Armen Gharabegian - Protocol 7

Simon glared at the panel that would do the work. “So?” he said. “Turn it on.”

Hayden looked up at him from the console and said, “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said grimly.

“You’re positive?”

“Hayden, for god’s sake, just do it.”

Hayden smirked. “I activated the damn thing two minutes ago. We’re fine.”

For one instant everyone froze. Then Andrew burst into laughter, and everyone else joined in.

Everyone but Simon. There was nothing to laugh about-not yet. And one ugly task still lay ahead.

He forced a thin smile and said, “Max? We’d better get this done.” Then he turned away and drew Max to a far corner of the bridge while Hayden and Andrew double-checked the power curves.

“You’re sure there’s no other way to do this?” Simon asked his old friend.

“I’ve been over it and over it,” Max said. “And no-there’s not. Look, Donovan seems like a good man; I’m as sorry as you are. But even if the weather were better-and it’s not going to get better, Nastasia says, not for at least a week-we can’t have the Munro operating that winch and powering up those systems in broad daylight, or even in the dead of night.” He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“It’ll work out okay, Simon,” he said. “Everyone will be fine.”

Simon nodded. What was to come was certainly the worst part of their mission so far.

He turned and told the others to finish the prep checklist and to double-check the full operational capabilities of the forward and aft cutting tools. Andrew and Hayden both nodded obligingly. “We’re going to talk with Donovan for a moment,” Simon told them. “Then…we’re off.”

They came back to the floor of the hold and began to cross to the hatch at brisk pace. Simon had rehearsed the speech in his head a hundred times, but now the words were coming to him at a snail’s pace. Everything sounded slow and contrived. How could I have let it come to this? he asked himself.

He brought his hand up to the keypad that would open the door to the corridor-

— and the door slid open all by itself, revealing Dominic Donovan and his nameless lead engineer standing in the hatchway, looking inside, staring at the fully revealed Spector VI as if they were looking at the angel of death.

Shit, Simon told himself silently. Shit! He and Max crowded out of the hold, physically pushing the captain and his lead engineer up the corridor, and keying shut the hold behind them.

“Captain,” Simon said quickly. “You are not seeing this!”

“What the hell is that thing?” Donovan asked, clearly shocked at the site of the massive submersible. He knew he was transporting some type of military machine, but what he was staring at was beyond his wildest imagination.

“I’m telling you: you didn’t see it. It can only cause you a great deal of trouble for the rest of your life.”

Donovan stared at him for a long moment…then nodded slowly. The lead engineer behind him seemed absolutely frozen.

“Look,” Simon said, hating himself, “I’ve come to give you some bad news.”

“Bad…news…” Donovan echoed, losing track of the conversation entirely.

“There’s no easy way to say this. We need to get…the cargo…out of this vessel now.”

“Impossible,” Donovan said, regaining at least some of his composure. “I’ve got a Category 4 storm outside, we can’t possibly operate the winches.”

“I know that,” Simon said. “But the fact remains, we have to release the cargo now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Donovan said, dismissing him. “If we don’t use the winches, you’d have to cut a hole the size of Texas in the bottom of this…”

He stopped himself. He looked at Simon and put all the pieces together.

“You’d have to scuttle this ship,” he said.

“Yes,” Simon answered. “We would. We are.”

“Like hell-”

Max stepped forward, much harder, more aggressive. “Captain!” he barked, and pulled the older man up short. “There isn’t any choice. We’re inside; it’s programmed. And nine minutes from now our cutting lasers are going to peel open the hull of this boat to make a hole wide enough for us to escape, simple as that.”

Donovan was absolutely stunned.

“Get your crew to the lifeboats,” Simon said. “Now. You can activate the beacons-we will activate the beacons-as soon as we’re clear. We’re not far from patrolled territory; you should have a rescue plane homing on the GPS in no time and be home for dinner.”

“Without my ship, you mean,” Donovan said, seething.

“Yes,” Simon answered, calm and smooth as the ice itself. “Without your ship.” He looked at Donovan squarely in his face, “You know the protocol. You’ve sworn secrecy to her majesty’s military, and the last thing you and your crew can do is speak a word about this procedure.”

Donovan opened his mouth-ready to argue, ready to threaten. Simon put up a hand, surprised at his own certainty and calm. “There’s no other way,” he said. “If you care about your life and future-if you care about all the people in there and out here-you won’t waste time fighting with me. You’ll just get everybody to the lifeboats. No one needs to get hurt. Everyone can be safe. But you have to move NOW!”

“But-”

“The damage is done. We will be cutting open the hull in-”

He glanced at Max, who glanced at his chronometer. “Seven minutes now.”

Donovan stared daggers at him for ten more seconds…then tore himself away. “Son of a bitch,” he said, and pushed his lead engineer down the corridor. “Go, go!”

Simon and Max turned away; Max keyed open the door to the hold and Simon stepped in first. Max didn’t like the look on Donovan’s face; he had dealt with too many people in situations like this-situations of life and death that caused people to do irrational things. He was definitely worried.

The instant he was through, Max touched the control again and paused the action. “Simon?” he said. “Get back on board. I’ll join you in two.”

Simon spun around, astonished. “What?”

“I have to get something from up top-something important.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter, just go. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

Simon stared at him for a moment, deciding whether to argue or not…then turned on his heel and sped toward the Spector. He was up the gangway and inside the vehicle in seconds. Max waited until the hatch behind him was secure.

Then he turned back and touched the intercom pad embedded in the bulkhead. “Captain Donovan?” he said. “This is Max. You and your lead engineer need to meet me in the hold, now. Just you two. There…there may be a way out of this.”

He didn’t have to wait long. He knew they would come. By his own internal clock, it was less than sixty seconds later that they stepped through the hatch and entered the hold. Max closed the hatch behind them with the single touch of a button.

“Thank god you came to your senses,” Donovan said. “I’m sure there’s something we can do to-”

Before Donovan could say another word, the bullet from Max’s pistol penetrated his skull. He tumbled to the deck, dead before he hit. A moment later, a second shot and his executive officer’s body fell on top of him with a heavy thud.

Max knew that the sound of his silencer would never be heard, especially in the noise of the thunder outside and the thick walls of the Spector.

He made it up the gangway, opened the aft hatch of the Spector, entered and sealed it behind him in less than a minute. He didn’t have a speck of blood on him.

Except on my hands, he told himself as he double-checked the seal on the aft hatch. For a second, he thought about what he had done, but just for a second. He knew the best thing for everyone was that Donovan was not interrogated or possibly tortured for answers.