Devil's Gate

“Surely two Los Angeles — class subs can deal with them,” Paul said.

“We can get in there and mix it up,” the captain said, “but our subs are designed to hunt large Russian and Chinese subs in the deep dark parts of the sea. This weapon is situated on a shallow stretch of the continental shelf. The depth at the Quadrangle site averages no more than sixty feet. At two miles, it drops a little, and you even get this tiny cut of a canyon here…”

He pointed to a thin line that widened and deepened into a gash in the ocean floor as it moved away from the target zone.

“… But aside from that ravine, the depth never exceeds two hundred feet until you’ve passed beyond ten miles. That limits the maneuverability of our boats, and it gives them the advantage.”

The captain stood back and took a breath, pulled his hat off, smoothed his short hair, and tucked the hat snugly back on his head.

“Part of a commander’s job is not to commit his units to indefensible ground or to send them into battle on missions they are not suited for. The other part is to know when he has to violate that principle. If these guys have some way — any way — to threaten the U.S. mainland, then we have no choice but to take the risk here.”

“I get the sense you’re telling us this for a reason,” Gamay said.

The captain nodded. “We may need your help.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Our help?”

Paul seemed just as surprised. “What can we do that the U.S. Navy can’t?” he asked.

“With your small submersible, you can get deep into that canyon — it runs to four thousand feet — and you can sneak up on them from the blind side.”

Gamay had to fight not to lose it. Her head swam dizzily. Her stomach felt sick.

Paul spoke up for her. “Why can’t you get one of the attack submarines into the canyon?”

“It’s too tight,” the captain said. “Near the top it’s just a fissure, no more than twenty feet wide. Even deeper down there are sections no large submarine could maneuver through.”

Paul looked at Gamay. She was trembling and shaking her head “no.” She and Paul were only here to listen to tapes; they were civilians.

“I can’t order you,” Louden said. “But I’m asking. None of my men are rated to pilot that submersible, and even if they could be trained on the quick the real key is your Rapunzel.”

Paul shook his head. He was the man she loved. Her protector.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said. “I’m sure you know what we just went through. I promised my wife when we agreed to come aboard that we wouldn’t be at any risk if we joined you. Honestly, I couldn’t have imagined these circumstances, but, as my old man used to say, ‘You don’t give your word if you’re not going to keep it.’”

The captain looked disappointed.

“I understand why you’re asking us,” Paul continued. “But, I’m sorry, I won’t break my vow to her.”

The captain took a breath, looking pained, but he seemed to understand.

“Then I’ll inform the—”

“Wait,” Gamay said.

The captain looked her way.

“How many men are on those submarines?” she asked.

“Two hundred sixty-one.”

Two hundred sixty-one men, she thought. She wondered how many had families. Wives or husbands or children. If they were going to risk everything, how could she not? It was her country too.

She looked at Paul. He knew what she was thinking. He nodded. “What would we have to do?” he asked.

“While we try to draw their fire,” the captain began, “you maneuver through the fissure and release your robot. We’re going to attach two hundred fifty pounds of high explosives to her frame. You guide her along the accelerator ring and look for a weak spot, anywhere that power might be delivered or where the tu

“And then?” Gamay asked.

“We’ll take it from there,” the captain said.

Gamay took a deep breath. She couldn’t imagine getting back into a submersible. It literally made her weak in the knees. But she would do it because it had to be done.

54

WITH HIS BERETTA out in front of him, Kurt Austin crept through a narrow corridor that ran for forty feet before terminating in a stairwell.

One flight led up, the other down.

Glancing over the railing, he couldn’t tell how far in either direction the stairs climbed or descended, but it was a long way. Probably all the way up to the top of the ship’s accommodations block, maybe even out onto the roof where the various ante

And down…

Maybe all the way to the bottom of the hull. To the bilge. He guessed Katarina and Andras had gone up. Despite a nagging desire to find and confront Andras, Kurt looked downward.

Whatever the Onyx really was, the truth would not be found in the ship’s offices and living quarters or even on its bridge. It would lie below, where the oil tanks and the pumps and the guts of the ship were supposed to be.

Two levels down, he found a dormant pump room. He snuck inside.

Tankers the size of the Onyx had massive pump rooms; a ship that could hold millions of barrels of oil had to be able to load and unload or even transfer it around rapidly. Kurt had spent time on a few tankers whose pump rooms were as large as their engine rooms. This was no different, except…

Kurt moved closer to the main pipes. A layer of frost clung to them and spread across the bulkhead wall. He tapped a pipe with his fingers. It was incredibly cold.

They certainly weren’t pumping oil.

He found a bank of controls and a computer screen. The readout said:

Whatever was going on down there, it was being controlled from up above. He didn’t dare mess with it. He probably couldn’t get in anyway, and just trying would almost certainly alert the bridge crew to his presence.

He moved back to the door and put his ear against it. Hearing nothing other than the hum of the engine and various generators, he opened it.

He made his way back to the stairwell and headed deeper. He decided to skip a few levels and literally get to the bottom of things.

He’d climbed down two flights when a clanking sound stopped him in his tracks.

A quick glance over the railing showed a hand two flights below, sliding along the railing and coming up. He heard voices, and feet lazily pounding the stairs.

“… All I know is, he wants full power brought up and maintained,” one man was saying.

“But there isn’t even another ship nearby,” a second voice said.

“Don’t ask me,” the first man said, “but something’s going on. We’ve never gone to a hundred percent before.”

Kurt wanted to hear more, but he couldn’t wait around. He moved to the landing closest to him and went through the door, closing it behind him as quickly and quietly as he could.

The machinery was louder on this deck, and Kurt reckoned he was right above the engine room. He pressed himself against the wall, one eye on the door to his right, one eye on the hallway to his left.

The footsteps continued up toward his level. He could still hear that the men were talking but could no longer make out the words. He felt relieved when the footsteps rounded the corner and went higher.

Then suddenly the door swung open and stayed that way.

“Hey, don’t say anything,” the man holding the door shouted back to his friend, who was continuing up the stairs, “but I’m ready to get off this tub the next time we dock.”

The man continuing up the stairs laughed. “At least until you blow all your money, right?”

Kurt stared at the door.

The man was standing in the doorway, hand on the open door and his back to Kurt, as he continued his conversation with the man on the stairs. Kurt needed him to go back out or come on in. But standing there was anything but ideal.