THE STORM
DIRK PITT® ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER
CRESCENT DAWN (with Dirk Cussler)
ARCTIC DRIFT (with Dirk Cussler)
TREASURE OF KHAN (with Dirk Cussler)
BLACK WIND (with Dirk Cussler)
TROJAN ODYSSEY
VALHALLA RISING
ATLANTIS FOUND
FLOOD TIDE
SHOCK WAVE
INCA GOLD
SAHARA
DRAGON
TREASURE
CYCLOPS
DEEP SIX
PACIFIC VORTEX!
NIGHT PROBE!
VIXEN 03
SHOCK WAVE
RAISE THE TITANIC!
ICEBERG
THE MEDITERRANEAN CAPER
FARGO ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER
With Grant Blackwood
THE KINGDOM
LOST EMPIRE
SPARTAN GOLD
ISAAC BELL NOVELS BY CLIVE CUSSLER
THE THIEF (with Justin Scott)
THE RACE (with Justin Scott)
THE SPY (with Justin Scott)
THE WRECKER (with Justin Scott)
THE CHASE
KURT AUSTIN ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER
With Graham Brown
DEVIL’S GATE
With Paul Kemprecos
MEDUSA
WHITE DEATH
THE NAVIGATOR
FIRE ICE
POLAR SHIFT
BLUE GOLD
LOST CITY
SERPENT
OREGON FILES ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER
With Jack Du Brul
THE JUNGLE
THE SILENT SEA
CORSAIR
PLAGUE SHIP
SKELETON COAST
DARK WATCH
With Craig Dirgo
GOLDEN BUDDHA
SACRED STONE
NONFICTION BY CLIVE CUSSLER AND CRAIG DIRGO
THE SEA HUNTERS
THE SEA HUNTERS II
CLIVE CUSSLER AND DIRK PITT REVEALED
BUILT FOR ADVENTURE: THE CLASSIC AUTOMOBILES OF CLIVE CUSSLER AND DIRK PITT®
THE STORM
A NOVEL FROM
THE NUMA® FILES
CLIVE CUSSLER
AND GRAHAM BROWN
PROLOGUE
INDIAN OCEAN
SEPTEMBER 1943
THE S.S. JOHN BURY SHUDDERED FROM BOW TO STERN AS it plowed through the rolling waters of the Indian Ocean. She was known as a “fast freighter,” designed to accompany warships and used to traveling at a decent clip, but with all boilers going full out the John Bury was moving at a pace she hadn’t seen since her sea trials. Damaged, burning, and trailing smoke, the John Bury was running for her life.
The ship crested a ten-foot wave, the deck pitched down and the bow dug into another swell. A wide swath of spray kicked up over the rail and whipped back across the deck, rattling what was left of the shattered bridge.
Topside, the John Bury was a mangled wreck. Smoke poured from twisted metal where rockets had pounded the superstructure. Debris littered the deck, and dead crewmen lay everywhere. But the damage was above the waterline, and the fleeing ship would survive if it avoided any more hits.
On the dark horizon behind, smoke poured from other vessels that had been less fortunate. An orange fireball erupted from one, flashing across the water and briefly illuminating the carnage.
The burning hulks of four ships could be seen, three destroyers and a cruiser, ships that had been the John Bury’s escort. A Japanese submarine and a squadron of dive-bombers had found them simultaneously. As dusk approached, oil burned around the sinking vessels in a mile-long slick. It fouled the sky with dense black smoke. None of them would see the dawn.
The warships had been targeted and destroyed quickly, but the John Bury had only been strafed, hit with rockets and left to run free. There could be only one reason for that mercy; the Japanese knew of the top secret cargo she carried and they wanted it for themselves.
Captain Alan Pickett was determined not to let that happen, even with half his crew dead and his face gashed by shrapnel. He grabbed the voice tube and shouted down to the engine room.
“More speed!” he demanded.
There was no response. At last report a fire had been raging belowdecks. Pickett had ordered his men to stay and fight it, but now the silence left him gripped with fear.
“Zekes off the port bow!” a lookout called from the bridge wing. “Two thousand feet and dropping.”
Pickett glanced through the shattered glass in front of him. In the failing light he saw four black dots wheeling in the gray sky and dropping toward the ship. Flashes lit from their wings.
“Get down!” he shouted.
Too late. Fifty caliber shells stitched a line across the ship, cutting the lookout in half and blasting apart what was left of the bridge. Shards of wood, glass and steel flew about the compartment.
Pickett hit the deck. A wave of heat flashed over the bridge as another rocket hit ahead of it. The impact rocked the ship, peeling back the metal ceiling like a giant can opener.
As the wave of destruction passed, Pickett looked up. The last of his officers lay dead, the bridge was demolished. Even the ship’s wheel was gone, with only a stub of metal still attached to the spindle. Yet somehow the vessel chugged on.
As Pickett climbed back up, he spotted something that gave him hope: dark clouds and sweeping bands of rain. A squall line was moving in fast off the starboard bow. If he could get his ship into it, the coming darkness would hide him.
Holding on to the bulkhead for support, he reached for what remained of the wheel. He pushed with all the strength he had left. It moved half a turn, and he fell to the ground holding it.
The ship began to change course.
Pressing against the deck, he pushed the wheel upward and then brought it back down again for another full revolution.
The freighter was leaning into the turn now, drawing a curved white wake on the ocean’s surface, coming around toward the squall.
The clouds ahead were thick. The rain falling from them was sweeping the surface like a giant broom. For the first time since the attack began, Pickett felt they had a chance, but as the ship plowed toward the squall the awful sound of the dive-bombers turning and plunging toward him again put that in doubt.
He searched through the ship’s gaping wounds for the source of that noise.
Dropping from the sky directly in front of him were two Aichi D3A dive-bombers, Vals, the same type the Japanese had used with deadly effect at Pearl Harbor and months later against the British fleet near Ceylon.
Pickett watched them nose over and listened as the whistling sound of their wings grew louder. He cursed at them and pulled his sidearm.
“Get away from my ship!” he shouted, blasting at them with the Colt .45.
They pulled up at the last minute and roared past, riddling the ship with another spread of .50 caliber shells. Pickett fell back onto the deck, a shell clean through his leg, shattering it. His eyes opened, gazing upward. He was unable to move.