Out of balance, the Scorpion wobbled forward, misaligned diving planes in the conning tower threatening to pull her on her side. The struggling engines squealed, metal against metal, trying to maintain momentum. Acrid smoke wafted into the command compartment from some unseen source, collecting against the low ceiling.
Jonah ripped oxygen masks out of a bulkhead compartment and slipped one over his own face. The effect was immediate claustrophobia and Jonah forced himself to be calm and breathe normally as he tossed a second mask to Alexis. She let it hit the floor then yanked it underneath her console. Vitaly allowed his to hit him in the back of the head. Swearing in Russian, he picked it up and put it on.
Smoke drifted from the engine compartment, accompanied by a brutal, metallic grinding sound. All Jonah had to do was point and Alexis jumped out from underneath the communications console and sprinted down the corridor. With his mask in place, Jonah grabbed three more and ran them into the bunk compartment.
Fatima had curled up in the same bunk as Dalmar, wrapping herself around his sleeping form, whether to protect him or comfort herself, Jonah had no idea. Hassan stood against one bulkhead, halfway crouching, his hands over his head as if the ceiling could collapse at any moment.
“Doc, I need you,” said Jonah, pressing the oxygen masks into his hands. “Get these on your mother and Dalmar, and get in the command compartment now. Fatima, go to the engine room, I need someone in there if Alexis needs help.”
The doctor nodded and instantly responded. So he wasn’t locked up or frozen with fear — he just needed to be told what to do. Fatima unwound herself from the pirate, put her mask on and followed.
As Jonah sprinted back to the command compartment, he realized he didn’t need a pair of hydrophones to detect a new set of splashes from the surface above. The sound penetrated the depths and the thick steel skin of the submarine. Behind him, Hassan looked up. The doctor had heard it, too.
“We’re no longer rigged for silent running,” said Vitaly as he struggled with the manual systems. “Diving planes are knocked out of alignment. Can only be fixed from outside.”
“Can we send a diver?” Hassan asked.
“The shock wave from a depth charge would liquefy a diver.”
“Belay that,” said Vitaly, squeezing a valve. “I think I’ve got—”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Four depth charges went off in quick succession, every detonation in close proximity to the Scorpion. Half the bulbs in the command compartment exploded in a cascade of sparks and broken glass, spilling across the deck. Pipes burst, spraying greywater and oil into the compartment as the emergency lighting flickered. Wooden and particle-board cabinets in the galley exploded, showering the interior with splinters. Between the tight quarters, the smell, and perfect chaos, Jonah felt as if he were riding out a tornado in an outhouse.
“We can’t take much more of this!” Vitaly screamed through the smoke and darkness, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
Alexis ran out of the engine room wearing a full oxygen hood and welder’s gloves, a strange combination with her tank top and cutoff shorts. A massive cloud of ugly black smoke followed her. Without speaking a word, she yanked a fire extinguisher off the wall of the command compartment and rushed back into the engine room with equal speed.
Hassan stepped towards Alexis, instinctively trying to follow her. Jonah caught him by the shoulder.
“Doc, I need you here,” whispered Jonah.
“But my mother is in there!” protested the doctor.
Suddenly, despite the chaos, the noise, the flickering lights and raging fire in the engine compartment, Jonah stopped and stared. On one small console screen, a small blip indicated the position of the submarine on a map. A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. Could it be…?
“Surface the ship,” ordered Jonah.
“Are we surrendering?” asked Vitaly.
“Hell no,” said Jonah. “I have to make a phone call. Doc is in charge until I come back.”
“Phone call, da, da, of course he wants to make phone call now,” grumbled Vitaly as he adjusted the manual controls. The Scorpion lurched, careening towards the surface. Jonah yanked open the drawer underneath the communications console, finding a thick, black satellite telephone.
“Vitaly — tell Alexis to put all power to the engines when we surface,” ordered Jonah. “I know we can’t outrun our pursuers, but we can at least keep the distance as best we can.”
Vitaly relayed the instructions as he and Jonah watched as the depth meter climbed from 300 feet below to 250. More depth charges detonated, rumbling through the bones of the submarine, but far away from Scorpion and too deep to have any effect.
Jonah tossed the hydrophones at Hassan and clambered up the interior boarding ladder, right up against the hatch. He wanted to be ready when Scorpion reached the surface. Dialing the phone number, his fingers floated over the send button, ready to press.
The Scorpion broke free of the waves at the crest of a massive swell. The submarine leapt from the surface of the ocean and crashed down with enough force to nearly knock Jonah off the ladder. He twisted the massive circular lock to the main hatch, swinging it open to the stern of the ship as collected seawater rained down the interior conning tower. His one dared glance around the side of the hatch confirmed his fears — the mothership bore down at flank speed, already launching her inflatable boats.
Jonah pressed send. The phone buzzed to life. Within seconds, the signal bounced off three separate orbiting satellites and a thousand miles of fiber-optic cable to a hard line on the far side of the world. He yanked down his oxygen mask, letting it dangle around his neck.
“Hello?” came a sleepy voice from the incredible distance. Despite the grainy connection, Jonah was relatively certain he could hear the soft patter of a Seattle drizzle.
“Hey beautiful,” he said, trying to adopt his best calming voice. She was going to be pissed receiving this phone call. What time was it in Seattle, anyway?
“What the hell?” demanded the voice from the other end. “Is this Jonah?!”
“Marissa,” said Jonah. “I am so happy to hear your voice.”
“Jonah fucking Blackwell?” shouted Marissa, anger overriding the sleepy tones of her voice. “I thought you were dead! You say you’re going to Spain for a week and then you fucking vanish!”
“Who is that?” demanded a male voice from the other end of the line.
“It’s my ex,” said Marissa, just as much to Jonah as the man sleeping in bed next to her. “For Christ’s sake, Jonah! You let me think you were on the bottom of the ocean or buried in a shallow grave somewhere. What the hell happened to you?!”
Half-listening, Jonah watched as the mercenary mothership disgorged two small boats into the water. Behind him, the broken-off snorkel in the rear of the conning tower belched out black smoke as the engines drove beyond full capacity. At least Alexis seemed to have knocked the misaligned propeller shaft back into place.
“Marissa, I’m really, truly sorry,” said Jonah. “And I can explain, but that’s not why I—”
“Fine!” yelled Marissa. “What do you want? It’s two in the goddamn morning! Are you in jail? A car accident? And how many people did you call before you called me?”
Jonah stomped at the diving plane, trying to drive it back into alignment. “Marissa,” said Jonah, taking a break from stomping to get some air. “This is literally the first phone call I’ve made in years.”