James Rollins - Deep Fathom

As he did so, Karen watched his face slowly change from amazement to horror. Once done, he sat back and took off his glasses. “I knew we should have proceeded with more caution. It’s madness to be fooling with a power of this magnitude.”

She crouched beside him. “Will you help get this to somebody who will listen? We have only fifteen hours until the solar storm strikes.”

“Yes, of course. I have friends at Los Alamos and at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. There are ways to circumvent the normal government channels.”

Karen felt a surge of hope.

Cortez rubbed his eyes. “Is there any more data?”

“I’m not sure. That’s all they sent me. But I can find out.”

“How?”

She typed in Gabriel’s code on the computer keyboard. Almost immediately, a voice came over the speakers. “How may I help you, Dr. Grace?”

“Who is that?” Cortez asked.

“No one…really.” Karen directed her attention back to the computer. “Gabriel, I need to contact the Deep Fathom .”

“Of course. Right away.”

The connection whirred through to the distant ship, and a small video window bloomed in the screen’s corner. Miyuki’s face flickered into existence. “Karen?”

“I have Dr. Cortez with me. He’s willing to help.”

Miyuki vanished from the camera’s view for a few moments, then Jack and Charlie appeared. Introductions were quickly made.

“Do either of you have any recommendations?” Cortez asked. “I can get the information to the right people, but what then? From the data, I can only assume we must find a way to block the solar storm’s bombardment from reaching the main deposit. That leaves few options.”

Jack nodded. “We’ve been discussing it. The easiest method is to shield the pillar. Bury it, seal it in a lead box, something like that. But I don’t know if either is feasible in the narrow time frame. If this can’t be done, then we take our chances and adjust the explosives to a specific focused charge, aimed at cracking the pillar from its base.”

Cortez frowned. “But the kinetic energy from the blast—”

“We know, but like I said, it’s our second option. And it’s better than doing nothing because there’s only one option after that.”

“And what might that be?”

“We kiss our asses good-bye.”

Cortez’s face grew grim.

Charlie spoke into the silence. “I’ll keep working with the crystal, see if I can come up with anything else.” But he didn’t sound hopeful.

Jack continued, “That leaves only one other obstacle — Spangler. I can’t risk leaving Karen over there any longer than necessary. Once word reaches David that you’re going behind his back, her life won’t be worth a plug nickel. We need to make sure she’s out of there before Spangler finds out what we’re doing.”

Cortez frowned. “That’ll be difficult. Tomorrow morning they’re evacuating the station as a safety precaution before they blow the explosives. I already checked on the departure schedule. Karen and I are the last to leave, along with Spangler.”

Karen moved in front of the camera. “And after today’s incident, I doubt Spangler will let me out of his sight tomorrow.”

“Then it looks like we’ll need your help again, Professor Cortez. My ship is a half day out from your perimeter. Once close enough, I’ll dive down in my own submersible. From there, we’ll need to coordinate sneaking Karen out from under that man’s nose.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ll show Dr. Grace everything I know about the Neptune, and we’ll come up with some sort of game plan.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll contact you when I’m en route.”

Somewhere behind Karen, a hatch clanged shut. Both she and Cortez jumped. “Someone’s coming,” Karen hissed. She faced the screen. “We have to sign off.”

Jack stared back at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Karen touched the screen as the line went dead.

Cortez slipped out the DVD disk and pocketed it. “I’ll get on the wire as soon as I settle you back in your room. By morning it will be a whole new day. We’ll get through this — both you and the world.”

Karen grinned, finding a twinge of hope. She remembered Jack’s last words: I’ll see you tomorrow . She meant to hold him to that promise.

“You were right, sir,” Rolfe said, pulling off his radio headpiece.

Huddled in his cabin, David yanked off his own headphones. The two, with topside assistance from Jeffreys, had eavesdropped on the covert transmission to Kirkland’s ship. David threw his radio headpiece across the room. “The bastard’s still alive. The next time I see Kirkland, I’m going to shove a grenade up his ass. Make sure he stays dead.”

“Yes, sir. What are your orders?”

David leaned back in the chair and folded his fingers across his stomach. He had heard only the last portion of the conversation. Jeffreys, the team’s communication expert, had kept a close ear to the wire and knew when the connection was made, but the damn thing had been cleverly encrypted. By the time Jeffreys decoded it, the conversation was ending. Still, David had heard enough. The group was planning to sabotage the site and free the woman.

“Sir?”

David cleared his throat, arranging a plan in his head. “We keep quiet. Let them think they’ve won.”

“Then when do we act?”

“Once we know Kirkland’s on his way here. Away from his ship. Isolated.” He sat up. “Then we end it. You take his ship, jam all communication, and leave Jack to me. As long as I have the woman, he’ll come to us.”

Rolfe nodded. “Very good, sir. But what about Cortez?”

David grinned, unfolding his hands. “It seems we still have a bit of housecleaning to do tonight.”

Grumbling, Cortez climbed down the ladder to the docking level.

The lowest tier was divided into three sections: the large docking bay; the pump room, with its quad of six-hundred-pound hydraulic ram pumps; and a small control room with neighboring storage facilities, called “garages.” The DSU’s armored suits were currently stored here.

Cortez crossed to the control panel. The board was automated. Push one button and the whole docking procedure would run smoothly. The bay would pressurize to match the outside water. Once done, the doors would open, allowing a sub egress or ingress; then the doors would close again.

Or so the blueprints suggested.

After dropping Karen off in her cabin, he had been informed by one of his technicians that there was a problem with the docking board. He thought about leaving it to one of the technicians, but no one knew the Neptune’s systems as well as he did. And with a call out already to his friend at Los Alamos, he was full of nervous energy.

Crouching by the control panel, Cortez slipped out a tool kit and quickly had the board open. The problem was easy enough to discover. One of the pumps had burned out a fuse. A minor problem. The docking bay could still function with the three remaining pumps, but it would slow things down.

Cursing the nuisance, Cortez made sure his toolbox held the proper fuses and entered the empty bay. The two subs — the Perseus and the Argus —were currently topside. In preparation for tomorrow’s evacuation of the sea base, both subs were being dry-docked and examined. Empty, the bay looked like a large warehouse, the walls lined by thick water pipes.

Toolbox in hand, he crossed toward the far side. It was a simple repair.

As he walked, he sensed that he wasn’t alone. Some primitive intuition of danger tingled his nerves. He slowed and turned, saw movement outside the bay door, a twitch of shadows.