James Rollins - Deep Fathom

The geologist smiled, eyeing the artifact greedily.

“George…” Jack turned to the gray-haired historian. “I want you to continue researching the lost ships of this Dragon’s Triangle. See if you can spot any other patterns.”

He nodded. “I’m working on a few theories already.”

Kendall McMillan frowned, speaking up again. “How is any of this going to pull our asses out of the fire? Why don’t we just lay low? Keep running.”

“Because we’d never stop running. They’d never stop hunting us. The only way out is to discover the true reason for the crash of Air Force One.” Jack leaned on his fists. “That answer lies at the heart of it all. I just know it!”

Lisa spoke up from the other end of the table. “But Kendall’s right. What are we going to do in the meantime? Where are we going to go?”

“Back to where we started. Back to the crash site.”

Lisa frowned. “But why? It’s heavily guarded by the military. We won’t have a chance of getting near there.”

Jack’s voice grew tight. “Because if David is heading anywhere, it’s there.”

Lawrence Nafe listened to the late night reports from each of his Joint Chiefs. The news was grim. The Chinese naval and air forces were holding U.S. forces at bay.

The Secretary of the Navy stood at the foot of the table. “Following the earthquakes, military bases up and down the West Coast are still struggling to dig out of the rubble, hampering an ability to sustain a prolonged conflict across the Pacific. A second aircraft carrier, the USS Abraham Lincoln , and its battle group are en route from the Indian Ocean. But it’s still three days out.”

“So what are you saying?” Nafe asked, exhausted and irritable.

Hank Riley, Commandant of the Marine Corps, answered, “We’re fighting this battle with one hand tied behind our back, sir. Our supply lines across the Pacific are weak at best. After the tidal waves, Honolulu is still under three feet of water. Its air bases—”

“I’ve already heard from the Air Force Chief of Staff,” Nafe said sourly. “I need answers, alternatives…”

General Hickman, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, stood. “We do have one option left to consider.”

“And what is that?”

“As has been mentioned already, we’re fighting this battle with one fist tied behind our backs. We can change that.”

Nafe sat up straighter. This was what he came to hear — answers, not problems. “What do you propose?”

“A limited nuclear response.”

A hush fell over the Situation Room. Nafe’s hands gripped his knees. He had already discussed such an option with Nicolas Ruzickov earlier in the day. Nafe tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Have you formulated a plan?”

The general nodded. “We break the blockade decisively. A balls-out response. Military targets only.”

Nafe’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“From two Ohio-class subs off the coast of the Philippines, we strike three critical zones with Trident Two missiles.” The general pointed out the targets on the highlighted map. “It’ll break the back of the blockade. The Chinese will be forced to retreat. But more importantly, they’ll get the message how serious we are to protect our interests in the region.”

Nafe flicked a look toward Nicolas Ruzickov. A similar scenario had been proffered by the CIA director. It was clear his influence and string-pulling had reached all the way to the Joint Chiefs. Nafe assumed a look of somber thoughtfulness, playing the concerned patrician. “A nuclear response.” He shook his head. “It’s a sorry day that the Chinese have driven us to.”

“Yes, sir,” the general agreed, bowing his head.

Nafe sighed, sagging as if defeated. “But tragically, I see no other choice. Proceed immediately.” After an appropriately long pause, he dragged himself to his feet. “And may God forgive us all.” He turned and strode to the room’s exit, flanked by his Secret Service.

Once out the door, Nicolas Ruzickov was not long in catching up with him in the hall, matching his stride.

Nafe allowed a slim smile to shine for a moment. “Well done, Nick. Well done indeed.”

Lisa spotted Jack by the bow rail, staring at the horizon. Overhead, the skies were slate-gray, with thin scudding clouds and a perpetual haze that even the noon sun had failed to burn away. Jack stood in his customary red trunks, a loose shirt open in front.

Elvis sat by his side, leaning against Jack’s leg. Lisa could not help but smile at the loyalty and affection in the simple gesture. One of Jack’s hands lightly ruffled the fur behind the dog’s ear.

Lisa crossed to him, compelled by the need to get something off her chest. “Jack…”

He turned toward her and winced, fingering the Ace bandage wrap around his chest. “What?”

She moved to his side, put her hands on the rail. The solitary moment gone, Elvis loped to a sunny spot on the deck and sprawled out.

Lisa stared out at sea, silent for a moment, then spoke. “Jack, why are we doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

She turned to him, leaning a hip against the rail. “We’ve got the crystal. Miyuki says she’s close to a translation. Why don’t we just keep a low profile until we have answers, then send the entire story out to the New York Times ?”

Jack gripped the rail with fists. “If we did that, Jennifer would be dead before the first paper hit the stands.”

Silently, Lisa stared at him, searching his face to see if he recognized his slip of the tongue. He just kept staring off to sea. “Jennifer?”

“What?”

“You just said Jennifer would be as good as dead.”

Jack finally looked at her, his face a mask of hurt and confusion. “You know what I meant,” he mumbled, waving off any significance.

Lisa grabbed his hand. “She’s not Jennifer.”

“I know that,” Jack snapped.

Lisa kept him from turning away. “Talk to me, Jack.”

He sighed, but his shoulders remained tight. “Karen’s in this danger because of me. I…I ran off, leaving her with that madman.”

“And you explained why. Karen was right. Staying would have only gotten you both killed. If she’s as strong as you say she is, she’ll survive.”

“Only as long as she’s useful to that bastard.” He twisted away. “I have to try to rescue her. I can’t just keep running away.”

Lisa touched his shoulder lightly. “Jack, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been running away. From Jennifer, the shuttle accident, your past. What’s stopping you now? What does this woman mean to you?”

“I…I don’t know.” Jack sagged, head hanging over the rail, studying the waves. Finally, he looked at Lisa again. “But I’d like the chance to find out.”

She slipped an arm around his waist. “That’s all I wanted to hear.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, swallowed back the twinge of sadness and the ache in her heart. Jack had finally opened himself, if only a crack, to a woman…and it wasn’t her.

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, seeming to sense her sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not, Jack. But Christ, you’ve picked a hell of a time to fall in love.”

He returned her smile and kissed her forehead. They stood in each other’s arms until Mwahu called from an open doorway. “Miyuki says come!”

Jack slipped from beside her. “She’s translated the language?”

Mwahu nodded vigorously. “Come!”

Lisa followed Jack as he strode after the dark-skinned islander. Belowdecks, Miyuki had set up a computer station atop Robert’s long worktable. The work space was crowded with printouts, scribbled notes, and coffee mugs.