“We found the U-3531 on your island in the Philippines,” said Jonah, probing. “I’m assuming there’s a nuke in the mix as well.”
“A clever deduction, Jonah Blackwell. Our war of that era was already lost by the time we reconstituted the fruits of Germany’s nuclear program. But now I will use the weapon to win a far more important conflict.”
Jonah closed his eyes — he’d been so stupid. “You’re on a suicide mission,” he said with dawning realization. “You have the bomb on this ship. That’s the reason for the grandpa squad. They’ve chosen to die.”
“The Taedong runs through the heart of the Pyongyang,” confirmed Himura. “And the weapon has been placed deep within this very hull, inaccessible even to myself. Meisekimu will detonate it in the heart of the city, wiping out the North Korean leadership and erasing any evidence of our involvement in the process. Roused from its long sleep, the Japanese military will sweep in and annex the country. Their war will be hard-fought, but blameless, the ugly truth behind the conflict expunged forever. Himura will have disappeared without a trace, leaving only unanswered questions in his wake. And when the ash settles, my nation will be a conqueror once more, with access to land, coal, rare earth minerals—”
“And forced laborers,” interrupted Jonah. “You’ll be slavers, jail guards with your boot on the neck of an entire nation.”
“They’re already a nation of prisoners,” snapped Himura. “Prisoners to despotism, to hunger. If nothing else, their Japanese masters will feed them. I’m not a monster. Far fewer men and women will die in the heat of my bomb than would be claimed by their government-sanctioned winter starvation, to say nothing of the winters to come. This will save lives, Jonah — some part of you must know this.”
Jonah stood from the wheelchair and pushed it aside, the security personnel behind him shifting, hands over their weapons. “And children,” corrected Jonah. “The full phrase goes ‘men, women, and children’.”
Himura accepted the criticism in silence, his face impassive.
“You know what? I’m done being your confessor,” said Jonah. “Stick me in a closet with Freya or shoot me on the spot. I’m out of fucks to give, and I’m goddamn sick of listening to you rationalize your own twisted ambitions and demented death wish.”
Himura gestured to his aging security personnel. “I’m glad we had a chance to speak. I can’t discuss the mission with my men, not like I can with you. Like me, they believe so strongly that they have agreed to die. Like me, they’ll never live to see the new Japan they bring about. Like me, their sins are too many; the world we will create must live in our minds alone. But it is nice to be able to speak of these things. Thank you for listening to the last words of a true patriot, Jonah Blackwell.”
Jonah turned to watch the monitors, silent to their horror. Himura drew the volume up, closing his eyes as he took in the symphony of video transmissions, the sound of artillery bursting and automatic weapons fire, tanks rumbling across the landscape, jets streaking through the skies as their bombs fell on cities. An entire nation was tearing itself apart before his eyes.
Alexis strained as she clutched a rung of the Scorpion’s interior conning tower ladder with both hands, her shoulder and head buried in Dalmar’s dripping armpit. She groaned under the crushing bulk of his immobile body as she tried to lower him one inch at a time. Hassan had braced himself beneath the former pirate’s other arm as Sun-Hi struggled with a single heavy leg. Blood ran freely down Dalmar’s bare left foot, collecting in a puddle on the deck below.
“Easy — easy!” said Alexis, barely recognizing her own wheezing voice. “Christ this fucker is heavy!”
And then her steel-toed boot slipped. Alexis yelped as she fell the last few feet to the deck, rolling out of the way as Dalmar slammed into the ground beside her like a collapsing mountain, Sun-Hi still tangled up in his massive legs.
Hassan jumped down beside them; hands already holding a pair of scissors as he began to cut away at Dalmar’s clothes.
“Should we get him on top of the chart table?” asked Alexis, breathless.
“Perhaps if he were a man-sized man,” said Hassan without looking up. “Or if we had a deck crane of some variety.”
Vitaly stole a glance from his disorganized console as he lowered the submarine to periscope depth, deftly skimming the sliver of water between the river’s surface and rocky bed below. “On regular ship chart table is used for chart,” he called out. But Alexis could hear the anxiety in his voice — she’d never heard him so scared.
Dalmar’s head and eyes lolled as Hassan cut away the last of his bloody clothes, revealing a gunshot wound to his torso and two to his left leg. He felt underneath the massive man, probing the exit wounds with a gloved hand. “The bullets all went straight through,” he said, ripping open a packet of white clotting agent and shaking it over the wounds. The substance acted almost instantly, turning the flowing crimson into a grainy, muted red. Hassan smeared disinfectant over the tiny holes and began to bandage them tightly, staunching the last of the leaking blood.
“He will be okay?” asked Vitaly, his voice warbling as Hassan prepared a thick syringe of mustard-yellow liquid.
“We will find out in the next ten seconds,” said Hassan. “Alexis — Sun-Hi — hold him down.”
“Hold Dalmar Abdi down,” repeated Alexis with incredulity. “You have to be shitting me.”
“He is very big man,” confirmed Sun-Hi in a worried tone. Hassan took a deep breath as he sat on the former pirate’s chest. He steadied himself for a moment before leaning forward and burying the syringe into Dalmar’s right pectoral, thumb depressing the plunger. Alexis and Sun-Hi each grabbed onto one of the pirate’s massive arms, using all their weight to hold him down.
Dalmar’s body jolted once, twice as Alexis and Sun-Hi held on for dear life. For a moment Alexis thought she’d actually be able to keep his arm on the deck. And then Dalmar leapt up, sending her and Sun-Hi tumbling in either direction as he drew himself to his feet, rising like a phoenix from the scraps of his bloody, shredded clothing. Hassan yelped as the pirate grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him in the air with a single hand.
“Hassan the Butcher!” announced Dalmar, his eyes wide. “It is most excellent to see you.”
Alexis snuck a glance towards the periscope monitor. Himura’s yacht was barely visible in the distance, expanding the gap with each passing second. “It’s-nice-to-see-youtoo,” squeaked Hassan, still trapped in his grip.
“Why do we not pursue Himura?” demanded Dalmar, setting the doctor down without so much as glancing as his own half-naked, bandaged body.
“Jonah said no rescue attempts — we’re getting out of here.”
Dalmar cocked his head with a strange mixture of fury and pleasure. “In the words of my famous cousin—Look at me. I am the captain now. Can we catch them?”