James Rollins - Deep Fathom

The admiral led him down to Level 2, stopping periodically to bow his head with other officers, to share a joke or pass on an order. Mark Houston had always been a hands-on officer. Before becoming admiral, when Houston was the C.O. here, he had never holed himself up in his room. He could be found as often as not down in the crew quarters as up in the officers’ galley. It was what Jack liked best about the old man. He knew all his crew, and the crew were all the more loyal for it.

“Here we are,” Houston said. He rested his hand on the latch to the door and glanced down the hall, a tired smile on his face. “The Gibraltar . I can’t believe I’m back here.”

“I know what you mean.”

Houston snorted. “They’ve got me berthed up in Flag Country. Seems strange. Last night I almost returned to my old C.O.’s cabin by habit. Funny how the mind works.” The old man shook his head and pulled open the door. He waved for Jack to enter first.

The conference room was dominated by a long mahogany table. It had already been set up for the briefing. Water glasses, notebooks, and pens were aligned precisely before each of the ten chairs. There were also thermoses of coffee and platters of small sandwiches.

Jack glanced around as he crossed to the table. Maps and charts hung on the walls, with tiny flagged pins poking out. He recognized a regional map of local currents on a nearby wall. Inked squares were checkered on it. The search parameters. It seemed that the admiral had not been lax on the ride here.

Jack took it all in quickly, then turned to find Houston directly behind him. Again the admiral seemed to study him. “So how’ve you been, Jack?”

He shrugged. “Surviving.”

“Hmm…that’s too bad.”

Jack scrunched up his brows, surprised by this response. He did not think the admiral bore him any ill will.

But Houston clarified his statement as he sank into one of the seats and kicked another toward Jack. “Life isn’t just about surviving. It’s about living.”

Jack sat. “If you say so.”

“Any women in your life?”

Jack frowned. He did not understand this line of questioning.

“I know you’re not married, but is there anyone special in your life?”

“No. Not really. Friends, that’s all. Why?”

The admiral shrugged. “Just wondering. We haven’t spoken in over a decade. Not even a Christmas card.”

Jack wrinkled his brow. “But you’re Jewish.”

“Okay, a Hanukkah card, you ass. My point is that I thought you’d at least keep in touch.”

Jack studied his own hands, rubbing at his chair’s arm-rests in discomfort. “I wanted to put everything behind me. Start new.”

“And how’s that going for you?” Houston asked sourly.

Jack’s discomfort welled toward anger. He bit it back and remained silent.

“Goddamn it, Jack. Can’t you tell when someone is trying to help you?”

Jack glanced to his former C.O. “And how’s that?”

“Whether you know it or not, I’ve been keeping tabs on you. I know the financial straits you’re in. You’re about to lose that rust bucket of yours.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Yeah, and you’ll manage a hell of a lot better with several thousand dollars from the Navy for assisting us in the search for Air Force One.”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t need your charity.”

“Well, you need something, you goddamn stubborn fool.”

Both men just stared at one another for several breaths. Houston finally clenched a fist on his knee, but his voice softened with old pain. “Do you remember when Ethel died?”

Jack nodded. Ethel had been the admiral’s wife for over thirty years. A year before the shuttle accident, she had succumbed to complications from ovarian cancer. In many ways, Ethel had been the only mother Jack had ever known. His own mother had died when he was three years old.

“The day before she slipped into a coma, she told me to watch over you.”

Jack looked up in surprise. The admiral would not meet his eyes, but Jack noticed a glint of tears.

“I don’t know what Ethel ever saw in you, Jack. But I won’t let the old broad down. I’ve given you enough time to yourself…to work through what happened on the Atlantis . But enough is enough.”

“What do you want of me?”

He met Jack’s eyes. “You’ve been hiding out here long enough. I want you to come in from the sea.”

Jack just stared, dumbfounded.

“That’s why I recruited you. Not just for your submersible. It’s time you returned to the real world.”

“And the Navy is the real world?” Jack snorted.

“Close enough. We at least come to port every now and then.”

Jack shook his head. “Listen, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I’m almost forty years old, not a child to be coddled. Whether you believe it or not, I’m happy in my current life.”

His former commander sighed and lifted his hands in surrender. “You are a goddamn piece of work, Jack.” He stood up. “The briefing should be under way shortly. I suppose you understand the importance of our work here.”

Jack nodded, standing also. “Of course. It’s Air Force One. The President.”

“It’s more than just the President, Jack. We’ve lost Presidents before. But never under such circumstances, in the middle of a worldwide catastrophe. As much as the rest of the world disparages the United States and its foreign policy, it still doesn’t stop them from looking to us for leadership during a time of crisis — and now we are leaderless, rudderless.”

“What about the Vice President? Lawrence Nafe?”

“I see you at least keep abreast of current events out here,” Houston teased lightly, but his voice quickly grew sober again. His brows knit with worry. “Washington is screaming for answers. Before Nafe can be sworn in, we need to put the fate of President Bishop to rest. Already rumors are spreading. Some are claiming terrorists — Arabs, Russian, Chinese, Serbian, or even the I.R.A. Take your pick. Some are saying it’s all a hoax. Some say it’s a conspiracy tied to JFK.” The admiral shook his head. “It’s a friggin’ mess. For order to be restored, we need concrete answers. We need a body we can bury with the usual pomp and ceremony. That’s why we’re here.”

Jack had never seen Mark Houston look so worried. “I’ll do my best to help,” he said sincerely. “Just ask, and I’ll do it.”

“I never expected less of you.” Before Jack could stop him, the admiral reached out and gave him a quick hug. “And whether you believe it or not, Jack, I’m glad to see you again. Welcome back to the Gibraltar .”

Jack froze in the man’s embrace, unable to speak.

Houston released him and headed toward the door. “I have a few last minute details to address, but help yourself to the sandwiches, Jack. The egg salad is especially good. Real eggs, not that powdered shit.” The admiral gave him a tired smile, then left, closing the door behind him.

Alone, Jack sank into one of the seats. He wiped his damp palms on his trousers. The gravity of the situation began to press on him. For the first time in a decade, he sensed the eyes of the world again looking in his direction.

Three hours later Jack found himself back on the Deep Fathom , but not for long. Dressed in his blue Norseman dry suit, he climbed into the cockpit of the Nautilus 2000 , squeezing into the cramped seat. Once settled, he hooked up the Bio-Sensor monitors and attached his microphone. He ran down the predive safety checklist with Lisa, who was in the Fathom ’s pilothouse.

Charlie worked atop the submersible as it floated behind the Fathom , stomping around, visually checking seals, while Robert, in mask and snorkel, swam under the ship. Jack had done his own check, but his crew were taking no chances. “Check everything twice,” he had drilled into them.