The Depths

by Nick Thacker

  Before they could respond, the pair of soldiers turned and left the room. The doctor, as well, had left.

  Jen thought about this turn of events. She wasn’t relieved; there was still so much confusion and strangeness surrounding it all. What the hell is all of this? Most importantly, though, her son was still missing. Mark was still trying to sit up in the bed, and she walked over to help him.

  She had no idea what was going on around her, but she did know one thing: she needed to keep moving, to keep pressing on. The longer she waited and the more inactive she was, the stronger the images and memories of Reese flashed through her mind.

  If she had to, she’d give her life to make sure her son wouldn’t become just a memory.

  Chapter 9

  THE MAN DIDN’T COME THIS time.

  Instead of the tall red-haired man, Reese Adams was surprised to see a woman enter his room. The woman was also young, like the red-haired man, but she was blond, and much shorter. He immediately didn’t like her. She reminded him of the people Mom worked with; the ones who didn’t have kids and probably didn’t like them much, either. They didn’t understand kids, and they treated him like he was four.

  She slid a chair out from underneath a desk against the wall and sat down next to the bed. She was wearing a white lab coat, and when she sat down, the back of it crinkled out of the hole in the back of the chair. She placed a clipboard on her lap and produced a pen from her lab coat pocket.

  “Good morning, Reese. Were you able to sleep?”

  He nodded. He had slept, as much as he’d tried not to.

  “Did you eat?”

  He nodded again. Wouldn’t they already know this?

  “And how do you feel now?”

  What kind of questions are these? He didn’t know how to respond, so he just blinked. The woman didn’t seem to care, and she kept asking more questions.

  “How old are you, Reese?”

  He answered this time. “Twelve.”

  “And do you have many friends at school?”

  “Where’s my dad?”

  “Reese, we’re keeping you here for your own safety. We explained that to you already.”

  “But I don’t remember… I don’t remember what happened. I was at home with Dad…”

  “I know you’re confused, Reese, but if you just answer my questions—”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to go home.”

  The woman sighed and looked toward the door. He thought she might get up and leave, but she stayed seated. “Do you know why you’re here, Reese?”

  He shook his head. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t remember anything.

  “Did your parents ever discuss their work with you? Did your father mention anything in particular about what it is he does for a living?”

  Reese didn’t know if he should answer. He hadn’t said much so far, and it was getting to the point that he didn’t even know how long he’d been in this room. In fact, there wasn’t much at all about last night that he remembered. He was with his dad, about to watch a movie, and then…

  A while later he woke up here. But he didn’t know if he had awoken from sleep or if he’d been here all along, just unable to remember. He remembered a few things, like the two men’s faces who’d brought him here, and the granola bar and glass of milk he’d been given, but that was about it. He’d been in this room ever since. The walls, bed, and mattress were all a stark white color. The bed—where he found himself when he woke up—was pushed into the corner of the room, situated so that his head was against the far wall, and he could see the single door on the other side. He had only been awake for about two minutes when this door opened, and the red-haired man entered.

  The man asked Reese a bunch of questions. Most were about his mom, but also about his dad, what they did for work, and even a few about his pet lizard. Reese had tried to answer them the best he could, and after almost every question he asked about his mom and dad. Most of the time the man just smiled, a huge toothy grin full of perfect teeth, and sometimes he just said, “We’re looking into it.” No matter how many times he asked, though, the man wouldn’t tell him where he was or how he got here.

  The woman asked the same question again. “Reese, I need to know. Please give me any information about your father’s work, or your mother’s, for that matter. Anything is helpful to us.”

  He looked down at his lap and shook his head.

  After a minute, the woman wrote something on her clipboard and left the room.

  Chapter 10

  “ANYTHING?”

  “NOTHING YET, BUT I’M not even sure he knows anything.” Sylvia Etienne-Gray frowned, then looked up at her boss. “Are you sure this is right? How do we know he has what we’re looking for?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she flinched. She knew better.

  Graciously, her boss let the question slide. “We know what we’re looking for. That’s all you need to be concerned with at this time.” Sylvia saw his nostrils flare slightly and sniff. He was thinking about something else, but kept it to himself.

  She thought about asking what it was. Thought about asking if he was okay. She was glad she didn’t.

  Jeremiah Austin wasn’t the type of man to show his emotions, nor did he appreciate it in others. Sylvia knew intimately that a legitimate show of emotion from him was extremely rare. His staff had worked with him for years and also knew that when their boss was in the room, it was all business.

  Sylvia thought one of the more ironic things about him was that he had what most people would call a “baby face”—soft features, soft complexion, and an overall charismatic look about him that drew people in. It was what initially drew her to him and had a lot to do with her falling in love with him, though she could never tell him that.

  She knew he didn’t love her back; he couldn’t. She was okay with that. He didn’t have time for anyone else anyway, so she wasn’t ever afraid that there would be another woman. He lived and breathed his work—was consumed by it—and she was just a tool, a way to de-stress once or twice every week. It wasn’t perfect, she knew, but the frustration of it all seemed to add to the effect.

  “He didn’t seem as talkative with me. Maybe you’d like to try once more?” Sylvia asked.

  “I will, but not now. There’s no rush—at least not with him. See what else you get out of him, but wait about an hour. I know he’s tired, and there’s no reason to work him up any more than he already is.”

  Sylvia nodded, and turned to go.

  “Grey—”

  She loved it when he called her that. She swung around, and was annoyed to find that her breath caught in her throat for a split second. She felt like a schoolgirl. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Be patient; we’re getting close. I know you’re as excited as I am, but we can’t lose sight of the goal.” He stopped for a moment. “Also, stop by my office in a few hours. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you on a more personal note.”

  She nodded, trying to stifle the smile creeping onto her face. She knew exactly what he meant and had been waiting for two days to hear it.

  Jeremiah Austin watched her go, admiring her posterior as she trotted down the hall. He let the slightest of smug grins come over his face and briefly thought ahead to their meeting. He was tempted to move it up to right now, but he knew that work was more important.

  Much more important.

  He ran his hands over his suit, pressing it smooth again, as if he was about ready to walk into a meeting—a habit he’d gleaned from an old mentor many years ago. He forced himself to smile, showing his teeth and all, and stepped back into the room where Reese Adams was being held.

  “Hello, Reese. I was hoping we could speak some more about your mother.”

  Chapter 11

  0514 HOURS

  “YOU CAN’T BE serious, Corporal. Is that a submarine?” Jen asked Carter as he led the way down the concrete path.

  “Indeed it is, Ms. Adams.”
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  They were standing on an obscure concrete dock behind a U.S. Coast Guard office, across from the cruise terminal in Miami. In front of them, floating ominously two-thirds underwater, rested a jet-black submarine.

  The four of them—the British Corporal, the quieter Saunders, and Jen and Mark Adams—had taken a commercial flight from Boston and landed an hour ago in Miami. In the airport, they met up with two men Corporal Carter had introduced as “his contacts”—Mr. Vertrund and Mr. Durand.

  Now, the civilians and the two military personnel were joined by Carter’s remaining team members, Stuart "Hog" Nelson and Lance Corporal Gerald Mason, Jr. Daniel Carter stood in front of the loading ramp and delivered the introductions.

  “Good morning. Behind me is the Austere-class submarine the Aura. She was completed earlier this year, based on designs from the previous Astute-class. BAE Systems rigged her up as a much-smaller copy, added the dry-dock access hatch you see protruding from the deck, and replaced most of the weapons outfit with enhanced diving apparatus.

  “The sub is capable of diving and maintaining for about two weeks without resurfacing; because we’re going light on crew, we expect to be able to increase this to over four.”

  Jen felt her stomach rise to her throat. She squeezed Mark’s hand tightly. When did I start holding it? He asked the question for her.

  “Uh, yeah, excuse me, Corporal?” The tall soldier frowned. “Should we, uh, expect to be underwater for that long?”

  “Absolutely not. Once we embark, I’ll detail you all on the mission specifics. I highly doubt we’ll be stretching her to the limit. For safety reasons, we’ll dive slowly, reaching our destination by midday.”

  Mark and Jen simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief, but there was still a look of confusion on their faces. Why do we need a submarine? she thought. And why would the answer I am supposed to be finding be located underwater?

  Before she could ask anything else, Carter ushered his team and Jen and Mark into the awaiting submarine, while the two diplomats on the dock waved them along.

  Inside the sub, Jen found herself fighting the effects of claustrophobia. The ship was larger than she had initially imagined, but the added struts and thicker walls—designed to allow maneuverability at much greater depths—seemed to press inward. She didn’t necessarily have a distaste for small spaces, but this situation was a bit out of the ordinary for her.

  She and Mark were led to their bunk by a short, squat crewman, Private Malcolmon from Iowa, as he’d introduced himself. The “bunk” was little more than a closet-sized hole in the main corridor, with two bunked beds stacked on top of one another. A four-inch deep steel drawer was secured beneath each of the two bunks for their “effects,” as Private Malcolmon instructed.

  Jen glanced at Mark, but his only response was a quick nod. He jumped to the top bunk and called down, “I’ll take this one, if that’s alright.”

  They hadn’t been given much time to pack, so Jen stuffed their one duffel bag—meant to hold both of their belongings—into the crack of the mattress at the foot of her bed and stood again to face Mark. “Let’s go find Corporal Carter. I want to figure out why in the hell we’re in a research submarine about ready to take a vacation.”

  They walked up the corridor and found Carter conversing with another crewman. “Corporal. A word?” she interrupted.

  He turned to face the pair, immediately ending his previous conversation. The crewman, obviously a lower-ranking officer, saluted and left.

  “What may I help you with, Ms. Adams?” His words were military—short, punchy, and direct—but his demeanor suggested empathy, as if trying to put her at ease.

  “I just want to know what’s really going on, Corporal. This submarine, the crew, it all seems so quickly put together, and how does our son fit into it? And why were you there at the university?”

  Daniel waited a moment, then answered. “Listen. I know this is confusing and a little nerve-wracking for the two of you. But please hear me when I say that your son is fine. We’re going to find him—”

  “How can you say that? How do you know?”

  “This mission isn’t something we’ve hacked together overnight. My team, backed by the Royal Marines, has been planning an advance on this organization—the one we believe has taken your son—for well over six months now.

  “We expedited things when the situation escalated. Your colleague’s death, your son’s kidnapping—we believe the organization we’ve been tracking is about to make a move. When we found out about the kidnapping and murder of Dr. Storm, we got involved to get more information and to protect you and your family.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that already,” Mark said. “Who are these guys?”

  “The group calls themselves Nouvelle Terre, or ‘New Earth,’ but they’re believed to be a loosely-connected group of people who maintain little contact and little interaction with each other. They’ve been difficult, to say the least, to track down, but because of recent events, they’ve left themselves more vulnerable. The group is mostly American ex-patriots, though we don’t know how many. The few we’ve identified are wealthy and heavily invested in the private sector. The common thread between them all, including who we believe to be their leader, is their interest in environmental causes.”

  “And what exactly is this cause they’re interested in?”

  “We don’t know. The targets we’ve identified have each emptied many of their corporate and personal accounts in the last few weeks, and we’re not exactly sure what they’re planning.”

  “But it involves something in the ocean?” Jen asked.

  “Yes. A project—” he paused, then looked toward the bridge. “Listen, that’s all I can tell you for now. There will be an official briefing at 0600, when we dive. I suggest you two try to get a few hours of sleep until then. You’ll want to be rested.”

  Before either of them had time to respond, Carter turned on his heel and walked toward the bridge.

  Chapter 12

  0600 HOURS

  “THANK YOU ALL for being here,” Corporal Carter said from the makeshift podium in the sub’s lounge area. Jen caught the satire in his voice. She assumed most, if not all, of the crew were military, and therefore were assigned to this mission. She could see Carter’s crew members, Hog, Gary, and Saunders, all gathered together at the doorway to the lounge.

  They made an interesting group. Hog was perhaps one of the strangest looking men Jen had ever seen, tall and lanky in a comical way, with rounded eyes that seemed to bulge out of his head. Maybe it’s the pressure.

  Saunders, the woman who’d accompanied Carter in her and Mark’s “meeting” back at the university, was standing next to Hog, which only helped to underline the woman’s beauty. Standing almost six feet tall, she was almost equal in height to her commanding officer. Dark-skinned and rock-solid from head to toe, Lance Corporal Saunders looked like the domineering muscle of the four-person team.

  Next to Saunders was Gary Mason. Mason, as far as Jen could tell, was just along for the ride. His demeanor, posture, and overall disposition was of nonchalance and indifference. When she’d bumped into him in the corridor, he just rambled some incoherent babble in a thick cockney accent. He was shorter than his two teammates and his commander, with a shaved crewcut hairstyle.

  “The current orders are as follows.” Carter reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a folded slip of paper. “We are to embark on an exploratory mission in international waters, north of Puerto Rico, in what is known as the Milwaukee Deep. We are expected to locate a submerged research station and provide reconnaissance and intelligence to the United States and the British Royal Navy.”

  He looked around to ensure he still had their attention. Jen’s eyes were riveted on Carter.

  “We’ve been under way for about thirty minutes now. That gives us enough time to run through the general operations protocol and to get some rest. Further, we have our first scheduled rendezvous in three hours. Be ba
ck here at 0900. I expect all of us to have met with the crew here, received any necessary instruction”— he looked toward the boat’s XO —“and gotten settled in by then.”

  “Here’s how it works. Everyone on board has a job to do—my team, myself, and you as well, Jen and Mark. Obviously this is not a normal mission. Therefore, we don’t expect you to be thoroughly versed in your particular area. However, I’ve assigned you each to a certain part of the ship and will introduce you to who’s in charge there. While we are at sea, you will be under their direct supervision and shall follow their orders. Help out when and where you can and try to become part of the team as much as possible.”

  Jen and Mark nodded simultaneously as a member of the crew stood up and joined Carter at the front of the room. Carter introduced the man as Chief Petty Officer Warren Hynes, Steward of the ship. He had a thick Australian accent, crewcut blond hair, and huge blue eyes, and Jen understood immediately why this man was perfect for his job. He looked like a man fit for a role in Gilligan’s Island—completely at ease on board a seafaring vessel.

  “Good morning, and welcome aboard. As Corporal Carter said, I’m Chief Petty Officer Hynes, and I’ll be your steward while you are with us. If anyone needs me, feel free to track me down. My cabin is down the hall, past the first entrance to the galley. Usually, each of us has both ship responsibilities and fighting responsibilities, but for the time being our civilian guests won’t have to worry about the latter. As long as everything goes to plan, neither will we.

  “Jen, you’ll go with Petty Officer Carl Jenkins, head cook in charge of the mess hall and galley. He’s one man short this time around, so you should be able to jump in right away. Mark, you’re with Lieutenant Miranda Lopez, our Logistics Officer. Mostly you’ll be handling things on a case-by-case basis, keeping track of supply, helping out wherever you can, that sort of thing.