Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“I’ll take your word for that,” she said. “But you have to take mine as well. The debris we’re seeing is not from our vehicle.”

Kurt hadn’t heard of any crashes in this part of the world. But there was no point in arguing. He clicked on the radio. “Reunion, are you getting all of this?”

“The video feed is good,” Joe said. “Looks like you’ve hit the mother lode.”

“According to my copilot, it’s fool’s gold,” Kurt said. “I’m going to haul some of the debris up for you to inspect; maybe you can figure out what kind of plane this came from.”

“Sounds good,” Joe said. “Look for something definitive.”

Kurt scanned around them for a smaller piece of debris that might reveal the make and model of the wreck. “What about that circuit board?” he said, pointing to a length of wiring attached to a green computer panel.

“Good idea,” Joe said over the radio. “The electronics might be traceable.”

Kurt maneuvered the Angler into position, overshot just a bit and then cut the throttle, allowing the sub to drift back over the target.

With the thrusters off, the Angler was utterly silent. In the sudden quiet, he noticed something he hadn’t heard before: a vibration in the water; a low, repetitive hum, coming from somewhere in the distance.

Emma heard it, too. “What is that?”

It sounded like a ship to Kurt. He got back on the radio. “Reunion, are you on the move?”

“Negative,” Joe replied. “We’re full stop. Half the crew are out on deck, sunning themselves. Why?”

“Do you see any traffic?”

There was a slight delay before Joe replied again. “Also negative. There’s not a ship on the horizon.”

Despite that fact, Kurt was certain they were hearing a ship’s propeller.

“If it’s not up there . . .” Emma said.

She didn’t have to finish. Kurt was thinking the same thing. He deployed a hydrophone. It wasn’t a true sonar receiver—in fact, it was just a basic microphone encased in a waterproof container designed to record whales and other sounds of sea life—but by turning it a few degrees at a time, he was able to get a better fix on the strange hum.

Heard through the speakers, the sound was deep and ominous, and growing louder by the moment. “It’s coming from behind us,” Kurt said. “And it’s coming this way

.”

15

Kurt nudged the thrusters and slowly spun the Angler until it was pointed in the direction of the approaching hum. He switched off the normal light, leaving only the UV system in place. Still they saw nothing.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Emma said.

A sharp ping exploded through the water, reverberating in the hollow confines of the Angler like someone had struck the side with a hammer.

Emma put a hand to her ear. Kurt marveled at a ripple in the silt, caused by the power of the invisible sound wave.

“Someone just painted us,” Kurt said, meaning the sonar ping had found them and probably registered back to whatever submarine had issued it.

“Searching for wreckage like us?”

“Maybe, but you don’t need a sonar pulse like that to search for wreckage,” Kurt replied. He left unsaid that powerful sonar pings were normally used to get targeting data for torpedoes.

With a smooth touch, he spun the Angler around, looking for the source of the ping. The thrumming sound grew louder, like a freight train barreling down on them.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma asked.

“We have to look both ways before we cross the road,” he said, pivoting the nose of the submersible upward and turning the UV light to full intensity while simultaneously glancing toward the monitor.