Omega Deep (Sam Reilly Book 12)

by Christopher Cartwright

  Shang Jiang met his eye. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a small boat or something.”

  “What does sonar say?”

  The first officer said, “There’s definitely something out there. It could be a submarine, but their waterfall monitors are painting a very different picture to what we’re seeing.”

  Shang Jiang frowned. “Like what?”

  “More of a sphere shape.”

  “Really?”

  The first officer shrugged. “It’s what they’re saying, sir.”

  Shang Jiang’s lips curled upward in the slightest of grins. “It’s a holographic projector.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” the first officer asked. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “The American submarine. It’s nothing more than a clever ruse. A magic trick. The thing’s just a sphere, projecting the image of a submarine.”

  Both men stared at the submarine through binoculars. It certainly looked real, as it approached a small crescent-shaped atoll which formed a navigational dead end.

  The submarine slowed to a complete stop.

  “Full stop,” Shang Jiang ordered. Then, addressing his first officer, he said, “Now let’s see where they go.”

  By the time the helmsman brought the Feng Jian to a full stop, the aircraft carrier had closed the distance between the two vessels to just 250 feet. The aircraft carrier now settled in a narrow channel west of the submarine. The passage out of the labyrinth involved a hairpin turn to the right up ahead, followed by multiple small turns, that inevitably allowed them to return to the main channel.

  Shang Jiang stared at the submarine.

  The coral atoll was just becoming visible on the outgoing tide. Across the bank, about two hundred feet to the north, a second channel ran parallel to the main channel. The channel was small and shallow, making it almost unnavigable by the submarine – definitely with an aircraft carrier – and impossible to reach from the submarine’s current position.

  The admiral made a weighted sigh. The childish game was about to reach its conclusion, and he just prayed that whoever commanded the submarine – or whatever it was – didn’t decide to throw a violent tantrum because of the inevitable outcome.

  A moment later, the submarine rotated on its axis in a counter-clockwise direction. It wasn’t unusual for submarines to have a series of bow and stern thrusters to allow for such a maneuver. The submarine stopped with its bow facing the aircraft carrier.

  Recognizing that it would be impossible to pass the Feng Jian in the narrow channel, the submarine turned due north. Its bow aimed directly at a coral reef that was only just now becoming visible on the outgoing tide.

  Shang Jiang’s eyes narrowed.

  What are you thinking?

  Angry white water erupted from the submarine’s stern, as it powered ahead at full speed.

  The submarine reached the coral reef and appeared to hover directly over it, crossing more than 200 feet of the atoll, before sinking into the water of the smaller channel that ran parallel to the main one which the aircraft carrier was using. The submarine moved fast. Much faster than a conventional submarine could possibly maneuver. It traveled more than half a mile in no more than a few minutes.

  Coming to a complete stop on a second channel, this one ran in a north-southerly direction and was much too shallow for either vessel to navigate. The submarine was now stopped perpendicular to the Feng Jian.

  Shang Jiang stared at the menacing bow of the submarine.

  The admiral stared at it with incredulity. “The damned thing’s a fake. Nothing more than a holographic reflection. A trick done by mirrors!”

  “It would appear so, sir,” the first officer replied.

  Shang Jiang swallowed hard.

  Because out of the bow of the submarine, the water lit up with the white froth, as something raced toward them.

  “Torpedo!” The admiral shouted. “Evasive maneuvers!”

  But it was too late. The mammoth Feng Jian was too large to maneuver in the tight confines of the labyrinth. There was no time to build up speed.

  The torpedo struck the Feng Jian amidships, tearing a thirty-foot hole into her hull. The 85,000-ton aircraft carrier sank quickly, coming to rest in the shallow water, as though she’d merely run aground.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Neuwerk Island, Germany

  The Maria Helena arrived the next morning. It took two days to make the repairs to the Buckholtz and pump out the massive amount of internal seawater. The water was pumped out to the bow, where it naturally cut a hole in the sand and muddy debris which still held the bow onto the island. It would all help with the ultimate goal, culminating at midnight on the third night, at the highest tide, when the Maria Helena, along with two tugboats would attempt to pull the Buckholtz free of Neuwerk Island.

  From the aft deck of the Maria Helena, Sam stared up at the behemoth stern of the Buckholtz, where a single hawser rope – sixteen inches thick – split into three separate lines, where it was tethered to two tugboats and the Maria Helena. He gripped a single radio, from which he planned to coordinate the impossible. And it did seem impossible to think that the three little boats could do anything to affect any type of change on the large container ship.

  In fact, it was impossible for the three little ships to pull the larger one free of the island. The Buckholtz was simply too heavy. Instead, Sam had decided to change the equation a little into his favor. To do this, he left the first two bays of the Buckholtz flooded and shifted the entire load of maneuverable ballast from the bow and amidships into the stern. In doing so, the heavy stern of the Buckholtz sank into the deeper waters, while its bow naturally wanted to lift.

  Sam spoke into his microphone, “All right, let’s gently take up the tension on the hawser.”

  The three pilots slowly motored forward, until the thick rope straightened as it became taut. Sam studied the angles. Everything was lining up perfectly. He checked his wristwatch. It read 00:05. They had just reached high tide.

  “All right, on my mark, I want a gradual increase to full power.”

  Sam waited. His eyes swept the midnight scene, scanning each individual rope, and boat for any sign of chafing or incorrect angles.

  He swallowed. It was now or never. “Let’s go gentlemen.”

  Sam listened as a combined 140,000 horsepower worth of diesel engines increased their RPM, straining to extract every single newton of torque out of each propeller, as their blades cut through the seawater.

  The sound was deafening.

  The sea turned white with the backwash of multiple propellers. The aft end of the Maria Helena fishtailed as she dug so deep into the water that for an instant Sam feared she was going to pull herself under.

  He gritted his teeth. “Full power!”

  Sam let the cacophony of powerful diesel engines, trying their best to achieve the impossible, continue for twenty minutes before he ordered it to stop.

  He ran the palms of his hands through his thick hair.

  Matthew, his skipper, looked back at him. “What do you think, Sam?”

  “Beats me. As far as I can tell, we’re going against Newton’s first law of motion – an object at rest remains at rest until a net external force is applied to it. I guess we don’t have enough power to do that.”

  Tom stepped onto the deck. “I’ve got an idea, but I’m not sure anyone’s going to like it.”

  Sam said, “Shoot.”

  “We’ve had nearly two days of running water pumped into the front of the Buckholtz’s bow, leaving a deep crease beneath her keel.”

  Sam suppressed a grin as he thought he’d started to see where Tom was going. “Go on.”

  “Do you know there’s a dam eighty feet up from there?”

  Sam nodded. “I also heard it’s the only source of fresh water for the island.”

  “Right,” Tom continued, undeterred. “I’ll leave it to Gene how he wants to rebuild the dam and refill it for the people
living on Neuwerk Island, but…”

  “You want to know what would happen if we blew the dam wall, release a quarter of a million gallons of water onto the tunnel running beneath the keel?”

  “Yeah, that’s the gist of my idea.”

  Sam said, “I think we’re going to get into serious trouble with the EPA.”

  “That’s an American organization. The Germans use the German Environmental Agency, called the Umweltbundesamt. They’re the ones who are going to be pissed. Even so, do you think it would work?”

  Sam nodded, surprised at Tom’s knowledge of German environmental administration. “Sometimes it might be better to ask for forgiveness than approval. Besides, even the Umweltbundesamt would have to agree that it would be better to damage a dam and remove the Buckholtz than have it remain permanently here, where it could become a long-term environmental disaster.”

  Tom grinned. “So, we’re agreed?”

  “Agreed. Take Genevieve with you. She’ll make sure you set it up right and don’t do anything to get yourself killed. Let me know when it's in place, and we’ll try again.”

  Tom patted him on the shoulder with an open hand. “This will work.”

  “I sure hope it does.”

  Sam looked around at the now quiet seas. The water was high and completely still. He couldn’t have asked for better conditions. If the next attempt failed, the Buckholtz might be stuck for some time before they got another opportunity to shift her.

  He spoke into his microphone, “All right, stand down, while we work the problem from the land.”

  It took just under twenty-five minutes before Sam got the message from Tom that everything was in place. Sam told him to wait until the three boats were set at full power and the ropes were taut before he did anything.

  And then he started the process again.

  All three powerplants roared, and the Maria Helena’s stern shifted backward and forward, digging herself deeper into the water.

  After three minutes, Sam said into the radio, “Okay Tom, let her rip.”

  The explosion rocked the northern edge of Neuwerk Island like an earthquake, followed by a thunderous roar of water racing free.

  And still, the two tugboats and the Maria Helena continued at full power.

  Sam fixed his eyes at the Buckholtz, where water now rushed to meet her, gushing around her keel. The hawser rope strained under the extreme pressures.

  The first wave of water reached the Maria Helena’s stern, and for an instant, Sam was worried it was going to swamp the smaller ship, but she rode the wave with the self-confident poise with which they’d come to expect of her.

  The stern of the Buckholtz shifted in the unstable water, rising a few feet and then dipping again, but still, she remained fixed on the island.

  Between the cacophony of engine noise, multiple propellers, and rushing waters, a new sound emerged. This one was far more resonant, more like thunder than anything possibly manmade. Sam squinted his eyes and listened. He mentally tried to block out the rest of the sounds and concentrate on the new sound.

  That’s when he saw it.

  The Buckholtz had started to shift.

  It slid slowly at first, and then picked up momentum until it was racing off the island. Sam swallowed hard as the hawser rope went loose. The container ship was moving faster than the other three smaller ships.

  Sam picked up his microphone. “Get out of its way!”

  At the helm, Matthew steered the Maria Helena to the starboard, toward the island.

  The Buckholtz slid by, creating a massive wake. The Maria Helena was thrown like a toy on its side. Sam gripped the guardrail, narrowly escaping being thrown into the water. The engine whine reached a scream as the propeller came free of the water for an instant.

  A sharp clanking noise of metal on metal came free, and an instant later, the Maria Helena stabilized in the settling sea and the growing silence.

  Matthew stepped out of the bridge.

  Sam glanced at his face, and said, “What happened?”

  Matthew’s jaw set firm, and his face set in lines of hard determination. “I think we just lost our propeller.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Maria Helena anchored off the shallow muddy beach off the north of Neuwerk Island. To the north, the Buckholtz was being assessed by a team of engineers before its tow down the Elbe into Hamburg where she would be put in dry dock.

  Sam sat on the bridge, talking to Matthew, who had already arranged for the Maria Helena to be towed to a shipyard along the Elbe to repair its propeller.

  Elise stepped into the room, her mouth set in a broad grin.

  Sam glanced at her. “What is it?”

  “I think I know what happened to the 747 Dreamlifter!”

  “Really?” Sam smiled. “What?”

  “It was the third man.”

  “The off-duty pilot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure. I’ll buy that,” Sam said. “It makes sense. There were three pilots on board the cargo aircraft. Two were found dead – murdered, with large bullet holes through their head, execution style. The third pilot was missing. He could have been kidnapped, or simply washed out of the aircraft, but it’s most likely he was the killer. Who was he, by the way?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting. His name was David Townsend – obviously an alias – who was a locum pilot for the company. One of the original pilots had a minor car accident, which prevented him from flying on the day. The locum pilot was brought in last minute to fill in for him.”

  Sam was incredulous. “The transport company trusted a total stranger to fly their hundred-million-dollar jet, not to mention whatever secret cargo they were carrying?”

  “No. The locum had been employed by the cargo company for more than a decade and was often used to fill in gaps just like this one. There’s nothing untoward about David. He lives in London, with his wife and three children.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a guy who brings down a jet plane and kills his copilots…”

  “That’s right,” Elise confirmed. “Only he wasn’t David Townsend.”

  Sam cocked an eyebrow. “He wasn’t?“

  “No. David Townsend was found dead in the trunk of his car, which had been parked in the long-term stay at Berlin International Airport.”

  Sam said, “Guess that answers how he got on board.”

  “It gets better. According to the lead investigator in Berlin, the ballistics match those of the two shots on board the Dreamlifter.”

  “Right. So at least we have our murderer.”

  “Well, the face of our murderer,” Elise agreed. “And before you ask, no, I can’t find it on my system anywhere.”

  Sam stared at the image of the murderer’s face. “All right. At least it’s something. Someone, somewhere, is going to recognize this man.”

  Tom stared at the face. “All right. So, now that we know this guy killed all three pilots. The question is, why?”

  “That’s obvious. They wanted whatever the Dreamlifter was transporting.”

  Elise said, “Sure, but when I checked with the aircraft’s manifest, it reports being on a dry run to Quonset Point, Rhode Island.”

  “No shit?” Sam asked, taking the iPad. “Let me see that.”

  Elise smiled. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’d like to know why ever since we started investigating the Dreamlifter, everybody has been lying to us?”

  Tom said, “Okay, so the bad guy causes the plane to make a water landing – which, may I remind you, is one of the deadliest procedures in aviation, with only a few successful cases in history with an aircraft of this size – for what purpose? Why didn’t he just shoot the two real pilots and fly whatever secret part was stolen to wherever it is that he wanted to take it?”

  “Because a Boeing 747 Dreamlifter’s a pretty hard thing to lose. Radar would keep track of it during and after takeoff. It would be nearly impossible to land the aircraft somewhere wi
thout the owners finding out.”

  “So, instead. He set about an elaborate plan to bring the aircraft down in the Barents Sea.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right. So how did he bring it down?”

  Elise said, “I can answer that.”

  Sam smiled. “Really?”

  Elise smiled. “Yeah, remember how he logged his laptop into the maintenance BUS, looking like he was trying to correct the fault?”

  “Sure.”

  “He used the BUS to hack into the aircraft’s primary flight display, mirroring the primary flight data with a fictional data interface from his own laptop. In doing so, he made it appear that the instruments had returned to normal – remember how he’d told the pilot and copilot that he’d switched to the secondary flight data system, and that seemed to fix the problem?”

  Sam nodded his head in agreement. “Go on.”

  “But instead of transferring the aircraft over to the secondary flight data system, our bad guy simply overrode the primary with his own version – mirroring the real primary flight display. He then carefully manipulated the values of each instrument, forcing the pilot to alter course to meet the artificial runway.”

  “But the pilots should have noticed that?”

  “And they might have. The third pilot used a strategy designed to foil both pilots, despite their experience and systems that might have prevented the crash. He created a situation recreating the 2009 crash of Air France 447. The pilots in control of the Airbus A330 from Paris to Rio de Janeiro were relying on a highly-automated, fly-by-wire autopilot. This advanced autopilot not only did what the pilots programmed, but interpreted those instructions into a flight normally optimized for comfort and safety. The plane went into a storm, where they had zero visibility and icing conditions that caused the planes pitot tubes, which measure airspeed, to fail. The failure in the sensors caused the stall protection to fail and the pilot’s inputs were overcorrected. The pilots kept the angle of attack too high and placed too much trust in their instruments. From there, pilot inexperience and “the startle effect” left the pilots distracted, correcting the wrong issues. The plane descended in a fatal stall until it crashed.”