While Dirk drew them in, Summer activated one of the robotic arms and flexed it toward the funnel. Making contact, she dragged the claw across the surface, leaving a foot-long gouge.
“Please don’t carve your initials,” Dirk said. “I don’t want a Lloyd’s agent knocking on my door at two in the morning.”
“Just checking what’s underneath.”
As the paint flakes swirled away with the current, they could clearly see an ocher line beneath the scratch.
“The funnel was originally gold, or had a gold band,” she said.
“That’s one more nugget.”
They filmed the wreck for another thirty minutes, capturing its length, deck configuration, and any other details that could aid in its identification.
“Batteries are approaching reserve power,” Summer said.
“I think we’ve learned all we can,” Dirk said. “Besides, Jack won’t be too happy if we surface after dark.”
He purged the ballast tanks, and they began a controlled ascent. Several minutes later, they broke the surface amid a choppy sea driven by a gusting westerly. The sun was already dipping beneath a bank of clouds on the horizon, stabbing the fading sky with bolts of pink and orange. As waves splashed over the submersible’s acrylic canopy, Dirk saw a nearby boat approaching. It was the same patrol boat he and Dahlgren had seen earlier.
“Looks like someone was waiting for us.” The boat turned directly toward them while increasing speed. “Might be a good time to call the Alexandriato come fetch us.”
“I think I spotted them on the horizon.” Summer strained her neck to peer over the rolling waves. “They still look to be a few miles off.”
She reached for the transmission button on her radio, then froze. “Dirk, what are they doing?”
Her brother was already tracking the patrol boat, which approached at an uncomfortably high speed. The steel-hulled vessel was less than a hundred feet away. It should have begun to slow or veer off, but it didn’t.
“They mean to ram us!” Summer shouted.
Dirk had the thrusters engaged, but with a top speed of only three knots the submersible couldn’t outrun a sea turtle. With no chance to elude the patrol boat, and insufficient time to dive, Dirk reacted the only way he could. He turned the submersible directly toward the oncoming vessel.
Summer looked at him as if he were insane and braced for the collision. Dirk kept his eyes glued on the boat, maneuvering toward its sharp bow as if on a death wish. He waited until the craft was nearly upon them, then turned the joystick hard over while reversing the starboard thrusters.
The submersible responded as if mired in quicksand, and Dirk feared he had reacted too late. But after a brief hesitation, it veered to starboard, narrowly slipping past the boat’s charging prow.
As Dirk hoped, the patrol boat’s helmsman had locked on course and reacted too late to the last-second maneuver. Instead, the boat struck the submersible with only a light blow.
Dirk and Summer heard a bang and felt their craft shudder as the contact crushed one of the rear thrusters. The impact briefly disrupted the power supply, shutting down the sub’s electrical systems. As Dirk frantically repowered the thrusters, he glanced out the spherical window as the patrol craft tore by. A man in green fatigues stood at the rail, pointing an assault rifle at the sub. But the gunman didn’t shoot, instead just offering a menacing grin.
Summer fought off the urge to flash him an obscene gesture. “That was close.” She turned her attention to the radio. “Can you get us submerged?”
“Trying.” Dirk had started flooding the ballast tanks even before the collision but had to reactivate the pumps after the power failed. They had only a matter of seconds before the patrol boat would swing around for another pass.
“Still no power to the radio,” Summer said, resetting the breaker switches behind her seat. When that failed, she took a quick peek out the bubble. The ballast tanks had resumed filling, pulling the submersible almost beneath the waves.
“She’s already turned. Nearly upon us,” she said matter-of-factly.
She jumped back into her seat and cinched the lap belt tight.
“C’mon, get down.” Dirk pressed the yoke all the way forward. With half their thrusters disabled, it did little to speed their descent.
They could hear the patrol boat’s charging engines—and then the boat was upon them. The submersible had made it a few feet underwater, but the boat’s pilot had drawn a careful bead. Its sharp prow skimmed over the submersible, but its lower hull hit home.
The crunching impact produced an explosion of bubbles as the acrylic bubble cracked and the ballast tanks were ripped free. The submersible bounced under the hull, battered in a series of punishing blows, until finally getting swept aside.
The mangled shell wavered a moment before tumbling into a lazy death spiral that carried it all the way to the seafloor.
45
THE SUBMERSIBLE MOANED LIKE AN ANGRY GHOUL as it plunged through the pressured depths. It struck the seabed with its nose, kicking up a thick cloud of brown sediment. The bottom current soon dispersed the plume, revealing the submersible’s hulk.
Dirk felt like he had taken a ride in a washing machine. With its ballast tanks crushed, the submersible had flipped too many times to count as it sank. A monitor screen had torn loose during the tumble and struck Dirk in the head. He gently touched the top of his forehead and rubbed the length of a nifty gash. Other than the cut and some assorted bruises, he was unhurt—and thankful to be alive.
The submersible’s rear frame had taken the brunt of the collision with the patrol boat, mangling the thrusters, battery compartment, and oxygen tanks. Despite numerous hairline cracks, the cockpit’s acrylic bubble had somehow survived intact, sparing the occupants a quick drowning. A dozen tiny leaks were filling the cabin with icy water, but the craft had survived the plunge still filled with air.
“You okay?” Dirk asked across the dark interior. He reached for a penlight clipped to the console, but it had broken free.
“Yeah,” Summer said in a shaky voice, “I think so.”
Dirk released his harness and fell forward into a foot of cold water. The craft had landed on its face, creating an odd disorientation. Hissing erupted from several points around the submersible. Dirk couldn’t tell if it was water spraying in through tiny fissures or the remnants of one of the oxygen tanks. He climbed over the back of his seat and groped for a side storage panel where another light was kept.
Wading through a cold, black, steadily flooding submersible would have led most people to panic, but Dirk felt an odd calmness. Some of his composure came from having trained for just such an emergency. But there was also a personal component.
He had lost a woman he loved in a terrorist attack in Jerusalem the year before, and that had changed him. Since then, joy had become a harder attitude to embrace, and he had taken to viewing the world in a colder, more cynical manner. More than that, death had become a companion he no longer feared.
“We’ll have to wait for the cabin to flood before we can pop the hatch,” he said matter-of-factly. “The pony bottles should get us to the surface.”
He located the storage compartment and retrieved a small flashlight. He flicked on the beam and aimed it at his sister.
One look at Summer’s face told him something was seriously wrong. Her eyes bulged in a look of pain and fear, and her lips were set in a grimace. She released her harness and tried to stand but could only hunch over at an awkward angle.
Dirk aimed the beam toward her right leg, which was pinned against the seat. A small stain of blood marked her pant leg just above the ankle. “It’s no time to get attached to this place,” Dirk said.
Summer tried to move, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled at her leg, but it was no use. “My foot is pinned,” she said. “Tight.”