by Rachel Grant
Luke clicked at his mic, and sure enough, he could hear but not speak. Parker had managed to jam him while Luke worked on the bomb.
“Copy that, Interceptor. Attach the cables, and we’ll bring you in. Over.”
“Negative on bringing us in. Sevick has discovered the bomb is atmospheric pressure-sensitive. It was designed for high-pressure depth. The low pressure of high altitude may cause it to detonate. Over.”
Luke’s jaw dropped at Parker’s smooth lie, but then he wondered if the man was telling the truth—had he learned from his GRU sources that the bomb couldn’t be transported at high altitude except in a pressurized aircraft that simulated air pressure at sea level?
“If we can’t fly high, we can’t haul ass,” the airman above said.
“We’re staying in the boat and will keep trying to defuse the bomb. Over,” Parker said.
“Copy that. If you don’t have it defused in twenty minutes, we’ll have to chance atmospheric pressure decrease, or we’ll never make it past the subduction zone. Over.”
“Drop harnesses for Sevick and me, over.”
Luke didn’t waste time arguing with Parker and hooked up the cables to the Interceptor. He donned the harness that would prevent him from falling from the flying boat, and hoped to hell he wouldn’t need it.
They lifted from the water, and the Interceptor took flight.
Luke stepped inside the tiny helm. He needed to talk to Parker, and there was no way he’d be heard over the rotor downwash. “You need to hook up my radio, Parker!” he shouted. “We need to be able to communicate to defuse the bomb.”
“I won’t go up in the Osprey. I know what will happen—and I won’t be taken into custody.”
“Did you lie about the effect of high-altitude pressure on the bomb?”
Parker didn’t answer. Finally he said, “We’ll give it twenty minutes, like the airman said. We’re wasting time.”
“Unjam my radio.”
Parker gave a sharp nod. They had no choice but to work together.
Defusing a nuke while dangling a hundred feet below an Osprey flying a thousand feet above the Strait of Juan de Fuca? No problem.
Luke planted himself back in front of the bomb and radioed the pilot. “The countdown is forty-nine minutes.”
“We’ll never make it,” the pilot said. “We’re a hundred and sixty miles from the safety zone. We’d have a chance in turboprop mode, but with you and a nuke hanging, we need to keep the rotors vertical.”
Luke rubbed his hand over his face. Twenty minutes was too much given the distance. “Give me ten minutes. If I fail, we’ll risk the air pressure.”
“Ten minutes. That’s all.”
Parker glared at him but didn’t object. Luke figured he’d toss the asshole overboard in nine minutes if he had to, but right now, he needed his help. He’d unscrewed the lower panel but hadn’t had a chance to see what Yuri had done to the mechanism. He shined a flashlight into the opening.
Parker dropped down next to him and shouted, “What can I do?”
Even with headphones on, it was difficult to hear under the Osprey rotor wash.
“Find out how the Ukrainians initiated this thing,” he shouted back. “They didn’t use keys. However they turned it on is how we need to turn it off.”
Luke studied the wires—corroded old ones mixed with new—as Parker was patched into the FBI SAC who was grilling Yuri. She said Yuri claimed to have activated the bomb using an ultra-low-frequency radio signal. The bomb activated when it received a specific Russian Morse code transmission.
Luke stared at the inner workings and spotted the radio receiver. Smashed to hell.
Sonofabitch. The guy on the ferry must have started the timer, then disabled the receiver. No wonder Yuri had answered the question. Aside from not having the actual code, they’d never get the receiver to work.
He moved the broken receiver aside and saw something that looked like an old sonar transponder. All at once it hit Luke what Yuri hadn’t told them. “That lying sack of shit,” he said. He pulled out the coin. “The coin is a key.”
He glanced across the bomb at Parker. Over the man’s shoulder, he saw the Olympic Mountains and rocky coastline as they neared the Pacific. The wind whipped his face as they flew at nauseating speed in a flying boat that was something out of Peter Pan’s nightmares. In spite of the chill wind, he was sweating as he gripped the coin that was their lifeline.
“What do you mean?” Parker shouted. He looked a little green, but then, even seamen could get seasick in flying boats.
Luke nodded toward the cabin, and they both moved inside, where they could hear each other slightly better. “There were two bombs. One was meant to be above ground, the other underwater. Which meant they had to be initialized in two different ways. Ultra-low radio for above ground, but sonar for underwater.” He showed Parker one side of the coin. “Three is a pretty damn low frequency, and CCCP is simple Morse code. The other side is the sonar frequency. You can’t do Morse code with sonar, because all you get is a ping, no long or short sounds, so numbers work better. One-fifty is a standard sonar frequency.”
He glanced at the boat. The Interceptor had to be outfitted with a multibeam sonar transducer. Luke had been working with sonar for years—both when he was in the Navy and his work for NOAA involved studying the effects on marine mammals. He was certain he’d found a very old sonar transponder inside the bomb.
“The transponder in the bomb will be forced to respond if we ping it at a frequency of 150 kilohertz with the combination four-two-five. The forced response will shut off the clock.”
“Easy peasy,” Parker said sarcastically. “How the fuck are we going to do that from here?”
“All we need is a transducer and some water.” Damn, if this were a SEAL ROV or if he were outfitted for a SEAL mission, he’d have a handheld LIMIS unit. He radioed the Osprey and asked if they had one on the aircraft. The response was negative. “We’ll have to use the one on the Interceptor, then.”
“It’ll be on the bottom of the hull,” Parker said.
Aw hell. It looked like he was going to need the damn harness after all. And they were going to burn a lot more than ten minutes from the countdown clock.
Chapter Forty-One
They informed the pilot of the insane plan and the need for more time. They would be pushing past the limit. If they weren’t pulled inside the Osprey in the next few minutes, they’d never clear the subduction zone.
Attempting this left no room for failure.
Less than two minutes after forming the plan, Luke was dangling over the side of the boat, following the sonar cable. He had an ax in one hand and a screwdriver in his pocket. Tools to save the world.
He didn’t look down, to the side, or anywhere but at the small dark round hunk of metal attached to the hull. His target.
He swung the ax at the base of the boat, creating a handhold to pull himself toward the transducer. Finally he reached it and unhooked the cable. “Reel in the cable, Parker,” he shouted into the radio.
The cable disappeared over the side of the boat. Parker would position it next to the bomb while Luke collected the transducer.
He didn’t have time to finesse this job and used the ax again, being careful not to damage the device. It was almost free when the ax slipped from his fingers. He looked down at the water below him, watching the ax disappear into the darkness. He felt the wind on his face. Moisture in the air.
He was dangling from a Coast Guard Interceptor over the Pacific Ocean, and he was going to die if he didn’t get the damn glorified fish-finder up into the boat in the next ninety seconds. He pulled the screwdriver from his pocket and wedged it in the gap he’d made with the ax and pried with one hand while gripping the transducer and the hull with the other. No way in hell was he dropping this baby.
It broke free with a snap, and he pulled it to his chest, like a wide receiver making the game-winning catch. He swung erratically from the side, no lo
nger holding himself steady with one hand. “Pull me up, Parker. I’ve got it.”
Parker proved to be no slouch, lifting Luke’s deadweight until he was able to get a grip on the side ladder. Luke climbed one-handed, then passed the transducer over the gunwale.
Back inside the boat, Luke checked the countdown.
They’d officially missed their window. They’d never clear the Cascadia subduction zone now.
If this didn’t work, their only option was to go up.
If this didn’t work, he’d killed them all.
Parker had gathered what they needed for their makeshift ocean for transmitting the pings. They planned to fill one of the dry bags with water from the bilge and bottled water he’d found in the small cabin. The bag was placed next to the bomb.
Now came the fun part. Luke needed to pick up the four-hundred-plus-pound nuclear warhead and drop it inside the dry bag. After the water was added, the transponder could receive the sonar pings.
Luke’s job was to lift. Parker’s was to get the bag under the bomb.
He strained with the weight, hugging the bomb to his chest with his feet planted wide. It would be easier if it had handholds. And if he weren’t lifting from the rigid hull of a flying boat. He grimaced, thinking of his advice to the boys in the gym at Neah Bay. For the first time in his career serving his country, he was grateful he could deadlift four hundred pounds. This lift was less than that but the conditions pushed him to his limit.
The only easy day was yesterday.
“Got it!” Parker said.
Luke lowered the bomb and swiped his forearm across his brow as sweat blew into his eyes.
Parker set about filling the bag with water from the bilge. Luke snapped the top off a water bottle and poured.
At last they were ready. He put the transducer, which they’d hooked back up to the cable, in the water.
This would work.
It had to work.
Parker returned to the cabin, where the controls were for the sonar. Luke had already isolated the frequency.
He gave Parker a thumbs-up. “Start pinging.”
The numbers sounded, four pings, then two, then five. Given the proximity of transducer to transponder, the reaction should have been instant. Luke watched the timer on the bomb.
Nothing happened.
He felt his blood drain to his feet. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. This failure. This horrific disaster.
They were all going to die.
To the pilot, he said, “We need to go up. And fast.” His voice barely made it past his lips.
“Not yet,” Parker said. “We’ll keep trying. Give us a few more minutes. Maybe I paused too long between numbers. Or not long enough.”
“Don’t stop until the bomb goes off,” Luke said. He opened the panel and checked the sonar transponder. The wires were corroded, along with everything else. What if it wasn’t firmly attached to the mechanism?
“Parker, I need replacement wire. Yank one from the boat console.”
A moment later, Parker was by his side with a fistful of wires. “Take your pick.”
Luke grabbed a wire stripper from the tool bag and cleaned the ends. Instead of replacing the wire, he attached it to both ends, paralleling the original.
The clock had rolled down to ten minutes.
Ten minutes left to live, and they were directly above the subduction zone. If this failed, they would have to go up, as high as they could. The atmosphere would fill with nuclear radiation, but there wouldn’t be tsunamis below.
“Try again,” he said to Parker.
Back in the cabin, Parker resumed pinging. Four. Two. Five.
Luke stared at the clock. The ten began to roll upward. The zero was followed by nine on the wheel. It stuttered, then froze in place.
Chapter Forty-Two
“They stopped it,” Martinez said to the VIPs and military personnel who’d assembled in the command center of Coast Guard Air Station Port Angeles. Undine let out the breath she’d been holding for the last hour and fifteen minutes and burst into tears.
The governor draped an arm around her shoulders, and the comforting touch by a virtual stranger just made her cry harder. Fortunately, no one insisted she stop. The governor’s husband simply handed her his handkerchief.
Thank goodness for tuxedos with handkerchiefs.
Undine’s father had been invited to the gathering as well, but she’d insisted he take her mother to higher ground. Every cell in her body was focused on Luke and what he’d been attempting to do, and she couldn’t deal with her mother’s questions, or even her attempts at comfort. So she’d paced the room without her family, clutching Luke’s trident and feeling so terrified she could barely breathe.
If the bomb hadn’t been stopped, everyone in the command center would have been airlifted to a tsunami safety zone. They’d been within two minutes of heading to the airfield.
She swiped at her tears and cleared her throat. “They’re on their way back?” she asked.
Commander Martinez nodded. “They’re going to pull the bomb and Lieutenants Sevick and Reeves into the Osprey, then secure the boat so they can fly at top speed. They’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
She resumed pacing, no longer able to focus on the words. Luke was coming back.
Her Luke. Her hot, badass scientist.
The man who’d been able to forgive her for the unthinkable. Who loved her and wanted to marry her. Who’d just risked his life to save her and everyone on the western Pacific coast.
By the time the Osprey came into view, she was beside herself with anticipation. She darted outside into the frigid dark, ahead of the others who were also eager to greet the heroes of the night.
But no one was more eager than she was. The Osprey landed on the airfield like a helicopter, with just a soft bounce before settling in. Luke climbed out first. She waited at the perimeter of the launch pad, as she’d been instructed to do, but it wasn’t an easy thing when waiting to kiss the man she intended to spend the rest of her life with, starting right now.
Luke jogged toward her in his now-tattered, bloody uniform. When he was close, she darted forward—screw the rules—and flung herself at him. He scooped her up and swung her around, and the whole world faded when he set her down and planted his mouth on hers.
His body was chilled, but his mouth was hot. His tongue slid against hers with all-consuming heat.
When their kiss ended, she said, “So much for no PDAs in uniform.”
He laughed. “I have a feeling tonight I’ll get a pass.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Thank God you didn’t change out of the gown. I was worried.”
She laughed, and his lips bounced along her forehead. “Really? That’s what worried you the most in the last two hours?”
“No, but in the last thirty minutes, it topped my list. I have plans for you in that dress.”
“I can’t wait. Although I suppose we have to sit through another grueling debriefing.”
He flashed a cocky grin. “I can sum it up in a sentence. I’m the world’s greatest sonar jockey.”
“I can’t wait to hear what that means.”
“If you’re afraid of heights, you don’t want to know.” He frowned. “I suppose I need to give Parker credit for the actual pinging.”
She glanced behind him and scanned the crew of the Osprey. “Where is he?”
“He…grabbed a parachute from the Osprey and bailed while the boat was being secured. We won’t be seeing him again.”
She furrowed her brow. “Why did he do that? What happened?”
Luke turned but kept his arm around her waist and started walking toward the building. “Parker was—is—a Russian agent. He’s been stationed at Neah Bay for a few years, tracking the movement of nuclear subs to and from Bangor. When Petrel exploded and Yuri went missing, he knew something was up. He explained a little before he grabbed the parachute and made a break for it.
“Do you think he�
�survived? I mean, there was no one to pick him up, and the water is cold as hell.”
“He was wearing a survival suit and we were close to the Canadian coastline. There’s a good chance he made it to land. The truth is I could have stopped him, but didn’t. Disarming the bomb was a two-person job, and he knew it was likely a suicide mission. It doesn’t excuse what he did, but I’m learning to let go of the past and move forward.”
“Even when the past is…last week?”
Luke kissed her nose. “Yep. Especially then. If you didn’t forgive me for being an ass that first night in Neah Bay, where would we be?”
“There was nothing to forgive. It was hot. You were hot. A-plus all the way.”
“I was also an asshole.”
“Stop calling yourself an asshole. You were honest. And I agreed. I wanted you. And I took just as much as you did.” She brushed her lips against his. “I love you, Luke Sevick, and I’ll embrace every step it took for us to get here, because here is where I want to be.”
“You love me?” he asked, burying his face in her neck.
“Hell yeah. You’re the hot, badass scientist of my dreams.”
“Cool,” he murmured against her skin.
Epilogue
Five months later
It arrived in a plain manila envelope, but the humble packaging in no way diminished Undine’s excitement. Trina could have scanned the copies and emailed the PDFs, but she’d been perverse and insisted on mailing hard copies. Because she knew it would kill Undine to wait. And also that it would look better on film if they recorded her receiving it and reading it for real—no acting involved. Ever since they’d pulled the airtight box from the sediment inside Wrasse, she’d known in her gut what would be inside.
One of the sailors had written an account of their encounter with Magnum that October day, and at last she held his words in her hands.
The smile she flashed for Mario and the camera after plucking the envelope from the mailbox was honest, and she didn’t plan the way she clutched the envelope to her chest. It was simply her genuine reaction.
