Dr. Wu struggled to join the pack, but the stronger guards pushed him under the water and his flailing arms soon grew still. Chang was not about to share the pocket of air with anyone. He turned around, leaned his pistol over the back of the seat, and shot any man who tried to encroach on his space. Within seconds, he had killed all his guards and was alone in the cabin.
By then the weight of the water in the shuttle had shifted forward. Its nose leveled out, and the shuttle began to sink to the bottom of the crater. The cabin was plunged into complete darkness. Chang fought to keep his head up in the diminishing pocket of air, but the bodies swashing around in the blood-stained water made it difficult. As soon as he pushed one body out of the way, another body came along to take its place. At one point, he was eye-to-eye with dead Dr. Wu.
More water came in, diminishing the pocket of life-giving air even more. Chang pressed against the ceiling of the shuttle with only a few inches left. As water filled his mouth and nostrils, he looked up, saw the monstrous shadow of the Typhoon gliding overhead, and, with his last, soggy gasp uttered:
“Austin!”
THE OWNER OF THAT NAME sat next to the Russian helmsman in the Typhoon’s control room. Zavala was on the other side of the man, a young Ukrainian who had a natural talent for his job. The captain stood by Austin’s side, relaying orders in Russian to the helmsman.
Minutes earlier, the helmsman had backed the sub into the tunnel, facing into the crater. The sonar operator watched for the shuttle and alerted Austin when he picked up its moving blip. A monitor connected to a camera in the sub’s sail picked out the shuttle’s twin searchlights approaching. Austin gave the order for a full-speed ram. The helmsman gripped the wheel as the submarine began to move forward. The ambush was under way.
After glancing off the shuttle, the Typhoon had continued into the crater and made a wide turn. As the sub headed back toward the tunnel to finish the job, the camera picked up the shuttle once again. Austin watched with pitiless eyes as it plunged to the bottom. He felt no sense of triumph. Not yet. He was all too well aware that the Triad was a three-headed m
onster.
CHAPTER 46
WHEN THE CONCORD FAILED TO HEAR FROM AUSTIN, CAPTAIN Dixon had moved the Navy ships under his command in closer to surround the atoll. He stood on the foredeck with Song Lee, who had stayed by his side since Austin had set off on his mission hours before.
The captain was watching the atoll through binoculars in the dawn light, unaware of the drama that had transpired under the calm waters of the lagoon. He was pondering what his next course of action should be when Lee pointed toward a boiling patch of water. She grabbed him by the arm.
“Captain Dixon, look!”
As they were looking, the massive conning tower and high vertical rudder of the Typhoon broke the surface several hundred yards east of the atoll. After a few minutes, two figures appeared in the lofty tower and waved their arms. Dixon brought his binoculars to his eyes.
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
He handed the binoculars to Lee.
She raised them to her eyes, and blurted, “It’s Kurt! And Joe!”
Dixon laughed out loud. Only Kurt Austin could go fishing in a remote lagoon and catch the world’s biggest submarine.
After another wave, the two men disappeared from the tower and emerged moments later from a hatch in the deck. With the help of some crewmen, they pulled an inflatable boat up on deck, lowered it over the sub’s rounded hull into the water, then climbed in and came skimming over the waves toward the cruiser.
Song Lee was waiting on deck to throw her arms around Austin, then Zavala. Then Austin again. She gave him a kiss full on the lips.
Austin would have liked to prolong the pleasant experience, but he gently disentangled himself from her arms and turned to Captain Dixon.
“Have you seen any sign of the lab’s staff?” he asked. “They should have surfaced in the minisubs by now.”
Dixon shook his head. He called his first officer on the bridge and asked him to ask the other ships in the vicinity to be on the lookout for the surfacing minisubs. Moments later, a call came in from the NUMA ship. The first minisub had surfaced. Dixon issued an order to get the Concord under way. It rounded the atoll just in time to see a second sub popping out of the water, then a third. Each had an identification number painted on its side.
Austin scanned the sea for the fourth minisub carrying Lois Mitchell and the vaccine. After a few anxious moments, it too popped out of the water.
He let out the breath he had been holding.
“We need to bring the scientists from the last sub on board immediately,” he told the captain.
Dixon ordered a boat in the water. The rescue crew pulled Lois Mitchell and the other scientists out of their minisub and brought them back to the cruiser. As the boat came close, Lois saw Austin leaning over the railing. She waved, then pointed to the cooler in her lap. When she climbed aboard, she handed the cooler off to Lee.
“Here’s our vaccine,” Mitchell said, “safe and sound.”
The joyful smile on Lee’s face dissolved. She looked crestfallen as she held the cooler, like someone just told her it was radioactive.
“It’s too late, Lois,” she said. “The epidemic will explode throughout China within twenty-four hours and spread to the rest of the world within days. There is no time to produce the vaccine in the massive quantities we need.”
Mitchell took the cooler back, set it on the deck, and pushed the top back to expose a rack with dozens of aluminum cylinders in it. She pulled one out and showed it to Lee.