James Rollins - Deep Fathom

The motor revved as Robert, at the stern, gunned the engine and spun the launch toward the waiting ship. The Fathom lay not far across the bay. Two other police cutters patrolled back and forth along the edge of the ruins.

Earlier, Charlie had spent half the evening trying to convince the local authorities to aid him in his search for Jack and the others. No one had listened, insisting he wait until morning. Then a frantic call had come in from Professor Nakano, relating an attack upon their party at Nan Madol. Now motivated, the police had converged on the location, arriving with the Fathom to find the place already deserted.

Apparently, Spangler’s assault team had been tipped off, for just as they entered the bay, a large blast blew apart one of Nan Madol’s tiny islets. Already in the Fathom ’s launch, Charlie had aimed for the site, knowing there must be a reason for the explosion.

As they neared the reef’s edge, Robert spotted a bubbling surge. He aimed for it just as a pale hand broke the surface. Then the fingers sank back down. It would have been easy to miss.

The sea gods must have been watching over their captain, he thought afterward.

In the boat, Jack groaned and struggled to right himself. His eyelids fluttered but he did not regain consciousness. Charlie leaned down to his ear and whispered, “Rest, mon . We got you. You’re safe.”

His words seemed to sink in. Jack’s limbs relaxed.

“His color’s looking better,” Lisa said, but she herself was as pale as a ghost, bloodless with fear and worry.

If they had arrived even a minute later…

Robert spoke up from the rear. He had a radio pressed to his ear. “The police say they’ll search the ruins until sunup.” He lowered the radio. “But it looks like the ops team got clean away.”

“Damn those bastards,” Charlie swore. “If I ever get my bloody hands on them…”

David stormed down the narrow stairs of the small commandeered police cutter. His team’s escape had been too damn close. Over the radio, he received word of the police at the same time his assault team found Jack.

Pressed for time, David had ordered explosive charges set around the islet, then ordered all of them to evacuate to the boat. For a black ops mission, exposure or capture was worse than death. Working efficiently, they left no trail behind. Gathering their dead, they quickly vanished into the maze of atolls and islands. All told, it took less than five minutes to evacuate the site.

Even so, it had been a close call. Running without his lights, David had watched the first police cutter, its sirens blaring, enter the bay just as he slipped away. The explosion helped cover their escape, distracting the arriving ships.

Still, never in his career had he come so close to capture.

Scowling, David reached the lower level of the ship and crossed to a steel door. He tapped in the electronic code and shoved into the small cell beyond. Though he had lost two good men on this mission, the sortie hadn’t been a total failure. Inside the cell, the Canadian anthropologist was tied, spread-eagled, to the bed. She struggled against her bonds as he entered. Gagged, her eyes grew large at the sight of him.

“Give it up. You can’t escape.” He slipped his diving knife from its thigh sheath and crossed toward her.

Instead of crying or struggling further, she just glared at him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out with the knife and cut her gag. She spit out the wad of cloth. “You bastard!”

David fingered the edge of his blade. “We’re gonna have a little chat, Professor Grace. Let’s hope I don’t have to free your tongue with this blade.” He spotted a trickle of blood running from her hairline down her neck, reached out and pressed his thumb against the lump there.

She winced.

It was the spot where he had bludgeoned her with the butt of his rifle after discovering her hiding place. Her ruse with the penlight had come close to working. He dug his thumb into the tender spot, eliciting a sharp cry from her. “Now are you done with your little tricks?”

She spat at him, the spittle striking his cheek.

He let it dribble down, not bothering to wipe it away. “Just so we both understand each other.” He grabbed her between the legs. She was still damp from the swim through the canals. He squeezed her, hard.

She gasped, her eyes growing wide, and tried to squirm from his touch. “Get away from me, you goddamn bastard.”

He held her tight. “Though my bosses may want you alive to pick your brain, that doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you in ways you never imagined. So let’s start again. Where’s the crystal you mentioned in your e-mail to Kirkland?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wrong answer,” he said with a hard smile.

A knock on the door drew him around from his play. He saw Rolfe standing at the threshold, still in his wet suit, half unzipped. The man eyed their prisoner, then his gaze returned to David.

“Sir, Jeffreys has continued to monitor the police bands. Some…um, startling news has come through.” Rolfe nodded to the prisoner. “Perhaps outside…”

The woman spoke from the bed. “Jack’s alive, isn’t he?”

David struck her with the heel of his hand. “Mind your manners, bitch.”

Rolfe nervously shifted his feet. “She’s right, sir. They’ve dragged Kirkland from the ocean. He’s hurt but alive.”

David felt a surge of heat. “Goddamn it! Can’t that man stay dead?”

“That’s not all.”

“What?”

“He…he’s aboard the Deep Fathom .”

David was too stunned to speak.

Rolfe explained, “I don’t know how, but his ship is here.”

Closing his eyes, rage swelled through David. At every turn, Kirkland had thwarted him. He swung to the bound woman. Kirkland had risked his own life so she could escape. Why? He studied her. He sensed an edge here, a way of turning this to his advantage.

David stood up and pointed back at their prisoner. “Haul her ass on deck.”

Jack woke slowly. It took him several breaths to realize where he was. The teak paneling, the chest of drawers, the captain’s table and hutch. It was his own cabin aboard the Deep Fathom . It made no sense.

“Well, look who’s up,” a voice said.

He turned his head, noticing for the first time the oxygen mask strapped to his face. Tubes led to a portable tank. He lifted a hand to brush it away.

“Leave it.”

Jack focused on his bedside companion. “Lisa?” Beyond her, he saw Charlie Mollier standing over her shoulder. At the sound of his master’s voice, Elvis lifted his head from the floor and rested it on the bedside.

“Who did you expect?” Lisa straightened his pillow. “Do you feel strong enough to sit up?”

Jack’s mind fumbled, trying to recall his situation. He remembered the chase through the ruins of Nan Madol, the struggle through the underwater tunnel, but…“You’re all dead.” He coughed thickly as he pushed up, then groaned loudly.

“Careful.” Lisa helped him sit up, cushioning his back with pillows.

“Ow.” Every inch of him ached. He lifted his arms and saw an IV line trailing to a bag of saline. His arms were smeared with salve and bandages.

“ We’re supposed to be dead?” Charlie said with a toothy smile. “ Mon , you’re the lucky one to be alive.”

He coughed again. It felt as if someone had scoured his lungs with a Brillo pad. “But the bomb…?”

Charlie sat on the edge of his bed. “Oh, about that, sorry, but we needed to make everyone think we were sunk. The bomb is down in my lab, locked away.”