Jonah knew he was needed back in command, but paused to address one last lingering doubt. “Doc,” he began with uncharacteristic hesitation. “Can we trust Vitaly?”
“Yes,” Dr. Nassiri answered with an emphatic nod. “Unequivocally.”
Jonah frowned. “I’m not ready to make that leap,” he said finally.
“We’d be dead without him.”
“He saved himself,” rebutted Jonah.
“No. It’s more than that. He believes he has a debt to all of us for his role in ambushing the Fool’s Errand. After you vanished, Bettencorp’s mercenaries followed a secret transmitter and caught up to us. We were able to disable the transmitter, but Vitaly fought courageously against his former comrades when he could just as easily have rendered our ship helpless.”
Jonah considered this. Maybe Vitaly didn’t have to convince him. Maybe convincing Dr. Nassiri was good enough. “I still need proof, but I’m willing to consider him your responsibility for the time being. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Jonah turned to leave when the doctor stopped him. “Jonah?”
“Yes?”
“You may call me Hassan.”
Jonah smiled and clasped the doctor’s arm. “Sure thing, Doc.”
Back in the command compartment, Jonah rejoined Vitaly and Alexis.
“Status?” asked Jonah.
“Crossing three hundred feet in depth,” said Vitaly. “Still driving hard to sea at eighteen knots.”
“The mercenaries are right on top of us,” said Alexis, pressing both headphones tight against her ears. “I hear propeller sounds from everywhere.”
“Not surprising,” said Jonah, listening to the churning of the propellers overhead though the thick steel hull of the submarine. “We’re running noisy.”
At this rate, the mercenaries could pursue them indefinitely. He feared they had a computer-assisted listening array capable of directionally tracking the Scorpion at any depth. Even crossing through a thermocline might not throw this pursuer.
Jonah hit the all-call button on the bulkhead and prepared to address the crew.
“We’re rigging for silent running,” he ordered. “Cancel the horseshoes and hammer throws. Please remain at your station — no unnecessary movement or sound.”
Vitaly nodded, and his fingers danced across the console. The cadence of the engines changed, the vibrations lessening as the Scorpion slowed, but only slightly. Throughout the length of the massive submarine, all went quiet. A silent predator, the submarine slipped through the waves. The thump-thump-thump of the mercenary ship’s propellers filled the compartment from above.
“On my mark,” said Jonah, “turn us hard to starboard and drop to four hundred and fifty feet.”
“Aye,” said Vitaly.
“Keep the rudder pegged over. We’ll corkscrew around two hundred and seventy degrees, exit the turn to the north. They should lose track of us as we change depth and course. Alexis, report?”
“I think I hear dolphins!” whispered Alexis, leaning over her console. “They’re singing!”
Jonah smiled. He wished he could hear them, too.
Vitaly ably worked his console, struggling to keep the Scorpion from heeling over as she corkscrewed through the tight turn. Reaching the end of her plotted path and depth, her surface planes and rudder snapped into place, guiding her out of the spin and onto a deep, northward course.
“Propeller noises fading,” said Alexis. “I still hear them above us, but the noises are disorganized now. I think they’re searching for us, trying to track our path.”
Jonah realized he’d been holding his breath. He allowed himself to exhale, releasing some of the pressure from his chest and stomach. They weren’t free yet, not by a long shot, but maybe this was the first—
PIIIIIIIIING. The sound rippled throughout the Scorpion as the submarine was assaulted with a massive sonar noise. Alexis ripped off her headphones, throwing them against the console, holding her ears with both hands to block out the noise. The mercenaries had deployed a massive, amplified underwater sound wave to discover the location of the submarine. PIIIIIIING, PIIIIING, PIIIIIIIING, rang the sound again and again, reverberating and echoing throughout the submarine and against the seafloor. With just as much warning as they’d started, the pings ceased.
“Pick up those headphones, Alexis,” ordered Jonah. He took no pleasure in the command, the pinging had hurt his ears through the hull alone, he couldn’t imagine what they would have sounded like through amplified hydrophones.
Without protesting, Alexis picked them up and slid them right back over her ears, wincing in slight pain as she did so.
“We’re still being pursued,” said Alexis. “Propeller noises are moving… if my readings are correct, I think they’re moving ahead of us.”
“Hold course,” said Jonah to Vitaly. “Hold it—”
“I hear…” began Alexis. “I hear splashes. Wait — make that three splashes.”
Dawning realization hit Jonah like a hammer. “Hard to port!” he yelled at Vitaly. “Belay silent running! Engines full! Make depth five hundred fifty feet!”
Swearing, Vitaly punched a series of commands into the navigation console, forcing the entire submarine to suddenly roll to the side as it completed a rattling, tight left-hand turn. Jonah’s hand punched the alarm button on the wall next to the intercom, then the all-call to the speakers strung in every compartment.
“Brace for incoming!” he shouted into the microphone.
Silence fell. For just a moment Jonah felt himself believing that perhaps, just perhaps, the splashing sound was nothing, his orders an overreaction. The Scorpion descended to the ordered depth, silently slipping through the darkness.
The detonation came suddenly and without warning, deafening Jonah and violently twisting the entire bow end of the Scorpion, throwing everyone in the command compartment to the deck as lights popped and electrical boxes arced. Like being caught between Thor’s hammer and anvil, concussive force ripped the breath out of Jonah’s lungs, leaving him gasping on the floor, ears ringing as the submarine moaned and shook off the force of the blast. Before he could drag himself to his feet, a second concussion hit the submarine amidships just above the conning tower, jerking the entire body of the submarine to the starboard as everything in the galley and engine rooms threw themselves out of their drawers and across the compartments, crashing across the deck and into the bulkheads.
Fatima screamed loud and shrill as the third violent concussion hit the engine room, knocking the steady whump-whump-whump of the propeller shaft into a squealing mechanical nightmare of sound. Sparks showered down around them as the lights died a second time.
“Holy fuck!” Jonah gasped, as he tried to regain his ragged breath and unsteady footing. He could barely hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. Hydraulic oil streamed out of the snaking command and control valves, collecting on the deck and turning it into a slippery mess.
Vitaly pounded his fists against his computer console, then leapt up to the bulkhead. Hydraulic fluid flowed over his face and hands as he manually attempted to override the malfunctioning steering mechanisms. “Planes and rudders not responding!” he shouted, spitting out fluid. “Attempting to compensate!”
Alexis had taken cover underneath the communications console, still clutching the hydrophones in her hand. The concussion had knocked the entire system offline — either that or she’d been deafened by the blast.
“What was that?” Hassan yelled.
“Depth charges,” Jonah yelled back. “Barrels of explosives dropped off the side of a ship to detonate when they reach a set depth. Crude, but they’ll do us in if we don’t lose our pursuers.”