Deep Fathom

“And what is that?”

“As has been mentioned already, we’re fighting this battle with one fist tied behind our backs. We can change that.”

Nafe sat up straighter. This was what he came to hear—answers, not problems. “What do you propose?”

“A limited nuclear response.”

A hush fell over the Situation Room. Nafe’s hands gripped his knees. He had already discussed such an option with Nicolas Ruzickov earlier in the day. Nafe tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Have you formulated a plan?”

The general nodded. “We break the blockade decisively. A balls-out response. Military targets only.”

Nafe’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“From two Ohio-class subs off the coast of the Philippines, we strike three critical zones with Trident Two missiles.” The general pointed out the targets on the highlighted map. “It’ll break the back of the blockade. The Chinese will be forced to retreat. But more importantly, they’ll get the message how serious we are to protect our interests in the region.”

Nafe flicked a look toward Nicolas Ruzickov. A similar scenario had been proffered by the CIA director. It was clear his influence and string-pulling had reached all the way to the Joint Chiefs. Nafe assumed a look of somber thoughtfulness, playing the concerned patrician. “A nuclear response.” He shook his head. “It’s a sorry day that the Chinese have driven us to.”

“Yes, sir,” the general agreed, bowing his head.

Nafe sighed, sagging as if defeated. “But tragically, I see no other choice. Proceed immediately.” After an appropriately long pause, he dragged himself to his feet. “And may God forgive us all.” He turned and strode to the room’s exit, flanked by his Secret Service.

Once out the door, Nicolas Ruzickov was not long in catching up with him in the hall, matching his stride.

Nafe allowed a slim smile to shine for a moment. “Well done, Nick. Well done indeed.”

11:15 A.M., Deep Fathom, Central Pacific

Lisa spotted Jack by the bow rail, staring at the horizon. Overhead, the skies were slate-gray, with thin scudding clouds and a perpetual haze that even the noon sun had failed to burn away. Jack stood in his customary red trunks, a loose shirt open in front.

Elvis sat by his side, leaning against Jack’s leg. Lisa could not help but smile at the loyalty and affection in the simple gesture. One of Jack’s hands lightly ruffled the fur behind the dog’s ear.

Lisa crossed to him, compelled by the need to get something off her chest. “Jack…”

He turned toward her and winced, fingering the Ace bandage wrap around his chest. “What?”

She moved to his side, put her hands on the rail. The solitary moment gone, Elvis loped to a sunny spot on the deck and sprawled out.

Lisa stared out at sea, silent for a moment, then spoke. “Jack, why are we doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

She turned to him, leaning a hip against the rail. “We’ve got the crystal. Miyuki says she’s close to a translation. Why don’t we just keep a low profile until we have answers, then send the entire story out to the New York Times?”

Jack gripped the rail with fists. “If we did that, Jennifer would be dead before the first paper hit the stands.”

Silently, Lisa stared at him, searching his face to see if he recognized his slip of the tongue. He just kept staring off to sea. “Jennifer?”

“What?”

“You just said Jennifer would be as good as dead.”

Jack finally looked at her, his face a mask of hurt and confusion. “You know what I meant,” he mumbled, waving off any significance.

Lisa grabbed his hand. “She’s not Jennifer.”

“I know that,” Jack snapped.

Lisa kept him from turning away. “Talk to me, Jack.”

He sighed, but his shoulders remained tight. “Karen’s in this danger because of me. I…I ran off, leaving her with that madman.”

“And you explained why. Karen was right. Staying would have only gotten you both killed. If she’s as strong as you say she is, she’ll survive.”

“Only as long as she’s useful to that bastard.” He twisted away. “I have to try to rescue her. I can’t just keep running away.”

Lisa touched his shoulder lightly. “Jack, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been running away. From Jennifer, the shuttle accident, your past. What’s stopping you now? What does this woman mean to you?”

“I…I don’t know.” Jack sagged, head hanging over the rail, studying the waves. Finally, he looked at Lisa again. “But I’d like the chance to find out.”

She slipped an arm around his waist. “That’s all I wanted to hear.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, swallowed back the twinge of sadness and the ache in her heart. Jack had finally opened himself, if only a crack, to a woman…and it wasn’t her.

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, seeming to sense her sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not, Jack. But Christ, you’ve picked a hell of a time to fall in love.”

He returned her smile and kissed her forehead. They stood in each other’s arms until Mwahu called from an open doorway. “Miyuki says come!”

Jack slipped from beside her. “She’s translated the language?”

Mwahu nodded vigorously. “Come!”

Lisa followed Jack as he strode after the dark-skinned islander. Belowdecks, Miyuki had set up a computer station atop Robert’s long worktable. The work space was crowded with printouts, scribbled notes, and coffee mugs.

Miyuki looked up from a sheaf of papers with a worried expression.

“You’ve succeeded?” Jack asked.

She nodded, straightening her papers. “Gabriel succeeded. But Mwahu’s help was critical. With his ability to apply context to a score of symbols, Gabriel was able to compile the entire vocabulary. He’s translated everything—the crypt’s book, the pillar’s inscription, even the writing in the Chatan pyramids.”

“Great! What have you learned?”

She frowned. “The obelisk inscription appears to be mostly prayers, asking the gods for a good harvest, fertility, that sort of thing.” She teased out one page and read. “ ‘May the sun shine on the empty fields and make them fertile…may the bellies of our women grow heavy with children as plentiful as the fish of the sea.’ ”