Deep Fathom

Over the scrambled radio, David listened as Nicolas Ruzickov continued to chastise him. Not only had the mission almost been a total failure, it had been a sloppy one, implicating the U.S. government. The American embassy on Pohnpei was already spinning the events like a whirling top, extolling the local authorities and spouting assurances that they would root out the culprits involved. The ambassador had vigorously denied any knowledge of David’s men or what they were doing at Nan Madol. Funds were already being wired into the private accounts of critical Pohnpeian officials. David knew there was no problem or embarrassment that couldn’t be made to disappear by throwing enough cash at it. By tomorrow, all evidence of U.S. involvement would be muddied away.

Ruzickov finished his tirade. “I have enough problems with the war. I don’t need to be cleaning up your messes, Commander.”

“Yes, sir, but Jack Kirkland—”

“Your report stated that you eliminated him.”

“We believe so.” David remembered the seas erupting around the ship, bobbling and rocking the vessel. There was no way Jack could have survived, he thought, but his eyes narrowed. He could not be sure. The bastard had more lives than a damn cat. “But his crew, sir. We believe they still possess the crystal.”

“That objective no longer matters. The researchers managed to collect their own sample. They’re experimenting with it as we speak, and so far the initial results are intriguing. But more importantly, Cortez believes translating the inscription on the obelisk may accelerate his research. So forget the fragment of crystal. Your mission’s top priority is to bring the anthropologist to Neptune base.”

David clenched his fist. “Yes, sir.”

“After you accomplish this, you’ll help the Navy’s team extract the crystal pillar and return it to the States. Only then will you be allowed to tie up these loose ends.” Anger ran clear in the former Marine’s voice.

Heat rose to David’s face. Never before had he been reprimanded by the CIA director. Three dead, one severely injured. The mission would be a black mark on his record.

“Did you hear me, Commander Spangler?”

David had stopped listening, too filled with anger and shame. “Yes, sir. We’ll evacuate the professor to the sea base immediately.”

A long sigh followed. “Commander, the conditions out East are worsening as we speak. A major sea battle is raging around Taiwan. Okinawa is under repeated missile attacks. And in Washington there is already talk of a nuclear response.” Ruzickov paused to let the significance sink in. “So you understand the importance of your efforts. If there is any way to utilize the power hidden in that crystal, it must be discovered as soon as possible. Every means must be utilized to accomplish this end. Private wars and vendettas have no place here.”

David closed his eyes. “I understand. I won’t fail you again.”

“Prove it, Commander. Bring that woman to the Neptune.”

“We’re already on our way.”

“Very good.” The line went dead.

David held the receiver a moment. Fuck you, he added silently, then slammed down the phone.

In the distance, a whump-whump echoed over the waters. Their evac helicopter was early. David cinched up his jacket and pushed out the door into the rainstorm. He crossed to Rolfe.

The lieutenant commander turned at his approach.

“Get the woman up here,” David ordered him.

“I think she’s still unconscious.”

“Then carry her. We’re leaving now.” David watched as his second-in-command swung away. He placed his fists on his hips. Maybe he had been too rough on the woman, he thought, recalling how after losing Kirkland, he had vented his frustration on her. But he would no longer tolerate failures—not from himself, not from his men, not from her.

Rolfe reappeared, climbing from the doorway with their captive slung over a shoulder.

The rain seemed to revive the woman a bit. She stirred, raising her face. Her left eye was bruised and blood dribbled from her nose and split lip. She coughed thickly.

David turned away, satisfied she would live.

No, I wasn’t too rough.

3:22 P.M., USS Gibraltar, Luzon Strait

The strip of water between Taiwan and the Philippines was tight with ships, many with guns blazing. Admiral Houston watched the fighting through the green-tinted windows of the bridge. Overhead, the sky was choked with smoke, turning day to a gloomy twilight. That morning the Gibraltar had joined the battle group of the USS John C. Stennis, consisting of the massive Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, its air wing and destroyer squadron.

Just as the Gibraltar arrived, an attack by the Chinese air force began. Jets roared across the skies, bombarding the ships below with missile fire. In response, Sea Sparrow anti-aircraft missiles blasted skyward. A handful of jets exploded, tumbling in fiery streams into the ocean—but the true battle was only beginning. The Chinese navy, over the horizon, had soon joined the conflict, bombarding the region with rocket barrages.

All day, the sea war had raged.

Off to the south, a destroyer, the USS Jefferson City, lay burning. An evacuation was under way. ASW helicopters from the Gibraltar were already in the air, rising like hornets to aid in the defense of their section of the sea.

To Houston’s side, Captain Brenning shouted orders to his bridge crew.

Houston stared out over the smoke and chaos. Both sides were chewing each other apart. And for what?

An alarm sounded. The Phalanx Close-in Weapons System at the front end of the island’s superstructure swung its 20mm Gatling guns and began firing, chugging out fifty rounds a second. Off on the starboard side an incoming missile, a sea-skimmer, blew apart about two thousand yards away.

Orders were screamed.

Rocket fragments rained down upon the Gibraltar, pounding and peppering the ship’s Kevlar armor panels. The ship bore the assault with minimal damage.

“Sir!” One of the lieutenants pointed. Two of the ASW helicopters, pelted by the missile shards, tumbled into the sea. At the same time, the Phalanx CIWS defensive guns near the fantail sponson rattled as more missiles bore down on the beleaguered ship. Mortars were launched by the SLQ-32, throwing up a cloud of chaff against the attack.

The Gibraltar echoed and rattled with frag impacts.

Captain Brenning said, “Admiral, we must retreat. The zone is too hot for the helicopters.”

Houston clenched his fists, but he nodded. “Order the flight deck cleared.” As his command was relayed, Houston turned toward the Jefferson, bearing silent witness to the death of so many sailors. He watched as the fires worsened. Tiny lifeboats fled the sinking giant.