“Vitaly, stop staring!” Jonah ordered. “Reinforcements could show up at any moment — so move your ass and get us out of here!”
Vitaly turned back to his control panels, and Jonah put his hand on the doctor’s back. “What’s the prognosis?”
“I don’t know yet,” Dr. Nassiri motioned to his mother to grab the man’s legs. “I’m going to get him into a bunk. He needs a transfusion.”
“Do me a favor, Doc,” Jonah said. “Save his fucking life.”
“Getting contact,” shouted Vitaly, glancing up from his station. Jonah nodded in acknowledgement, climbed back onto the conning tower, and turned seaward. In the distance, Bettencorp’s mercenary mothership, the battleship-grey transport, bore down on them, rapidly closing the gap between the two vessels. Soon mercenaries would be within range to pick off anyone stupid enough to stick their head out of the main hatch. Charles Bettencourt had no intention of letting his submarine slip away again.
CHAPTER 18
Jonah ducked into the interior of the conning tower and closed the hatch behind him, sealing himself and all aboard into the Scorpion.
“Make our course due east,” Jonah barked to Vitaly and anyone else within earshot. “Hard out to sea, full power. We’re being pursued.”
“Set for silent running, Captain?”
Captain, thought Jonah. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“No,” ordered Jonah. “Not yet. We have to get into deeper water first. As soon as the bottom allows, bring us to 300 feet. But if you find a thermocline, hide in it. Bettencourt says the mothership has upgraded antisubmarine warfare capabilities.”
Vitaly nodded, Jonah didn’t need to explain his plan. A thermocline — an invisible oceanic border between waters of different temperature and salinities — would be an ideal place to shelter, capable of masking or reflecting their sonar signature and auditory trail.
“Alexis!” Jonah shouted towards the engine compartment. Alexis popped her head out of the hatchway, one ear of her protective headphones pulled back to hear him.
“Diesels are five by five,” she said, anticipating his request. “But batteries got bled pretty good chasing you down.”
“Charge?”
“Still two-thirds.”
“Excellent.”
Alexis glanced up at the interior boarding ladder to the main hatch in the top of the conning tower. She didn’t need to say anything for Jonah to know exactly what she was thinking. He knew she was looking at the hatch, trying to imagine the massive volume of water between herself and the surface. He always imagined the same thing.
“Alexis, I need you out of the engine room for a moment,” said Jonah, handing her a chunky plastic headset. “Put on these hydrophones and get a feel for the noises of this submarine, the Scorpion. If you hear any noises that aren’t us, you need to report them to me.”
“How will I tell?”
“You’ll be able to tell,” assured Jonah.
Now well beneath the surface, the Scorpion sped forward, unencumbered by the waves and wind of the surface. Once deep, everything changed, her wobbly, top-heavy form shifted into beautiful, efficient forward movement, every line guiding her through the dark waters.
After he was satisfied they were on their way to safety, Jonah stepped away from the command compartment and walked forward into the sleeping compartment, the bunks just forward of command. The sniper lay in a lower rack as Dr. Nassiri carefully wrapped a clean, white bandage around his neck. Fatima sat in the next bunk, her eyes closed, her face a little pale. A single long, red plastic tube joined the radial vein of her inner elbow to the same in the patient’s arm as the scientist gave a battlefield blood transfusion.
“Status?” Jonah asked.
“The damage to your rescuer’s neck was severe but localized,” Dr. Nassiri.
“To set the record straight, I rescued him,” said Jonah, knowing full well he wouldn’t have been in any position to rescue anybody if the sniper hadn’t saved his own ass first.
“Indeed. He looks like the kind of man who would dispute you on that point. In any case, I’ve disinfected and sewn up the wound. He’s going to be fine. I’ve given him a light sedative and a dose of painkillers. My mother is giving him a transfusion to stabilize his blood pressure. You have no idea who he is?”
“Based on what Bettencourt said, I’ve got a notion his name is Dalmar Abdi.”
Fatima sat up with a start. “Wait a minute. Did you say Dalmar Abdi?”
“That name mean something to you?” asked Jonah.
“Dalmar Abdi,” Fatima leaned forward and continued in a whisper, “is the pirate other pirates fear. And you brought him back with us? I’m giving him a blood transfusion to keep him alive?”
“Not to worry, Mother,” interjected Dr. Nassiri. “He’s not going to be able to harm anyone, not in this state. Besides, he’s alone. How much damage could he possibly cause?”
“Let’s see if it’s even him,” Jonah said. He leaned down and touched the man’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake. “Dalmar, hey. How’re we doing?”
The sniper’s eyes flew open. “Glorious!” he said, trying to sit up, twisting around to see Fatima. “I have the blood of a beautiful woman running through my veins!” The medicated look returned, and Dalmar’s features softened and then went slack as he sank back into unconsciousness.
“This man is dangerous,” Fatima hissed, standing and moving as far away from Dalmar as her blood-filled tether would allow.
“He’s the enemy of our enemy,” said Jonah. “Whether that makes him a friend or not, I don’t know. But what I do know is this — we both would have been dinner for the vultures if we hadn’t crossed paths. I would have been shot if he hadn’t attacked the Bettencorps encampment, and he would’ve bled out in the sand if I hadn’t dragged him back to the Scorpion for your son’s expert care.”
“I don’t understand.” Fatima’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What does Bettencorps have to do with this?”
Shit, thought Jonah. She doesn’t know. He took a deep breath to continue. “I’m pretty sure the pirates that held you and Klea were working for Bettencorps the whole time. It was likely a Bettencorps missile that shot your plane out of the sky.”
Fatima and her son exchanged glances. “We had already guessed it was his forces that shot down my plane.”
“Klea and I were rescued yesterday by a fisherman, but someone in his village — I don’t think it was him — sold us out. Bettencorp’s head of security paid the fisherman a visit, and I was captured. Klea escaped, and with a little luck, is on her way to a US consulate as we speak.”
Fatima wavered on her feet, forcing Hassan to wrap a supportive arm around her waist.
“But why? If Charles Bettencourt wanted us dead, why would the pirates who worked for him keep us alive?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Jonah. “Maybe because you and Klea are Muslim. Maybe because they wanted dirt on Bettencorps in case the alliance ever went down in flames. Maybe they didn’t even have a reason at all and would’ve gotten around to killing you eventually. But what we do know is that they were not in the business of ransoming you or Klea. As far as the world is concerned you’re both dead. And by Bettencort’s own admission, this man, Dalmar Abdi, is a big thorn in his side. That puts him on our side, at least for now.”
Fatima sat back down on the bunk, her eyes frozen with a far-away stare as she processed the new information. Hassan leaned over to disconnect the blood transfusion. Dalmar would have to do with what he’d received, Fatima had given enough already.