Deep Fathom

Karen laughed. “Fantastic. I knew you were an adventurer at heart.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Jack said. “We can search for additional clues without being in the middle of a war zone. But I’ll need to contact my ship first, let them know the change in plans.”

“Oh God, in all the craziness, I forgot. Just before I left Karen’s apartment, I received a call from your boat. A Charles Molder.”

“Charlie Mollier?”

“Right. He seemed anxious to speak to you.”

“When did he call?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Is there a working phone around here?”

Miyuki nodded. “The line I was using for the computer should still be okay.” She hooked up a small desk phone and passed him the receiver.

He crouched over the desk and tapped in the Deep Fathom’s satellite number. A short burst of static briefly turned into Charlie’s voice.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Yeah, what’s up? All hell’s breaking loose out here and I’m heading to Pohnpei.”

“In Micronesia?”

“Yeah, it’s too long a story. You still near Kwajalein?”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not that far from Pohnpei. Can you meet us there?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Good. I’ll keep you post—”

“Goddamn it, Jack!” Charlie burst in. “Listen to me.”

“What?” Jack realized he hadn’t asked Charlie why he’d called.

“We’ve got a bomb on board here.”

It took Jack a few moments to understand. “A bomb?”

“A goddamn bomb. As in big f**king explosion.”

“How…? Who…?”

“It was planted in the radio room.”

“Get rid of it!”

“Oh jeez, mon, why didn’t I think of that? I may not know much about explosive devices, but this baby looks booby-trapped and has an electronic receiver. I ain’t touching it.”

As his shock bled away, Jack suspected that David Spangler was the culprit behind the bomb. He remembered the little gift of Chinese electronics. “Spangler,” he hissed.

“What?”

“One of Spangler’s men must have planted it.” In the back of his mind he wondered if this act of sabotage was simply revenge on David’s part, or if David had suspected that he was on to something. “Listen, Charlie, I don’t know what you’re still doing on the Fathom, but get everyone off and alert the authorities.”

“Already working on that. We’ve got the launch outfitted. Everyone is loaded up, except Robert and I. You almost missed us.”

“Get your asses out of there! Why did you even bother to call?”

“We were hoping you could talk us through defusing it?”

“Are you insane?”

“Hell, it’s the Fathom we’re talking about, Jack.”

Jack gripped the receiver tightly. “Listen to me—”

“Just a sec…”

Jack heard Charlie call out, then heard another voice, faintly in the background. It was Robert. “The light…it’s blinking more rapidly.”

Oh, God! Jack yelled into the phone. “Charlie! Get out of there!”

The receiver suddenly squelched with static, standing his small hairs on end—then the phone went ominously dead. “Charlie!” He clicked the receiver again and again. A dial tone returned. Savagely, he tapped in the code for the Deep Fathom again. “Goddamn it!”

Karen stood behind him. “Jack? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. He listened as the satellite connection fed through, but all he got as an answer was a screech of white noise. Then nothing again. He lowered the phone. He was numb all over, fearing the worst. He prayed it was just the connection frizzing out. But in his heart he knew he was wrong. He had heard the panic in Robert’s voice.

“Jack?” Karen placed a hand on his shoulder.

He slowly lowered the receiver into its cradle. “I…I think someone just blew up my ship.”

10:55 P.M., aboard the Maggie Chouest, Central Pacific

“It’s done,” Gregor Handel said. “I’m reading nothing from the Deep Fathom. Not even a mayday. She’s tits up, sir.”

“Perfect.” David lowered the headset from his ears. Earlier, Rolfe had succeeded in breaking the Fathom’s Globalstar code, allowing them to tap into the transmitted call. Using the headphones, David had eavesdropped on the final phone conversation between Jack and his ship. He placed the headset on the table. “What could be better?” he said. “Jack knew it was me. He heard his f**king ship explode. And he knows his crew was still on board.”

Rolfe spoke from his station. “I’ve got the port authority of Kwajalein. Do you want me to send a helicopter to confirm?”

“Wait about an hour. Ideally, we don’t want any survivors.”

Handel made a scoffing noise. “With that much C-4, almost a pound, there’s a kill zone of a good hundred yards. Nothing could’ve survived.”

David’s grin grew wider. “Well done, men.” He reached under the table and pulled out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. He raised the bottle. “To the perfect execution of this mission.”

“Execution is right,” Rolfe said with a smirk of satisfaction.

David stood and twisted the cork free of the bottle. It popped and shot across the cabin. As the champagne frothed over the neck, he lifted the bottle high. “And this is only the first step in bringing Kirkland down.”

15

Pohnpei

August 6, 6:15 A.M.

Pohnpei Island, the Federated States of Micronesia

Karen sat in the spacious cabin of the private Learjet as it taxied across the tarmac of Pohnpei’s airport. Outside, a fine misty rain drizzled down, muting the views of the jungle-draped peaks of the South Pacific island. As the plane turned, the island’s most prominent feature came into view: Sokehs Rock, a towering volcanic plug overlooking Kolonia harbor, nicknamed the “Diamond Head of Micronesia.”

“It’s beautiful,” Miyuki said beside her, leaning closer. Her friend, clearly exhausted, had slept most of the way, only awakening as the plane began to land.

Karen, however, had not been able to sleep. Neither had Jack. She stared across the cabin. He still sat stiff in his seat, barely noticing the passing scenery. Mwahu sat slumped beside him, snoring.