Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

Joe turned around and rushed through the preflight in record time, hitting the starter and getting the rotors moving above them. “Kurt and Emma must be on the move.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because there’s no other reason to shoot at them.”

“At least we don’t have to get them off the bottom,” Kamphausen said.

“I have a feeling they’re still going to need our help,” Joe said.

As Kamphausen clicked his seat belt and the rotors flicked past at ever-increasing speed, Joe pulled on a headset and changed the frequency on the number one radio. He’d sent one of the small boats out on the water trailing the side-scan sonar and trying to pinpoint the location of the Angler without giving it away to the Russians. “Survey 1, did you catch that?”

The replay came loud and clear. “We saw it on the surface. No idea what caused it, though.”

“Do you still have the Typhoon on the scan?”

“Yes, but the latest return is blurred.”

“The Typhoon is moving, too,” Joe concluded. “They wouldn’t be doing that unless they were chasing something.”

He turned his attention back to the instrument panel. Everything was operating in the green. With a firm twist of the throttle, Joe commanded full power. The weight came off the landing gear and the orange helicopter rose from the deck. With a kick of the rudder, Joe turned the nose to starboard and accelerated toward the widening circle of white water in the distance.

The Angler continued to ascend, moving upward at two hundred feet per minute. Kurt watched the light grow around them and Emma tried to pick up something, anything, on the hydrophone.

“It’s blown-out,” she said.

Kurt wasn’t surprised; his ears felt as if they’d almost blown out as well. “Never mind,” he said. “Just get ready to abandon ship in case they fire another torpedo our way.”

She pulled a life jacket on as Kurt continued to pilot the submersible. They could see the surface now: a shimmering, waving mirror of silver that meant freedom.

As soon as the sub breached the surface, Kurt grabbed the radio. “Reunion, this is Angler,” he said. “We’re on the surface and need immediate pickup. Do you copy?”

“Let’s just hope our antenna didn’t get blown off,” Emma said.

Kurt pressed the transmit switch again. “Reunion, this is Angler, do you read?”

Joe was cruising across the water at an altitude of three hundred feet when he heard the radio call. Seconds later, he spotted the white and red submersible bobbing in the swells.

He turned the volume up. “Kurt, this is Joe. I have you in sight. We’ll be on you in thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds?” Kurt replied. He sounded shocked.

“We’re already airborne. We thought you might need help.”

Joe brought the Air-Crane onto a matching course, setting up to grab the Angler off the water. As he finished the turn, he noticed something else: a long white trail of bubbles coming in from the west. “Don’t look now but you have a torpedo heading your way.”

“We’ll bail out,” Kurt replied.

“Stay put,” Joe said. “I think I can get you before it hits.”

“You’ll never hook on in time,” Kurt said.

“We don’t need a hook,” Joe said. “We have a magnet.”

The submersible was moving, but it was ponderous on the surface. The white line of bubbles from the torpedo was tracking quickly toward them.

Joe cut in front of it, brought the Air-Crane down closer to the water. “Lower the magnet.”

Kamphausen let out fifty feet of cable. The heavy, bell-shaped electromagnet trailed out behind them. He aimed for the red strip across the top.