No one spoke after the admiral’s last comment. An airstrike on the Pathfinder was a desperate measure, and they all knew it. There was nothing surgical about it. Instead of retaking the ship, it would instead be an effort to destroy the entire vessel and its cargo. Something not altogether different from what the Chinese had done to their own ship off the coast of South America. And for the same reason.
National Security Advisor Stan Griffin cleared his throat. “Just how the hell did they get on our ship?”
“We’re not sure,” Miller said. “Our best guess is by submarine.”
“Right under our noses,” Griffith said.
“It appears so.”
“What are the ship’s chances?” asked President Carr.
“Hard to say. There is one thing in their favor,” Langford replied dryly.
“What’s that?”
“We didn’t leave it completely defenseless,” Langford said. “We have the dive team we brought in, under a man named Gorski.”
“Who is Gorski?”
“Gorski is a world expert in diving and underwater recovery operations. He’s worked with the Navy for twenty years, almost exclusively with our Special Forces teams. Including Navy SEALS. Two of whom are working with him right now on that oil rig.”
“Wait a minute,” the President said. “Are you telling me we have two active SEALS in the middle of all this?”
“That’s exactly what we’re saying. Their names are Corbin and Beene.”
90
Les Gorksi was staring over the water toward the Pathfinder with a look of utter horror. Even at a distance, he could easily hear the gunfire from the oil rig, where he remained the only one aboard. The rest of the team had been ferried to the ship only hours before to assist with the drilling effort.
Now Gorksi watched helplessly as the attack ensued near the ship’s stern.
And if not for the reflection on the water from the Pathfinder’s glaring lights, he would never have noticed several figures moving in the water below him, toward one of the rig’s four giant pillars.
***
On the far side of the Pathfinder’s stern, another light appeared in the water and slowly grew larger. Then joined by a second, until two silver dive helmets breached the surface, one after the other. Both divers glided closer without a sound, illuminating the lower portion of the ship’s metal hull with their bright lamps.
In unison, Corbin and Beene turned off their lights and leaned back, peering up and over the edge of the ship. They spotted the massive black cord coming over the side and powering the drill below them. Without a word, each soldier removed his diving helmet and let it sink back into the water, where the headgear promptly disappeared below the waves.
The loud gunfire could still be heard on deck, leaving Corbin to cautiously pull himself up the fat cord just enough to peek over the side. Then in one fell swoop, he pulled the rest of his body out of the water and disappeared.
91
No.
Captain Zhirov fixated on his screen and the live feed. He could see the flashes of the guns aboard the Pathfinder and watched as two figures dressed in black scrambled up a portside ladder. Two of Popov’s men.
But that’s not what worried him. It was that the Navy helicopter had successfully lifted off from the bow of the ship and was now in the air.
The American captain would soon conclude, if he hadn’t already, that the Russian attack team came from a submarine. And from somewhere close. If they weren’t scanning with sonar before, they certainly were now. Luckily, their systems would not be able to see Zhirov’s sub.
Which explained why his concern grew exponentially at the sight of not just the helicopter but its direction. Aircraft that did not know the location of its target typically hovered or circled the area, trying to find the enemy. But that’s not what this helicopter was doing.
After a brief pause, the giant chopper had turned…and headed straight in Zhirov’s direction.
It was impossible. They couldn’t have found him that quickly. There was simply no way their sonar systems were that effective.
However, one thing Zhirov knew, what all military commanders knew, was just how quickly a mission’s luck could change. One variable, one miscalculation, or one simple mistake could produce a string of events impacting everything following that moment. An unseen ripple effect that could change the fate of even the most well-planned mission.
A moment that Zhirov’s instincts told him had just occurred.
Without looking back, Zhirov barked two commands over his shoulder.
“Prepare to dive. And load torpedoes!”
“Aye, Captain.” The helmsman, a young man sporting only stubble for hair, nodded in response. Moments later the ballast tanks began to flood, increasing the weight of the boat, while the helmsman looked curiously at his screen. He studied it for several seconds.
“Sir. We appear to be drifting.”
“What?”
“We…are drifting, sir.”
“Drifting? Why?”
The helmsman shook his head and rechecked his instruments. “I’m not sure. All propulsion systems are off.”
“Is it a current?”
“No, sir. It’s steady.”
Zhirov’s heartbeat accelerated. Something was wrong. If they were moving, even drifting, it would eventually affect the direction of the boat. And more importantly, the aim of their torpedoes. Worse, if the drift was too great, it would require the use of their engines to correct. And engines, even those of a Ghost Sub, made some noise. As did opening torpedo tube doors.
Zhirov could now actually feel the drift. “Why? Why are we moving?!” he yelled.
His crew around him had no answer. When the helmsman spoke again, it was in a nervous tone. “It’s increasing.”
Zhirov’s eyes turned back around to the periscope feed. The U.S. helicopter was still approaching. Slowly. Intentionally. Now silhouetted by the bright glow of the Pathfinder behind it.
He had no choice. Noise be damned.
“Full power. Now! Emergency dive and open torpedo doors.”
***
Alison still floating a visible distance away and watching hundreds of swarming dolphins, nearly jumped when the submarine abruptly began to descend. And only moments later a deep whirring sound was heard, coupled with a large circular opening appearing on the sub’s nose.
Oh my God, they’re preparing to fire! She called into her microphone. “Lee!”
There was no answer.
“Lee!”
Still nothing.
“LEE!” she screamed.
Something had cut off her radio communication to the ship, leaving Alison floating helplessly in the dark.
92
The bridge’s starboard side door opened. Neely, Lee, and Will Borger were ushered into the room, followed by First Officer Harris. Both sides of the room were guarded by sailors, armed with similar-looking rifles.
“Sir, the sub has opened its torpedo doors!”
Captain Emerson glanced only briefly at the three before turning back to his sonar officer. They were preparing to fire.
Emerson then turned to his communications officer. “Are we ready?”
The younger man nodded. “Yes, sir. The helicopter has a fix on the sub. They’re waiting for the order to launch.”
Lee Kenwood’s expression suddenly changed. “Wait, what?”
“Quiet.”
Lee looked back and forth between Borger and Neely, then returned his focus to the captain. “Wait, you’re going to fire on the sub?”
“I said quiet!” Emerson snapped.
“You can’t fire. That’s where Alison is!”
This time Emerson paused. He looked at Lee as well as the others. He’d forgotten about Alison. She was the only one close enough to have seen the sub. An attack against the sub could easily kill her.
Dammit! Emerson thought to himself. Why was she still there? She should have moved!
&nb
sp; Regrettably, it didn’t matter. He had only seconds to make the call and losing one life versus everyone onboard the Pathfinder was not a difficult decision. Unfortunate, yes. But not difficult. His job was to save as many lives as possible. And his ship.
“Launch the torpedo.”
93
“We’re still drifting!” The helmsman turned to Zhirov. “And we can’t correct it!”
The overhead lights aboard the Ghost Sub went out suddenly and then quickly flickered back on.
“Sir!” another officer yelled. “We’re losing power!”
“And our engines are failing!”
“Impossible!” raged Zhirov. What the hell was happening?! The room began to dim again, along with all the instrument screens. “How the hell are we losing power?!”
“I don’t know, sir!”
“Stop our descent!”
The helmsmen used the instrument pad to halt the ballast tanks and continued staring at his fading screen. “Halted, sir…but we’re still descending!”
“Then blow the goddamn things!”
The helmsman complied. A long, massive blast was heard outside as the tanks emptied. “Still sinking!”
Zhirov stared in disbelief. Were they taking on water? How could they be? There had been no impact. Christ, until only moments ago, no one even knew they were there!
“All remaining power to the engines!” he shouted. “Get us the hell out of here!”
***
Several hundred yards away, Tay and Lightfoot were watching in fascination as the entire wall before them began to glow more brightly––and not just the area around the drill. The glow continued to spread, beyond the section in front of them, traveling along the entire length of the alien ship’s hull. Even the areas covered in coral were now glowing.
Something strange was happening.
The lights surrounding the drill began to fade just as the giant drill bit finally pierced the hull, plunging several inches through to the other side.
“More power!” shouted Lightfoot.
Tay cranked the power up as high as he could, resulting in a horrible grinding sound from the tip of the drill.
The whole wall in front of them now gleamed a brilliant bright white, illuminating every square inch of seafloor around them. At the same moment, both Tay and Lightfoot felt something change. The magnetism that they’d felt earlier became stronger, pulling their gear and their tanks toward the radiating hull.
Both men fought against it. They resisted the force with all their might as their metal tanks twisted them around, toward the giant wall.
“What the hell?!” Tay yelled.
Lightfoot was unable to answer. Instead, he struggled against the pull of his own tank and dive helmet before ultimately losing his grip on the drill and slamming backward against the wall.
As the screeching of the drill loudened, Tay managed to turn his helmet enough to see the spiraled cone drill bit begin to expand, slowly widening its hole in the alien wall.
***
Zhirov stumbled as his submarine suddenly lurched to port. Unable to break away from the erratic sideways and downwards momentum, the boat’s entire crew struggled to stay in their chairs.
“We’ve lost stabilizing control!”
Zhirov looked back to the periscope feed. The screen was black, its camera long since having disappeared beneath the swirling ocean water.
His men remained hunched in front of their displays, desperately fighting for whatever control they still had. Something was pulling hard on the sub, literally dragging it downward toward the depths of the ocean.
Through intermittent interference, the Russian sonar operator, heard the sound of the splash and braced himself in his chair. The Sea King’s Mark 46 aerial torpedo plunged through the water, directly toward them.
“Fish in the water!” he yelled. “Bearing one-four-two degrees! Distance six hundred meters!”
94
“Ali! Ali, can you hear me?!”
“Lee?!” she pressed her buds in tightly. “Yes! I can hear you!”
“Ali, can you hear me?!”
“LEE!” she screamed. “I HEAR YOU! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”
After a slight delay, Lee’s voice returned. “Yes. I — hear you. Barely.” He continued. “Ali, listen — me. You have to — out of th — now!”
“What’s happening?!”
Alison was struggling to hear him over the static. The transmission sounded faint. As if it was being drowned out by something.
“— fast, Ali! Fast!” There was another pause before Lee’s voice faded back in. “—torpedo is coming! — sub!”
Alison froze. Her eyes shot back to the submarine that now appeared to be rolling onto its side. And those last four words were all she needed to hear.
“Sally!” she yelled. “SALLY!”
***
Waiting a few feet away, Sally heard the translation and circled back around.
Alison, I here.
“Sally, we have to leave. Now! Escape!”
An error sounded in her ear.
“We must leave! Now! Or we will die! Go fast!”
The translation from the vest seemed to take forever, but there was no error this time. Sally stopped, then immediately turned back around and called again to the other dolphins. This time her signals were very short and very loud.
***
Emerson’s sonar officer called out the distance. “Four hundred meters. Three hundred and fifty meters. Three hundred—”
His announcements ceased abruptly. When he didn’t continue, Captain Emerson stepped forward.
“What is it?”
The officer was still watching his screen. “It’s the torpedo, Captain. Its bearings are changing!”
“Changing how?”
“It’s…turning.”
“How the hell can it be turning?!”
“I don’t know, sir.” The officer zoomed in on his screen. “The torpedo seems to be…arcing.”
Will Borger moved closer and looked at the display in front of the officer. A three-dimensional map with grid lines outlined the ocean below them. The position of the Russian sub was clearly marked, with the path of the torpedo displayed as a white line moving through the bottom of the picture. At its head, the line was beginning to bend.
“Where the hell is it going?”
“I don’t know.”
Borger pressed even closer, still studying the screen. Part of the three-dimensional map was an area that he recognized. It was where Tay and Lightfoot were now…with the drill.
“That’s the alien ship,” he murmured.
“What?”
Borger pointed at the screen. “That’s where the ship is buried.”
The path of the torpedo curved further into an even wider arc as it passed the alien ship. Its course had now been diverted directly between the ship and the Russian submarine.
Will Borger maintained his fixed stare on the screen. “What’s that torpedo made out of?”
“What?”
“I mean what kind of metal?”
Emerson frowned. “How the hell am I supposed to know? The damn thing is malfunctioning.”
Borger continued watching the path of the warhead as it began to follow an elongated loop. “Captain. That torpedo is not malfunctioning.” He looked at the commander. “The alien ship is magnetic and is pulling on its metal casing.”
Lee Kenwood stepped in next to Borger. “It looks like a planet when it does an orbit.”
Borger nodded. “But the alien ship isn’t round. It’s oblong, which means that torpedo isn’t going to circle it.”
It was at that moment that the final piece fell into place for Will Borger. The questions he had about the alien craft but could not answer now made sense––why it was magnetic, and more importantly, why it was so damn big!
It wasn’t the ship at all.
The core of the ship couldn’t take that kind of damage while traveling through space. It needed to
be shielded. What they saw, the giant wall buried deep within the coral, wasn’t the main ship. It was the ship’s shield! A shield that was designed not to deflect the energy of an impact, it was designed to absorb it!
The epiphany washed over Borger like a wave, carrying answers that left him breathless along with it. And Will was immediately fearful for Tay and Lightfoot, who were both still on the bottom.
On the screen, in front of all to see, the path of the torpedo began to slow and turn inward.
“Captain,” Borger said. “That torpedo isn’t going to hit the sub. It’s going to hit the buried ship.”
95
Tay and Lightfoot could barely move. No part of the giant wall behind them remained green. The entire massive structure was now bright white.
Why was the whole thing lighting up? It couldn’t just be the drill. Tay stared again at the powerful tool, its bit churning deep into the metal and expanding in size. It had now created a huge hole in the craft that appeared pitch-black inside.
Over the whirling, both men heard something through their helmet speakers.
“Tay! Lightfoot! Can you hear me?”
“Borger?”
“Yes. Can you hear me?”
“Barely!” Tay shouted. “We need help. This goddamn thing has us pinned to the wall!”
Borger shook his head. “Listen to me. We don’t have time. There’s a torpedo in the water, and it’s going to strike within a couple hundred yards of you. Maybe closer.”
“Jesus Christ!” Lightfoot yelled. “Get us out of here!”
“We can’t. There is no time!”
Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4) Page 29
