James Rollins - Deep Fathom

“I need some real light,” Gregor hissed, bent over the false bust. He pulled back his night vision goggles. “This Chink electronics is crap. I need to double-check the connections.”

David nodded to Rolfe. The man knelt and shone a small flashlight toward the chunk of jade. David pushed aside his own night vision goggles.

Gregor tilted his head, fingers working over the explosive unit. The timers and detonators had been stolen last week from a Chinese black market dealer; perfect to lay a false trail.

Gregor sighed in relief and held the bust toward David. “All set.”

David accepted it and screwed the jade ear in place. “Let’s get going,” he said, standing up.

As he stepped toward the crate, a call echoed across the dark tent. “Who’s out there!”

David and the others froze. Rolfe flicked off his flashlight. The men returned to night vision. Deeper in the tent, a new light bloomed. It lay over by the electronics bay.

“Show yourself, or I’ll call Security!”

David thought quickly. He now recognized the voice. It was Edwin Weintraub, the NTSB lead investigator. He bit back a curse. The hangar was supposed to be empty. David leaned over to Rolfe. “Shut him down. Minimal harm.”

Rolfe nodded and backed swiftly away, disappearing into the darkness.

Quickly, David adjusted his plans. It was what made him such a successful field commander. In the real world, few plans proceeded as planned. For a mission to succeed, a plan had to be liquid, capable of changing at a moment’s notice. Like now…

David stood, shouting, “Quiet down, Weintraub! It’s just me!”

“Commander Spangler?” The edge of panic in the man’s voice died down.

“I’m just checking to make sure everything is secure before retiring. What are you doing here?”

“I was taking a nap on my cot in the back. My computer is compiling data. I’m waiting for it to finish.”

“You shouldn’t be out in this storm.”

“Everything’s insulated and surge-protected. There’s no danger.”

That’s what you think. David knew that Rolfe should almost be in position. He raised his voice, keeping Weintraub’s attention on him. “Fine! If you’ve got everything in hand, I’m heading out. The guards will be outside all night if you have any problems.”

“Thanks! But I’ll be all — Hey, who are—”

David heard a loud crash. He frowned. Rolfe was better than that. Sloppy work.

“All clear!” Rolfe called out.

“I’m sending Handel over to help you. Bring that slimy sack of shit over here.”

Gregor straightened, a look of inquiry on his face, but the man knew better than to question an order. David waved him forward. Gregor quickly vanished.

As he waited, David lowered the bust to the deck and collected their tools. This unfortunate blunder could be turned to their advantage. His original plan was to set off the explosive device during the workday tomorrow. A few men would probably die, but it was a small price to pay. But now he recalibrated his plans.

Beyond the rumble of the storm, he heard the scrape of boot on deck. He turned in time to see his two men edge into aisle 22, Weintraub’s slack form slung between them. His wrists and ankles were lashed with plastic straps, his mouth sealed with duct tape. The large man moaned and struggled feebly, clearly dazed by the attack.

“Bring him here and dump him.”

The pair lowered their captive to the deck. “I’m sorry, sir,” Rolfe apologized. “I slipped on some grease. He saw me before I could silence him.”

“Poor work all around,” David said harshly. “Weintraub shouldn’t even be here.”

“His cot was hidden behind a wall of wreckage. His computer’s monitor was switched off. In the dark—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses.” David turned his attention to the restrained investigator. By now Weintraub had regained full consciousness. David spotted the large lump behind his left ear. A dribble of blood marked where Rolfe had clubbed him. Weintraub stared at David, his eyes bright with hatred and anger.

“What do we do with him?” Gregor asked. “Toss him overboard. Blame the storm?”

David continued to study his prey. He watched the man’s anger change to fear. “No. Drowning him will do us no good.”

A flicker of hope in the man’s eyes…and suspicion.

David reached over and pinched Weintraub’s nostrils closed. “Hold him down.” Rolfe pinned the man’s legs; Gregor held his shoulders.

With his mouth sealed in duct tape, there was no air. Weintraub struggled, suffocating. David held tight, speaking to the others. “We’ll put his body to use. The weak spot in our plan was attempting to explain why tomorrow’s explosion would spontaneously happen. Why then? What set it off? It could raise suspicions.”

He nodded toward the struggling man. His color was now purplish, his eyes bulging in recognition of approaching death. David ignored his panic. “But here’s our scapegoat. The poor guy was tampering with the crate and accidentally set it off.”

“So we’ll blow it tonight?” Gregor asked.

“Just after midnight. Afterward, we’ll make sure the investigators discover the Chinese electronics. That’s all the proof Washington will need. They’ll come to believe the remainder of the jade sculpture had been similarly booby-trapped, that the Chinese stuffed the horse’s jade ass full of C-4.”

“I think he’s dead, sir,” Rolfe interrupted, still sitting on Weintraub’s knees.

David looked down and realized Rolfe was right. Weintraub stared unblinking at the ceiling, eyes empty. David released the dead man’s nose and wiped his gloved hand on his pant leg with disgust. “Free his bindings.”

His men obeyed while David ripped the duct tape from Weintraub’s purplish lips. Then he took the jade bust, balanced it atop the man’s chest, and placed the man’s hands near it. As David began to pull away, he had another idea. Fishing in a pocket, he pulled free a bit of electronic circuitry, of Chinese design, and placed it in the dead man’s fingers. He closed Weintraub’s hand over it. A bit of extra insurance.

Straightening, he surveyed his handiwork for a few seconds, then nodded curtly. “Let’s go. I’m famished.”

Gregor collected the cases. “What are we going to do with the extra C-4 and detonators?” he asked.

David smiled. “Don’t worry. I have another mission for you. After tonight, tomorrow’s gonna be a hectic day. Lots of chaos to conceal one more operation.”

“Sir?”

“I know someone who’ll appreciate that extra C-4.” David pictured Jack Kirkland, wearing his shit-eating grin as he stood with an arm around his sister’s shoulder. “A parting gift for an old friend.”

In the ship’s galley, Jack sat with Admiral Houston at a small table. Outside the narrow window, forked lightning streaked across the roiling skies. Due to the foul weather, the admiral had chosen to remain aboard the Fathom , but Jack suspected that his decision to stay was not all due to the storm.

As the ship heaved and rolled, the admiral chewed on the stubby end of his thick stogie, oblivious, and sighed out a long stretch of smoke. The old sailor was rapidly depleting Jack’s Cuban cigar stock. “You really should have told us sooner about this discovery,” Houston said.

Jack bowed his head. Earlier, he had played the secret recordings of the crystal spire and the strange hieroglyphics. After the close call with the giant squid, he knew he could no longer keep silent about his discoveries. “I know, but at first I didn’t think it was important to the investigation.”