Steve Alten - Vostok

True pushed Ben again, causing the heel of the sub pilot’s right rubber boot to skid out over the rectangular hole in the ice.

“Hey, uh… Doc. Wanna call Thor off of me?”

“His name is True and he doesn’t appreciate American sarcasm. For the record, neither do I.”

Balancing on one leg, Hintzmann was no longer smiling. “I’m warning you, Doc. Call Haggis Harry here off before someone gets hurt.”

True looked back at me and winked.

Oh, geez .

“True, don’t.”

But True did. He shoved Ben in the chest with both hands — only Ben was too quick. He grabbed the big fella’s wrist and elbow as he dropped to one knee and took out his knees in a ju-jitsu move that sent my friend sprawling headfirst into the sea with a tremendous splash.

The Chinese laughed.

I ran to the edge of the hole as True surfaced, his face pale, his eyes wide in shock as he gasped for breath, his mitten-covered hands unable to grip the edge of the ice to pull himself out.

“Zach… help… me!”

“Give me your hand!”

Ben held me back. “There’s no leverage, he’ll pull you in.” He signaled to the Chinese, who were already attaching a nylon rope to the back of the jeep.

I grabbed the free end and made a quick noose.

Barely able to keep his head above water, True managed to reach one dripping-sleeved arm up to me. I slipped the noose around his wrist and pulled tight.

Seconds later the jeep’s driver moved slowly ahead. The slack tightened and hoisted True up and out of the hole like a sedated walrus.

I stepped over the shivering Scot and untied the line. “Hang in there, buddy, we’ll have you warm in no time.” I helped him up as the Chinese wrapped him with blankets and guided him into the front passenger seat. The driver hit the gas and headed back to Davis Station.

I confronted Ben. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Learn this now; I’m a survivor. Your friend will be fine, but if he comes after me again with that crazed look in his eye I’ll put him in the hospital for the duration of this mission and it’ll be on your head. Now you wanna take this little girl out for a test drive or not?”

I glanced back at the submersible. The Chinese handlers were opening the sleek machine’s interior pod. “The front seat is mine?”

“Best seat in the house. The first two cockpits have dual controls. The middle console has the master override. It’s easier if you remove your boots before you climb in. Once we crank up the heat, we’ll stow our jackets in back.”

Following his advice, I climbed into the forward cockpit, noticing my bow compartment and grey leather bucket seat were sunk a foot below Ben’s, sort of like the cockpit of an Apache helicopter. Sacrificing warmth for comfort, I removed my jacket and buckled the safety harness so that the dual straps crossed my chest in an X configuration.

“Get in already; I’m freezing my ass off.”

Ben climbed in and hit a control switch to close the hatch. When it sealed, he buckled in and then pointed to a power switch on my forward dash. “Care to do the honors?”

I removed my mittens and pushed a gloved index finger to the control.

The pump-jet propulsor engine growled to life beneath us. The vents blasted us with cold air, forcing me to use my jacket as a blanket.

“Give it a few minutes. It’ll warm up.” Ben pointed to a joystick attached to my right armrest. “The joystick controls direction, pitch, and yaw. Flip the toggle switch up and the system activates. I have to power mine off to activate yours. There are two foot pedals on the floor. Each controls one of the props.”

He pointed to the center of my dashboard at a sonar array. “Headphones are on that hook by your right knee. Ever use sonar before?”

“Assume I know nothing.”

“Okay, I’ll teach you once we’re moving. Ready to go?”

“That’s it? Isn’t there some kind of checklist you need to go over?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Should I buckle these straps dangling by my legs?”

“Seems like a good idea.” I heard him buckle his.

“What about the rest of these controls? I’d like to know how to use them, just in case something happens to you.”

Ben smirked. “What’s going to happen to me down there that isn’t going to happen to you?”

“I don’t know. You could have a stroke. The point is I want to be prepared.”

“That’s the problem with you eggheads; you always have to read the instruction manual before you test drive the car. Me? I prefer to hit the highway and learn on the job.”

Rapping his knuckles on the glass above his head, Ben gave one of the techs a thumbs-up.

I held on as the four men pushed us toward the freshly carved rectangular hole in the ice. “This is how you’re going to launch us? By pushing us in like… like my father taught me how to swim?”

“Yours did that, too?”

“Oh, geez!” I gripped the seat as we plunged bow-first into the dark blue world, our weight distribution continuing our forward roll into a full somersault as we fell like a sinking dagger.

With a sickening crunch , the Lexan dome struck bottom. Naturally buoyant, the sub bounced upward, only to be spun and inhaled by a powerful current that grabbed our inverted vessel and propelled us along the bottom.

I saw ice and then I saw stars as the Barracuda plowed bow-first and upside-down into the narrow space between the molar-shaped underside of an iceberg and the silt-covered sea floor.

“Well done,” I said, the blood rushing to my face. “I hope this death trap has a reverse gear.”

“Sit tight, I got this.” Ben tapped the thrusters, attempting to torque us free, only to jam the inverted starboard fin in deeper.

“You’re a maniac. No wonder the Air Force gave you the boot.”

“Hey, you don’t know shit about it, so shut up. And this little setback, it’s all part of the learning process. Get the kinks out. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Maybe we can get a tow from a passing flock of penguins?”

“Stop talking and let me think.”

“See, that’s the trouble with you action-types, there’s always time to think after you get your big balls caught in a vice.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Butts are for crapping. Answer my question. Does this acrylic coffin have a reverse gear or not?”

“I was going to say you first have to manually reverse the drive shaft.”

“Which I’m guessing you don’t know how to do.”

“It was on the top of my to-do list. There’s a manual in the compartment by your right knee. Make yourself useful.”

I fished the thick booklet out, my head throbbing. “Oh good, it’s in Chinese. What’s Mandarin for dickhead?”

“Screw the reverse gear. I’m powering up the Valkyries.”

My pulse raced. “Have you ever done this before?”

“I haven’t done any of this before. Should I give it the old Ivy League try, or would you prefer to just sit here until our air runs out?”

“Okay, okay. But listen first. Don’t try to blast out the Holland tunnel. Just melt enough ice so that we have room to spin around in a tight circle and get out the way we came in.”

“Got it.”

“No, you don’t got it ! Evaporate too much ice in these conditions and it will create a vacuum effect which could suck us in deeper beneath the iceberg.”

He paused as my words sank in. “Tap it and turn. Got it.”

“Not yet, you don’t. This has to be done simultaneously. One of us works the laser; the other jams one foot pedal down to the floor while turning the joystick hard to the same side. But only just enough to turn us 180 degrees, or we’ll spin right back where we started, only deeper.”