Simon Covah looks up at Gunnar, a crooked smile plastered on his disfigured face, the upper right corner of his scarred mouth twitching from the effort. “Welcome aboard. It’s been a while.”
“You don’t look well, Simon. But then, I’m not used to seeing you from this angle.”
“Sorceress, lower Captain Wolfe, gently please.”
Gunnar drops, then is pivoted right-side up and released. Sorceress? The computer’s active …
Three of Covah’s men move in, aiming their guns at the former Ranger. Two Arabs search him thoroughly, removing his weapons and bulletproof skin.
David’s head pokes out from the minisub’s open hatch. “Is it safe?”
“It’s safe.” Covah greets him with a hug. “Well done, my friend. So good to see you.”
“You too.” David reaches into his satchel and removes several vials. “For you.”
“David, you fucking bastard—”
David looks up at Rocky, smiling nervously. “Sorry, Simon. I had no choice in bringing her.”
Covah ignores Rocky’s string of expletives, more interested in Gunnar. “Tell me, Gunnar, did you come all this way to kill me?”
“The thought had occurred to me.” He glances up at Rocky. “Would you mind?”
“Are you certain? From what David’s told me, she prefers you dead. I seem to remember the two of you always enjoying a love-hate relationship, but this—”
“Just lower her.”
“Of course. Sorceress, lower Commander Jackson … gently.”
In one fluid motion the massive appendage swivels and drops to the deck, easing Rocky to the floor. Two of Covah’s men push her to the rubberized decking and search her.
Covah holds his hands wide in front of Gunnar. “Before you cast final judgment, I only ask that you afford me a chance to explain.” He turns to his men. “Strip and search them both thoroughly, jettison every article of their clothing, then take them to their stateroom. Treat them as guests, but do not let your guard down.”
Taur Araujo, an ex-guerrilla leader from East Timor, points his gun in Rocky’s face. “Whatever you’re wearing, remove it … slowly.”
Covah glances upward at the scarlet sensor orb. “Sorceress, what is the status of the Colossus?”
SHIP IS DISABLED. CURRENT POSITION, SEAFLOOR, THREE POINT SIX KILOMETERS DUE NORTH.
David’s eyes widen in wonderment. “Anna’s voice?”
Covah nods. “I find it … comforting.”
“What did you do to the Colossus?” Rocky says, as her Special Ops clothing is pulled from her body.
“Gave her a little virus.” David answers, affording himself a quick look at Rocky’s naked physique. “By now her reactors should be overheating, her missile silos popping open.”
“Sorceress, take us to the Colossus,” Covah rasps. “Reflood the hangar the moment we leave and begin removing all of Colossus’s nuclear missiles.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
Gunnar turns to Covah. “Don’t do it, Simon.”
“Please trust me, Gunnar, trust that my agenda is yours. You know, David and I went to great pains to bring you here. There’s so much I want to share with you, but there’s so little time. I have a plan, a plan that will justify all you’ve done and make up for all you’ve sacrificed.”
“You’re part of this,” accuses Rocky, “I knew it!”
Gunnar ignores her. “What are you going to do, Simon?”
Covah smiles. “My friend … we’re going to change the world.”
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”
—John Donne
“Death comes to everyone. We must stand proud as Afghans in the defense of Islam.”
—Mullah Mohammed Omar, Leader of the Afghanistan Taliban, following the terrorist attacks on America
“I loved you too much … that was my problem … I loved you too much.”
—O.J. Simpson, star football player, known wife-beater, who was acquitted of murder addressing his ex-wife’s coffin at her funeral
“I wanted to make him thoroughly sick so that he would give me permission to divorce him.”
—Maria Groesbeek, a South African woman who killed her husband with insect poison
CHAPTER 12
Aboard the Colossus
General Jackson, Commander Lockhart, and two officers huddle inside the alcove, waiting their turn to use the forward escape trunk, a pressurized two-man chamber that can be flooded, allowing trapped submarines access to the sea.
“All right, Adams, Furman, up you go.”
The two officers climb up a short steel ladder, sealing the hatch behind them.
Lockhart turns to the general, adjusting the hood of the Navy’s Steinke egress/exposure suit over Jackson’s head. “Ever done this before?”
“No.”
“The suit contains an air reservoir breathing system. Wait until I close the hatch before using the air port to charge the suit. Remain under the chamber’s air bubble with me until the outer hatch opens.”
Lockhart checks the escape trunk’s pressure gauge. “All clear. All right, General, up you go.”
Jackson climbs the steel ladder into the tight, eight-foot-high-by-five-foot wide chamber, his thoughts once more turning to his daughter. She’s okay, she’s alive. By the time you surface, there’s a good chance the Goliath will be on the surface, under Rocky’s command …
Lockhart climbs into the chamber and seals the hatch behind him. Using an air hose, he inflates Jackson’s suit, a combination life jacket and hooded breathing apparatus. The commander charges his own air reservoir, then twists open a red valve.
Frigid seawater rushes in from the floor, rising rapidly around the two men as they huddle together beneath an air bubble flange.
The outer hatch opens above their heads. Jackson feels an invisible hand grab his body, yanking it forcefully up through the open hatch. Instinctively, he raises his arms over his head, his buoyant egress suit rocketing him out of the Colossus and into the pitch dark sea—
Whumpf!
The impact shatters both Jackson’s wrists and drives the breath from his lungs. For a chaotic moment, he rolls along the ceiling of an immovable object like a bug on a ceiling.
Breathe! He inhales a humid breath within his inflated headpiece, fighting to focus through the dizziness and pain. Out of the pitch-dark he sees a halo of light … below and in the distance, shining down upon the sloping spine of the Colossus. Rising up through the light is a long object, guided by invisible hands …
A missile!
And suddenly he realizes—
He is pinned against the underside of the Goliath, trapped eight hundred feet below the surface, witnessing the theft of the Colossus’s nuclear weapons.
The Bear panics, thrashing against the rubberized metallic surface that prevents him from rising as his mind dissects the nightmare his eyes are seeing.
Scrambling across the flattened surface, he heads for a blinding beacon of white light and claws his way toward it—