by Nick Thacker
“That’s pretty much it for now. Anyone have any questions?” He paused for about a second to wait for a response, and then called on Petty Officer Jenkins and Lieutenant Miranda Lopez to stand and escort them out of the room.
Jen stood up, followed by Mark. She was now supposed to take on a role helping out the chef on board a military submarine as if she was just one of the crew. She felt so out of place here, on a military submarine about to sink to the bottom of one of the deepest parts of the ocean, apparently to find information that would lead her back to their son.
Unlikely.
Her skepticism seemed to be matched in Mark’s voice. “Jen, does this make any sense to you?” he asked.
“No, I mean—of course not,” she responded. “Why would it?”
He shook his head. “It’s just that less than twelve hours ago, we were sitting in the apartment trying to figure out what to do next. We get, uh, overtaken at the school, and now we’re here, halfway across the country. It seems so fast, you know?”
She thought about this for a moment. “I don’t think Reese’s kidnapping was the start of this. Clearly there’s more going on. I know this mission wasn’t something that was slapped together last minute, and I want to find out what they know.”
They reached the rectangular doorway at the edge of the room, slowing to step deliberately over the tall threshold. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just about her son.
Chapter 13
0900 HOURS
JEN AND MARK sat in the same room they’d left three hours earlier. Time had crawled as she’d learned safety procedures, basic military sub lingo, a few crew members’ names (all of which Jen had forgotten), and taken a twenty-minute “nap,” during which she had stared straight up at the bottom of Mark’s bunk.
He’d fared no better. The pervasive, unwavering reminder that their son was missing was constantly on his mind as well, and he’d spent the time getting acquainted with the procedural operations of the sub, going through the motions, and nodding his head every few seconds.
Both were exhausted. Jen hoped this “rendezvous” would end quickly, giving her at least a few hours to try and sleep. She wondered if she could shut her eyes here, in the chair, and catch a few seconds of rest—
“At attention, crew,” one of the enlisted crew members called out.
Her eyes snapped open as Corporal Daniel Carter entered the room. 0900 on the dot, she noticed.
“At ease. Thanks for being here. Irons, do you have the comm-link?” he asked one of the enlisted men.
“Aye, sir. It’s on three, just hit the—”
Carter already had the television screen powered up and on the right channel before the young man could finish. The monitor blinked, and a fuzzy picture of a decadent office slowly came into focus.
“Good morning,” a man’s voice spoke. The sound came from speakers hidden somewhere in the room. “I do appreciate your willingness to serve today. It’s been an interesting day, as I’m sure you’ll all agree.” The man sat behind the desk in the office. Jen sensed the presence of a few aides or advisors standing close to the desk; human-shaped shadows wriggled over the carpet and curtains.
“My name is Gregory Durand, Assistant to the Head of the National Environmental Terrorism Agency. We are a British intelligence organization tasked with discovering and neutralizing terrorist threats to the nation and world. I know that you do not see any American forces amongst yourselves. I do apologize, but it is for your own security. This matter you will be attending to is one of national security, both for the British and American governments alike—a matter that has escalated in the past few hours to one of the utmost importance. Unfortunately, it also means that if American Special Forces were somehow seen embarking on any sort of mission in the target area, it could prove to be a difficult situation to clean up. The media would be all over it within two hours, and…” the man sighed, clearly exasperated at even the thought.
“I do, however, trust the abilities of you all more than you know. I want you to know that I fully support the mission and wish nothing more than your success and safe return.”
Carter gave the man—his current commanding officer—a single nod, thanking him for the compliment. Durand continued addressing the room. “I understand that Corporal Carter has briefed you on the mission. You are to locate and secure the package, a boy named Reese Adams. His parents, as I’m sure you know, are Jennifer and Mark Adams, and will be accompanying you on the mission.”
A few faces turned to look at Jen and Mark in the center of the room. Durand paused, but then answered the question every one of the military men and women—and Jen and Mark—had on their minds.
“Mr. and Ms. Adams are really with you all, though, because Jen’s presence is crucial to the success of the mission. The group that kidnapped Reese wants something in return; something only Jen has, apparently. We don’t have any intelligence as to what that something might be, but I thought it best that she accompany your team to the station in case there is something there she can use. At that point, if it comes, the military team will provide support and attempt to eliminate whatever threat they find.
“We’ll be keeping you updated throughout the mission with any information we find, Corporal Carter. And Ms. Adams, understand that we will find your son. We will get to the bottom of this, and I only ask that you lend us a hand in the meantime.”
She nodded, as if the man could see her as well. She had so many questions, though. So many pieces to this puzzle. Hell, she didn’t even know what the puzzle was supposed to look like. Mark squeezed her hand.
“Let’s talk about details. I know Corporal Carter told you where you’re heading, but he did not address any specifics. I’ve kept a few things to myself until this moment, but also understand that what I’m about to tell you may be completely irrelevant.
“It turns out that the base you’re heading to was a United States government-funded research station built in 1974, redefining the possibilities of modern undersea exploration. It was built on a geothermal hotspot, and that’s how it was powered. A desalinization plant was built next, an engineering marvel that allowed a team of researchers to stay for extended periods of time on-site. Finally, all of this was encased in a dome made out of a synthetic material that pushed against the immense pressure of the waters surrounding the station. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but I wanted you to understand the basics before you arrived.
“You’re going to be docking at the station around 1200 hours, as your captain tells me. There won’t be any surface light reaching to these depths, so you’ll be taking a slow, careful crawl around the dome’s western and southern fronts—the sides that aren’t jutting up against the cliffs of the Puerto Rico Trench. You’ll then find one of the two docking stations, and at that point you’ll dock, equalize the pressure in the sub’s holding bay, and then pump out the water from the station.”
Jen’s mind was racing at this point. A government research station located at the bottom of the ocean? One large enough to house people? And the fact that it’s still there…
She wondered if Durand was reading from a prompter screen or if he’d memorized these statistics. Either way, it was impressive, the scope of this project. Both the building of the base in the first place—over forty years ago—and the fact that they were supposed to revisit it today.
Then she remembered one of the first things he’d said—that the station was established to conduct geothermal research. That was her specialty ever since she’d started working with Dr. Storm. Maybe that had something to do with what the kidnappers wanted from her.
He wanted me to lend them a hand in the meantime. That meant that whatever this was about, her son was only a small piece of it.
“Also, we’re not sure how much this group, Nouvelle Terre, knows. We know that one of their members, Jeremiah Austin, at one point in time, was involved with some of the building of the research station. He worked with Dr. Mitchell Storm, the bro
ther of the late Dr. Elias Storm. So far, that’s the only tie we have, but it’s a strong one. It seems like the organization wanted to get to Dr. Storm’s research by way of his brother. When that soured, they most likely went for Jen Adams, the next logical person who would understand what Dr. Storm was working on.”
She let all of this sink in. Dr. Storm’s brother was somehow involved. Someone who worked with this terrorist organization years ago, and now they want to finish the project.
Her boss, Dr. Elias Storm, didn’t know anything—or at least didn’t talk—and he’d paid the price for it.
They were using her. They took her son, and now she and Mark were on this wild goose chase together.
“I know what you’re probably wondering,” Gregory Durand said. “Why are you heading toward a research station at the bottom of the Atlantic? We believe that Nouvelle Terre is acting out in the interest of securing what they want quickly. Since the last we’d heard from them was immediately following the completion of this base, and with the close ties between the research performed there and what Nouvelle Terre’s all about, we think it might be a good lead. It won’t be the endgame. Reese is no doubt being kept wherever the organization’s headquartered. However—”
The monitor and speakers crackled and died. Carter looked toward the young crewman who had apparently set up the communication link, but the soldier shrugged. The screen turned to fuzz, the connection obviously lost. Corporal Carter looked unswayed. He continued delivering the speech, skipping to the end.
“My team will be joined by a few more civilians, all experts in their fields and certainly assets to the mission at hand. If, for whatever reason, Jen is unable to aid in locating whatever it is she’s here to find, these three people will jump in to assist. First, there’s Sanjay Pavan, who Jen will most likely recognize as the esteemed marine archeologist.”
Jen did recognize the name. Dr. Pavan wasn’t just a well-respected marine archeologist. He was the marine archeologist, the rare breed of expert who was as comfortable in front of television cameras and media moguls as he was behind a microscope. He was Indian-American, dark-skinned, and very handsome, which no doubt played a role in his fame. Before Sanjay, most people had no idea such a career as marine archeology existed.
How did I not see him?
Jen’s eyes wandered around the room until she found the short man standing against the back wall. His thick, dark eyebrows were curled—his signature look of contemplation—and he bowed his head ever so slightly when their eyes met.
“Also aboard, we have Lindsay Richards, an American geologist and oceanographer, and her understudy, Erik Statnik.”
Jen recognized Lindsay’s name but couldn’t picture her face or recall the university she was from. She found the woman—blond and plump—sitting at a table with the man she assumed was the understudy, Erik Statnik. Statnik’s features were as stark as Lindsay’s were soft. His rectangular, chiseled face and drooping eyes made him look years older than he must have been, and his crooked nose gave him a ghoulish appearance. Still, it was Erik, not Lindsay, who mouthed a “hello” toward Jen.
Another crew member ran into the conference area. “Corporal Carter, sir, we’ve got a problem. The navigator’s picking up a signal about 1,000 meters from here.”
Carter frowned. “What kind of signal?”
“Sonar places it just slightly larger than our vessel, sir, and it’s heading directly toward us.”
At that, the crew members and soldiers spread throughout the room immediately leapt to their feet and assumed their stations. A few of the crew ran back to the bridge, no doubt involved in the sub’s operations.
Panic overcame Jen. Were they being attacked? She’d never been on a submarine before, and she thought the immense blackness of the waters pressing in on them was terrifying enough.
Carter looked at her and her husband. “Stay here for now. Everything’s going to be fine. We have no reason to believe—”
A loud snap followed by a wrenching, twisting sound reached their ears. Shouts arose from the depths of the sub, and Jen felt her stomach drop.
The sub lurched forward then back, and she almost lost her balance. She grabbed the side of a table nearby to right herself and looked up. Carter had already left the room.
“What the hell’s going on, Captain?” She heard Carter call out from down the hallway.
Mark reached over and grabbed her elbow. “You okay?”
She looked at him to respond, but noticed a deep gash across his face and temple. “Oh my God, Mark. Your face!” He reached up and wiped at the seeping blood. His eyes widened, as if unaware that he’d been injured.
“It’s okay. I can’t feel it. Must have hit my head on a chair during the—”
Another snapping sound, more shouts. This time, the sub seemed to drop like a rock—at least twenty or thirty feet straight down. Jen felt like they were on an airplane going through intense turbulence. She closed her eyes, but still almost threw up.
When the sub righted itself once again, she persuaded her eyes open and found the cafeteria/meeting room in shambles. Plastic trays, chairs, and cups were strewn about, and two of the tables had broken and collapsed in on themselves.
Mark had also recovered, and with one hand on his wound and the other still gripping Jen’s arm, he pulled her out the room. “Come on. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on.”
They ran through the hallway, ducking and jumping through the small rectangular doorways that segmented the sub’s interior. They reached the bridge, but Corporal Carter met them at the door before they could enter.
“Stay out here, you two. It’s too crowded in there anyway.”
“We just wanted to see what’s up. Is everything okay?” Mark asked. He spoke fast, breathless.
“No. Well, yes. We’re in no danger of sinking, but the hostile sub did significant damage,” the corporal responded.
“What do mean, hostile sub?” Jen said. She tried to remain calm, but the words tumbled out frantic and panicked.
“Well, what we do know is that there’s another sub out there, and they fired something across our bow. It hit, but was deflected, thank God. However, the second shot was nearly exactly the same. It hit and was deflected.”
“So… what does that mean?”
“It’s not easy to do. Two boats, both moving—yet glancing a shot just short of devastating? It wasn’t an accident.”
“Why would they want to hit us?” Jen asked.
“No idea. We’re still trying to get a visual so we can see who they are, but the only thing the captain can think of is that they didn’t want to sink us. They wanted to disable us.”
Chapter 14
“DIVE. DIVE, DAMNIT!”
SHE HEARD a loud, gruff voice—the ship’s commanding officer—yelling to dive. Faster, deeper, all at the same time.
They were still standing just outside the bridge, but Corporal Carter had left to see to his team.
Why did someone want to disable them? And who?
Jen had no idea what was going on, but she stood riveted next to Mark nonetheless, trying to pick up any clues from the crew controlling the ship.
“We are, sir. We’re almost at target depth, but…”
“I know we lost power to the bilge, and we’re taking on water. It doesn’t matter now. We dive, we dock, or we die.”
Jen knew the CO wasn’t trying to sound clever. On the contrary, he sounded terrified, trying to make the best of the situation. She also knew that if the CO was concerned, there was probably reason for them all to be concerned.
“Did he say we’re taking on water?” Mark asked. “We need to find Carter.”
Jen felt panic rising in her throat. It was a feeling of complete helplessness. She imagined the depths of the ocean pressing in on them, waiting.
They leaned in to the door separating them from the bridge. Jen pushed an ear to the door and tried to hear the rest of the conversation. Without meaning to, her
hand brushed against Mark’s. He held it firm in his own.
“Captain, we’re at target depth now. She’s holding fine, but again, we can’t—”
“Yes, I understand. Just find that station.”
“Affirmative.”
At that moment, Carter called out from behind them in the hallway. “Jen, Mark, come here. You should see this.”
They followed Carter toward the front of the sub, farther forward than even the bridge. As they neared the extreme front of the sub, Mark suddenly understood where they were.
“It’s an observation deck,” he said. “They fitted reinforced plexiglass or something to the front of the sub so you can see out the front.”
“The nose of the submarine is actually glass and silicone, heated and stretched, then shaped, and finally supercooled quickly enough to form a strong bond. A computer-controlled laser array used 3D mapping software to analyze the shape and find any weaknesses, divots, or anomalous surfaces.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“It was, but then again, your country’s space program isn’t funding manned rocket missions these days, so this project was almost fully funded within a year.”
“You mean NASA?” Jen asked.
“Yes. They are hoping to deploy these types of viewports on future manned space explorations and unmanned telescope missions. Keeping the main components of a telescope camera indoors rather than in the vacuum of space and away from fast-moving microscopic particles is expected to have a positive effect on the lifespan of the lens and other apparatus.
“Anyway, they wanted an actual prototype that would emulate some of the environmental constraints—pressure, temperature, etcetera. Deep-sea exploration isn’t perfect, but it’s the closest we’ve got.”
Jen was impressed, but she had not forgotten what had just happened to them. They’d been attacked almost five miles underwater, and they had no idea if the enemy sub was coming back.
