Jonah flicked on his radio, shouting instructions to his crew, unsure if they’d even hear him over the cacophony of the sinking command deck around him. He realized too late that he should have used the time to hold his breath instead.
And then they were under, seawater exploded in through the broken flight tower windows as if a dam had burst. The trio took cover as the heaving compartment flooded, the white waters swirling with bodies and debris. Jonah grabbed at Alexis, holding her fast by the arm against the roaring flood as he clutched to the edge of the navigations console with one hand. The sucking current threatened to pull them deeper into the wreck. His muscles strained to hold on for just a few moments long, and he forced air into his ears as the pressure around them built, the influx of water slowly equalizing. But the carrier was sinking faster now, building up speed as the last of the tower slipped beneath the surface. Jonah boosted Alexis towards the shattered observation windows with both hands. She swam through, kicking herself free of the sinking carrier. She yanked downward on her life vest straps, the pressurized-air canisters erupting with a hiss as they filled the inflatable bladders, rocketing her toward the surface.
The rushing waters had pinned Vitaly against the terminals, violently yanking the tablet computer from his grasp. Jonah grabbed the young Russian by the collar, pulled him against the current, and dragged him out the observation windows. The ocean’s surface was distant now, fifty feet or more above, the winter sun barely piercing the oil-slicked waves above. Both men pulled the releases for their air canisters and their life vests roared as they filled with buoyant air.
Jonah and Vitaly broke the surface beside the Scorpion. Alexis had already started to pull herself aboard, while Marissa hurled a life preserver to the shivering men. Not all was lost, however. Dozens of other survivors had escaped from the shelter of the lowest decks in the last moments, the uniformed men clinging to each other within an ever-growing sea of floating rafts and debris. Hearing a distant thumping, Jonah turned to the sky to see a helicopter circling high above.
“Looks like the first rescue chopper made it!” shouted Jonah through chattering teeth.
Marissa just shot him a scared look in return. “Hurry up — we have to get out of here now.”
“Why?” said Jonah as he slumped onto the deck. Vitaly fell beside him. “Let’s try to hail the copter. Coordinate a plan to help the survivors.”
“They won’t respond,” insisted Marissa. She pointed skyward. “They’re filming us for a live television news feed in Japan. They just broadcast the carrier going down — and they’re blaming it on the Scorpion.”
CHAPTER 13
The submarine drifted awash in the cold waves, her conning tower, periscope, and antenna masts camouflaged among burning diesel fuel and floating wreckage. Jonah and his crew huddled in the command compartment. Alexis and Vitaly shivered as they toweled and stripped down from their wet, stained coveralls and equipment. Ocean swells lurched the Scorpion intermittently with sickening motion, tossing the crew back and forth within the cramped, windowless compartment. Still, their eyes were glued to the satellite television feed on the bulkhead-mounted monitors.
A map of the East China Sea flashed onto the screen along with intermittent images of the burning amphibious ship vanishing beneath the waves. The Scorpion surfaced amidst the videotaped chaos, her purposeful, angular bow callously pushing through clusters of shredded rafts and oil-slicked bodies. Jonah didn’t speak a word of Japanese, but the implication was clear — their trial by media had already rendered a verdict.
Someone had worked very, very hard to plant the story. The submarine Scorpion and her mercenary crew had been on a secret rendezvous within a North Korean military installation, returning to the open sea to attack a Japanese fleet in cold blood. He had to admit it was a pretty great story. His mind raced. How long had they been a patsy? All he knew was that their unknown enemy had tipped their hand with the news story. Such detailed information about an unfolding disaster never travelled this fast, not even in the information age. Someone had set it all up well in advance.
“Well this is goddamn fantastic,” said Alexis, first to break the silence. The television screen was displaying images of the Scorpion’s crew now, beginning with security footage of Jonah and Hassan. Both men were bound with hands tied behind them like criminals. Jonah on his knees as blood dripped from his mouth. The doctor’s barely conscious body pushed upright against the corner of the penthouse elevator.
Jonah couldn’t help but wince at his own image. So the rumors were true: a salvage team had reached the sunken remains of Anconia Island, even managed to rescue a few key hard drives from the deep.
Next was a composite of Dalmar Abdi’s face. The computer-rendered image of the grinning Somali almost resembling fan art. Dalmar grunted and tapped his foot, preemptively skipping his usual dread-pirate, famous-terrorist routine.
Alexis was shown in more security footage, only her grainy image was paired with her decidedly dated senior picture. The result was all Patty Hearst — a young, All-American girl turned to the dark side. The images only lasted seconds before cutting to an announcer droning on in rapid-fire Japanese.
“They say Alexis brainwashed,” piped in Sun-Hi. “Maybe hostage?”
Alexis snorted. “Of course they say that. Because there’s no way I made up my own goddamn mind.”
“We know you make own terrible decisions,” interjected Vitaly, giving her a reassuringly condescending pat on the head. Alexis gently slapped his hand away and shot him a half-annoyed smirk.
“You speak Japanese?” said Jonah to Sun-Hi, running a small towel through the last seawater in his dry hair. He’d need to get a shower soon — the dried salt and oil on his skin had already begun to itch.
“A little,” said Sun-Hi. “In school. For when Democratic Republic People’s Army conquer Tokyo!”
Marissa’s photo suddenly flashed onto the screen, a classic, full-on mug shot complete with height lines and tilted arrest placard.
“Whoops! Looks like they weren’t quite done,” chuckled Jonah.
“Oh hell,” mumbled Marissa. “My dad’s going to straight-up murder me when he sees this on TV.”
Jonah cocked his head as he squinted at the mug shot. “I don’t think I remember this one,” he said. “And I thought I’d seen ’em all.”
“It’s… recent-ish,” said Marissa. “From not long after you disappeared. You could say I backslid a little.”
“Yeah? Before or after you met Mr. Accountant?”
“He’s not an — oh, forget it.” Marissa squeezed the bridge her nose, the first sign of an early-onset tension headache. “I went out on the town with Stevie and his crew once they hit landside after the Hurricane Irene oilfield cleanup.”
“Voodoo Stevie or Zipperface Stevie?”
“This cannot be a real story,” said Alexis. Hassan nodded his baffled agreement.
“Zipperface. We ended up at Dollie’s and he tried to follow one of the dancers into the bathroom — her idea, by the way. Turns out her so-called boyfriend was one of the bouncers. Things got a little out of hand from there and I had to throw down for my boys. We would have made it out home free if we hadn’t run behind the bar to grab more drinks first. Gave the cops time to set up a perimeter.”
“Incoming fleet on radar,” said Vitaly, tapping on the flickering green display. “We will hear them on hydrophone soon.”
Alexis nodded towards the satellite television feed. “The news story is just repeating at this point. We should dive now and get the hell out of here.”