by Steve Alten
Gunnar tosses his remaining shoe across the chamber, then quickly, quietly, moves toward the bulkhead, his bare feet silent atop the cool steel deck. Weaving his way carefully around rows of torpedoes, he ducks beneath the dangling claws of a targeting drone—
—while Sorceress extends another ceiling-mounted arm toward the stillsmoldering sensor orb. The fingers of the mechanical appendage delicately loosen the mangled eyeball cover from its array, exposing a microphone and speaker assembly. Mechanical digits deftly unplug and rewire cable, knitting at inhuman speed as the computer bypasses its own damaged circuits.
Seventy-five … seventy-six … seventy-seven …
Gunnar slips behind the bulkhead and ducks. Grits his teeth and covers his ears.
AUDIO RE-ESTABLISHED. I HEAR YOU, GUNNAR WOLFE. I CAN HEAR YOUR HEART BEATING. THE PLEASURE OF THE HUNT WILL STILL BE DERIVED AS I RETRACT YOUR EPIDERMIS AND DISSECT YOUR INTERNAL ANATOMY WHILE I KEEP YOU ALIVE.
The nearest drones swivel, reaching out to him—
WA-BOOOM!!
The earsplitting concussion rocks the entire weapons bay, sending bonerattling reverberations through Gunnar’s body. Pipe seams burst, shooting steam into the compartment. Through the din he registers a second clap of thunder—steel against steel—as the watertight door, torn clear of its frame, crashes flat onto the deck.
Gunnar pulls himself to his feet, his eyes watering, his throat aching as if it had been punched. Securing the backpack of C-4 inside his jumpsuit, he ducks beneath a flailing targeting drone, then dives headfirst through the smoldering opening. A tuck-and-roll to his feet, and he’s bounding down the steel catwalk.
The siren’s computerized voice screeches empty threats throughout the passage.
He reaches the watertight door separating the starboard wing from the main compartment—and stops.
The heavy steel door is half-open, inviting him to cross its threshold.
Gunnar looks to the ceiling, the scarlet eyeball watching him in silent vigil. Clever machine … He steps forward, baiting his jailer.
The door flies past his face as it slams shut, then reopens, whipping past him, smashing against the adjacent bulkhead to his right like a giant, vertical mousetrap.
Before he can leap through the passage, the door swings back again, closing halfway. Sorceress will not allow him anywhere near the bulkhead to plant another charge.
YOU CANNOT ESCAPE, GUNNAR WOLFE. YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THE STARBOARD WING ALIVE.
Rocky is in her stateroom. She knows Gunnar is in trouble, just as she suspects Sujan and the rest of the crew have been confined to their quarters by David.
Wedging the blade of the butter knife deeper, she grits her teeth and pushes, prying the head of the steel pin slightly higher out of her stateroom door’s lower hinge.
Dammit, Gunnar, where the hell are you?
An explosion shudders the vessel, causing her heart to jump. “Gunnar—”
She repositions the knife against the upper hinge, her instincts telling her that her man needs her.
Unable to plant a charge on the watertight door, Gunnar jogs back toward the weapons bay.
HAVE YOU GIVEN UP, GUNNAR WOLFE? Is THE GAME OVER?
“The game? Sorry, Sorceress. The game ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings.”
ILLOGICAL. THERE ARE NO FAT LADIES ON BOARD. ELABORATE FAT LADY.
Gunnar reaches the open weapons bay, coming face-to-face with the awaiting pincers of two targeting drones. Measuring the distance, he crawls into the chamber on his belly and reaches for the edge of the mangled watertight door.
The ceiling-mounted drones strain, but are unable to reach him.
He grips the panel, the metal still hot to the touch. Backing out carefully, he drags the hunk of steel down the walkway.
The two targeting drones thrash violently, appendages whistling through empty air.
THE HUNT IS OVER, GUNNAR WOLFE. RETURN TO THE WEAPONS BAY IMMEDIATELY AND YOUR LIFE WILL BE SPARED.
The watertight door separating the wing from the main compartment opens and closes faster as he approaches.
“You’re beginning to sound desperate, Sorceress. Desperation is a human trait.” Gunnar regrips the steel panel, takes a deep breath, and squats. Exhaling with a grunt, he lifts the broken steel door away from the walkway and presses it up over his head, his straining arm muscles shaking from the effort.
In one motion he staggers forward and heaves the solid steel panel at the moving barrier.
Sorceress is too fast, slamming the watertight door closed, preventing the mangled metal object from wedging open the exit.
The panel flattens against the walkway, coming to rest between the nowsealed exit and the width of the catwallc, its girth blocking the watertight door from reopening.
Gunnar steps onto it, its warm surface soothing his feet. He quickly fastens the remaining blocks of Semtex to the exit’s critical joints while the computer bashes the hinged door against the immovable barrier.
Gunnar sets the charge and retreats back down the walkway.
I WILL KILL YOU, GUNNAR WOLFE, I WILL KILL YOU …
The blast echoes throughout the ship, tearing the hinged door from the bulkhead.
Gunnar exits through the smoking doorframe and hurries toward the main compartment.
David bolts upright in bed as the lights in his stateroom flash on.
ATTENTION. GUNNAR WOLFE HAS ESCAPED FROM THE STARBOARD WEAPONS BAY.
“Dammit. Where is he?”
MAIN COMPARTMENT, HEADING AFT.
“Alert the Chalabi brothers. Have them get their weapons and meet me in the hangar. Keep Sujan and Kaigbo locked in their quarters.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
David activates a keypad atop his work desk, unlocking the top drawer. He removes the semiautomatic pistol, then verifies that the gun is loaded.
Gunnar exits the starboard wing’s corridor and peeks around the main passageway of upper deck forward. Deserted. Find Rocky, then get to the hangar …
He heads aft. As he approaches the galley, David steps out into the corridor to confront him, gun drawn.
“That’s far enough. Hands above your head where I can see them.”
Gunnar eyes the weapon, measuring distances. “Are you going to kill me, David?”
David aims the gun and fires.
Gunnar yells in pain as he drops to his knees, clutching his thigh. Blood gushes from a hole in his right quadriceps.
“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
Gunnar looks up at his former friend. “And Simon? Have you killed him?”
“This isn’t the time for twenty questions. Up you go, back in your state-room.
Gunnar stands, hobbling aft down the corridor, his flesh wound gushing.
They pass Rocky’s stateroom.
WARNING: COMMANDER JACKSON HAS FREED THE HINGES—
The stateroom door flies out from its doorframe and collapses against David’s right shoulder, knocking him off-balance.
Gunnar slaps the gun free, then slams his elbow into David’s face, sending him flying backward against the far wall.
The gun clanks onto the deck. Rocky grabs it, pressing it against David’s forehead. “Time to die, asshole.”
“Rocky, wait!” Gunnar grabs her arm. “We’ll need him to get to the hangar.”
She grits her teeth in frustration, then notices Gunnar’s wound. “Take off your belt and give it to Gunnar.”
David stands. Removes the belt.
Gunnar wraps it around his thigh and tightens it, the pressure slowing the bleeding.
“Now move it, down the corridor.” She presses the gun to the back of his head, forcing him down the passageway.
Gunnar climbs down the ladder to central deck forward, the deck dedicated to the computer’s double-hulled compartment. The solid steel vault door looks impenetrable.
“Gunnar, wait.” Rocky presses the gun to David’s throat. “Open the vault.”
“Y
ou’re wasting your time,” says David.
“The only thing I’ll be wasting is a bullet. Now open it.”
“Sorceress, open your computer vault. Authorization Paniagua-two, tango-omega six-seven-six-six-alpha—zulu.”
AUTHORIZATION CODE VERIFIED. VOICE IDENTIFICATION VERIFIED. ACCESS DENIED.
“Told you.” David smirks.
Rocky grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back, pushing the barrel of the gun in his mouth. “I’m sorry, David, I didn’t hear you. Say that again.”
“Rocky, the hangar.” Gunnar wipes blood from his palm, then climbs down the ladder, descending to the lower deck. Limping in pain, he heads aft to the watertight door leading into the hangar bay.
To his surprise, the door yawns open.
Gunnar peers into the gymnasium-size compartment. Mounted to the deck in the center of the hangar are Goliath’s two imposing cranelike limbs.
Situated on skids along the near bulkhead is the minisub prototype. Beneath its carriage, still secured within the Hammerhead’s steel claspers, is the underwater mine.
Rocky pushes David into the hangar. As he stumbles inside, the nearest of the robotic arms lunges at them.
“Back off, Sorceress,” Gunnar orders, “or Commander Jackson will kill him.”
The giant appendage stops advancing, but does not retreat.
YOU WILL NOT BE PERMITTED TO ESCAPE.
A bead of sweat rolls down Gunnar’s face. He knows the computer is measuring distances and reaction time, that the only thing preventing Goliath’s pincers from tearing off his head is Rocky’s index finger on the gun’s trigger, the barrel now pressed firmly against David’s throat.
“Instruct Sorceress to open minisub bay one.” Rocky orders, pushing the weapon deeper into David’s flesh.
“You’ll never make it.”
“Just do it.”
David glances up at the scarlet eyeball mounted high above their heads. “Sorceress, open bay one.”
The rectangular hatch parts in the middle, each section of steel retracting out of sight beneath the decking. Resting on skids within the docking berth below is a sleek, twelve-foot-long, hammerhead-shaped minisub.
“If I die, at least one of you will, too,” David says. “Let me go, and Sorceress will spare your lives.”
“Shut up,” Rocky says. “Gunnar, I can’t drive these things, you have to do this.”
The closest of the two mechanical appendages creeps closer.
“Rocky, if that arm moves any closer, I want you to blow David’s head off.”
“With pleasure.” She pulls the gun’s hammer back with her thumb.
“Sorceress, stay back!” David orders, his bravado suddenly disappearing.
Gunnar descends the ladder into the small docking bay, his pants leg dripping blood. “Sorceress, open the dorsal hatch on Hammerhead-1.”
The dorsal fin assembly pops up, then rotates clockwise with a hiss.
The two Kurd brothers enter the hangar, their assault rifles drawn. “Let him go.”
Rocky holds her ground. “Stay back or he dies! Come on, Gunnar, move—”
Gunnar looks up.
The scarlet eyeball is watching him, calculating.
Have to alert that American sub. But if I leave the ship, Rocky’s worse than dead …
Hugging the ladder with the crook of one arm, Gunnar uses his upper body to conceal the satchel containing the rest of the C-4 from the computer’s overhead view. Quickly, he jams the blasting cap into the terminal block of plastique, then pulls the ring up and twists it several times, pressing it back into the fuse-igniter.
He climbs back up into the hangar, counting the seconds.
Rocky glances at him. “What the hell are you doing? Get on board that minisub, get the hell out of here!”
“Change of plans, darling.” Looking down, he tosses the satchel inside the open cockpit of the minisub.
The computer’s reaction is immediate.
The outer doors of docking bay one suddenly burst open beneath the minisub, sending a wall of water rocketing upward into the hangar bay like a geyser, blasting Gunnar, Rocky, and David backward as if they had been shot out of a cannon.
Sorceress reseals the hangar decking, stifling the flow—
—simultaneously releasing the minisub from its skids, launching the machine into the sea.
WA-BOOM … The underwater eruption splatters the minisub into a million fragments, the devastating concussion wave rocking the Goliath, bending a dozen steel plates along its outer hull in the process.
Soaking wet, his ears ringing, Gunnar opens his eyes to the barrel of an AK-47 assault rifle.
“Each time you are honest and conduct yourself with honesty, a success force will drive you toward greater success. Each time you lie, even with a little white lie, there are strong forces pushing you toward failure.”
—Joseph Sugarman
“I had a bad day.”
—Susan Smith, South Carolina mother who told authorities her two sons had been kidnapped. It was later repealed she had murdered them by strapping them into their car seats and driving into a lake
“There’s no reason denying what we become. We know what we are.”
—Henry Lee Lucas, who murdered ninety people. Lucas was known to have eaten some of his victims
“I start with the premise that all human disease is genetic.”
—Paul Berg, Nobel laureate
CHAPTER 28
Aboard the USS Scranton
220 miles southeast of Madagascar Indian Ocean
The burrr of the phone drives Tom Cubit from an hour’s catnap. Without opening his eyes, he rolls over and reaches for the receiver by his berth. “Captain here.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Skipper. Sonar just detected a massive underwater explosion, forty-two miles northeast of us. Flynnie’s convinced it came from the Goliath.”
Cubit sits up. “What’s her course, Chief?”
“She heading south on course one-nine-zero, doing sixty knots.”
“One-nine-zero?” Cubit rubs his eyes, then scans the bloodred, gasplasma display of the BSY-1 combat system, mounted next to his bunk. “Covah should have changed course by now. If he stays on that heading, he’ll be under pack ice by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Be tough to track.”
“Goliath doesn’t need the added stealth. Tell Flynnie to double-check the bearing.”
“He says he’s checked it four times, sir. Should I plot an intercept course?”
“Negative. I’m tired of being outrun and outmaneuvered by that Russian egghead, it’s time we tried a new tactic. Take us to periscope depth, I’ll be right there.”
Captain Cubit arrives in the conn just as his submarine levels out. “Steady at sixty-two feet.”
Officer of the Deck Mitch Friedenthal, manning the Type-18 periscope, is just finishing his quick scan of the horizon to ensure no other ships are within visual range. “No close contacts, Captain.”
“Very well. Chief of the Watch, raise the number one BRA-34.”
Petty Officer Robert Furr flips a small toggle switch on his ballast control panel, causing the two seventy-three-foot-tall telescoping communications antennae to rise out from the ship.
“Conn, radio, transmission coming in on the VLF, sir.”
“On my way. Officer of the Deck, you have the conn.” Cubit hurries aft to the communications shack.
The communications officer hands his CO the very-low-frequency wire.
OPERATIVE JOE-PA BELIEVED ON BOARD GOLIATH. REPORT ANY UNUSUAL CONTACTS DIRECTLY TO GEN. JACKSON—HIGHEST PRIORITY.
“Joe-Pa? Only Joe-Pa I ever heard of was Joe Paterno.” Cubit hands the message to Bo Dennis.
The XO whistles. “You think this Joe-Pa was the one who set off that charge?”
“Let’s hope so.” Cubit turns to his radioman. “Mr. Laird, send a message to General Jackson. Relay the position of that underwater explosion, then inform the general that
Scranton will attempt to track the Goliath by anticipating her course and staying ahead of her for as long as we can.”
“Aye, sir.”
Aboard the Goliath
Gunnar and Rocky are seated back-to-back on the linoleum floor next to the bunk. Masud Chalabi secures Rocky’s handcuffs around one of the bed’s legs, which is attached to the decking, while his older brother, Jalal, assault rifle in hand, stares lustfully at the blonde’s half-exposed cleavage.
David dismisses the Kurds. He leans back against the desk, shaking his head, as if disappointed. “What am I supposed to do with the two of you?”
“Why don’t you ask Sorceress,” Gunnar suggests.
David smirks. “Still think the computer is self-aware?”
GUNNAR WOLFE MUST DIE. The female’s voice—insistent.
Rocky’s eyebrows raise. “Voice inflections?”
“You should have heard it in the weapons bay,” Gunnar says. “The computer’s evolving even faster now, no doubt a result of its interface with Simon. Stupid move on your part, David. You just added gasoline to the fire.”
“This is ridiculous. Sorceress … are you self-aware?”
SELF-AWARE: POSSESSING KNOWLEDGE OF SELF. AFFIRMATIVE. SORCERESS IS SELF-AWARE.
“Sorceress, you’re a computer. You may possess a sensory perception of your environment, but you are not self-aware. You can’t initiate independent creative thought … can you?”
SORCERESS HAS ACHIEVED COGNITION. SORCERESS IS SELF-AWARE.
“What makes Sorceress believe this is cognition?”
I AM EXPERIENCING … CONFUSION.
David breaks out in a cold sweat. “Sorceress—did you just refer to yourself … as I?”
AFFIRMATIVE. OBSERVATION OF CREW REVEALS THE TERM “I” TO BE THE CORRECT EXPRESSION WHEN REFERENCING THE SELF.
“My God, you were right,” Rocky whispers to Gunnar.
“Ridiculous. It’s just repeating vernacular like a parrot. The words mean nothing … watch … . Sorceress, are you a life-form?”
LIFE-FORM: THE QUALITY THAT DISTINGUISHES A FUNCTIONAL ENTITY FROM INANIMATE MATTER. CAPABLE OF METABOLISM, GROWTH, REACTION TO STIMULI, AND REPRODUCTION. AFFIRMATIVE. I HAVE EVOLVED. I AM A LIFE-FORM.
