as if it had been enhanced.

He heard his own voice ask if the sound was mechanical or natural, and then, as the signal grew louder, the controller’s voice changed in pitch as well, suddenly gaining half an octave.

“Mechanical or natural?”

“Unknown… It’s small…” “It’s a torpedo. Two of them, heading your way.” “Stop the tape,” Paul said. “Play back the last twenty seconds.” “I don’t think we need to, Paul,” Gamay said. “It’s useless.” “No,” Paul said. “I heard something. Something I didn’t hear last time. Play it back.” Gamay turned from him, looking frustrated and pensive. Her fingernails were chewed down to nothing, and she kept looking around, focusing on the door and the clock like a kid in the last class on the last day of school.

Paul guessed that listening to the tape over and over again was forcing her to relive the incident and he understood how it might be affecting her, but despite his repeated suggestions she would not leave him to do it alone.

The tape played again, and Paul listened closely.

As it finished, he asked for one more listen.

He saw Gamay gulp at an imaginary lump in her throat as the tape ran forward again.

“Paul, we’re picking up a sonar contact.” “What kind?”

“Unknown. West of you and very faint. But moving fast.” “Stop!” Paul said. “Right there.” Gamay took her headset off and put it down on the table. “I have to get some air,” she said.

Paul nodded and watched her leave the room. In a bizarre way his memory loss seemed to be helping them, as he had no emotional attachment to what had gone down. It was an investigation like all the others. A mystery he wanted to solve. But it dredged up no particular feelings for him.

“Can you isolate the vibration and remove the voice track?” Paul asked.

“Sure,” the petty officer said.

It took a minute, and then it was ready and playing again. There was something else blocking the sound. Paul looked at the computer screen. A frequency chart showed a bunch of low-level background noises and two major vibration sources. One was on a slightly lower band than the other.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the spike on the chart.

“That’s the Grouper’s motor signature,” the ensign said.

“Can you pull it out?”

Collier nodded, and a few seconds later indicated that he was ready.

“Go,” Paul said.

This time, as the playback went through, Paul was sure of what he was hearing. He didn’t know what it meant, but it wasn’t his imagination.

He pointed to the other frequency spike. “Can you eliminate all other background noise and just play this? And can you enhance it?” “Mr. Trout,” the petty officer said, “the government makes sure we have the best equipment in the world. I can make it play the ‘Star-Spangled Banner,’ if you want.” Paul laughed. “Just make this sound wave louder,” he said, “and stretch it out a bit.” This time, as the playback came, it sounded a little like a moped speeding toward him on an empty city street. No other noise, no urgent shouts of inbound torpedoes, just a whiny vibration that grew slightly louder and then lowered its pitch, not once but twice. As if it had passed them and was turning away.

“Is that what I think it is?” Paul asked.