C. Graham - The Solomon Effect

A fine mist hovered over the heaving gray surface of the water, like smoke drifting from an invisible grass fire. Jax said, “Maybe these guys are new at this.”

“Or maybe someone in your government is being less than honest with you.”

Jax was aware of October’s gaze upon him, but all he said was, “The one undeniable fact in all this is that someone salvaged that U-boat and took something off it. There wasn’t a manifest among the U-boat’s papers?”

“If there was, we haven’t found it.”

Jax squinted at the Yalena, riding the gentle swell of the incoming tide. “What does the shipyard manager have to say about all this?”

“As little as he thinks he can get away with.” Andrei let the unlit cigarette dangle from his lips as he searched for his lighter. “At first he claimed he was as surprised as anyone to find the Yalena floating in his cove with a German submarine in tow. It wasn’t until the militia confronted him with his telephone records that he admitted Baklanov had contacted him about using his wharves.”

“Who’s Baklanov?”

“Jasha Baklanov. Captain of the Yalena.” Andrei struck his lighter, his chin jerking toward the big catamaran. “According to the militia, he was not exactly what you’d call a good, upstanding comrade.”

“Smuggling?”

“Among other things.” Andrei tucked away his lighter and flipped open the thick file he carried beneath his arm. “He was found on deck, his body practically cut in half by machine-gun fire.”

Jax tried to peer over Andrei’s shoulder, but the Russian snapped the file shut again. “Uh-uh,” he grunted. “You’re forgetting how this works. I give you something, then you give me something. It’s your turn.”

“I already told you everything I know. All we have is the interception of a careless cell phone call linking some sunken U-boat to a terrorist hit.”

“On Halloween.”

“On Halloween.”

Andrei swung around to stare back at the sub. Following his gaze, Jax saw that one of the militiamen had appeared at the conning tower. As they watched, the man dropped down onto the wharf and climbed into the passenger seat of the loaded truck. They could hear the truck’s engine laboring as it shifted gears, the sound carrying clearly across the quarter mile or so of open water. The weathered wharves and jetties of the shipyard stretched out between them, silent and deserted beneath the cold gray sky.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” said Andrei.

“If it is, no one in Washington is laughing. They may have got the U-boat’s cargo wrong, but at this point, I’m thinking maybe-” Jax broke off as a low rumble reverberated across the cove. He saw a geyser of fire shoot out the hatch in the submarine’s upper deck, just above the bow torpedo room.

“Holy shit,” he yelled. “Get down!”

From where he crouched within the shelter of the birch grove at the top of the rise, Rodriguez swore softly under his breath. He’d set up the Vychlop with a clear line of fire. But every time he got the CIA agent lined up in his sights, the girl would move in the way, or the Russian.

He finally had a clear shot and was just squeezing the trigger when all hell broke loose in the cove below. The asshole from Langley hit the deck, and the solid bronze pointed-nose high-penetration bullet that should have blown him to smithereens smacked into the water with a splash that was lost in a shattering roar. The old U-boat heaved out of the water and turned into a fireball. Smoke roiled over the harbor, obscuring visibility.

“Fuck!” said Rodriguez, pushing to his feet. “Now? The fucking sub blows now?”

Moving quickly, he disassembled the Vychlop’s silencer and shoved it in its case. “This place is going to be crawling with militia in minutes,” he said, throwing the rifle in the backseat. “Let’s get out of here.”

Tobie let out a startled yelp as Jax slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She rolled onto her stomach, her arms wrapping around her head as a second explosion ripped from one end of the U-boat’s frame to the other, obliterating it in a huge fireball. She felt a wave of searing heat wash over her. Even from this distance, the percussion was deafening.

“Jesus Christ,” said Jax, stretched out flat beside her. “You all right?”

“I think so.” Fighting to catch her breath, she turned her head to meet his gaze. “What happened?”

“One of the old torpedoes must have blown and set off the rest.”

She ducked her head again as flaming debris began to rain down around them, hissing as it hit the water.

A jagged piece of charred wood landed on Andrei’s back. He thrust it away and scrambled up to take off running back along the docks, only pausing long enough to turn and point a warning finger at Jax. “You stay here.”

Tobie sat back on her heels. She was trembling, her breath coming in fast, wheezing gasps. She knew she was hyperventilating and fought to bring her breathing under control. But it wasn’t easy.

Both the barge and the sub had simply disappeared, leaving an oily sheen on the churning, debris-filled water. Most of that section of the wharf was gone, too, the tugboat flipped on its side and almost completely submerged. Flames engulfed the shattered warehouses, filling the air with black smoke. The twisted remnants of the flatbed truck stood out stark against the flames, the two men inside black, unrecognizable silhouettes.

“My God,” she whispered.

Pushing to his feet, Jax brushed off the front of his jacket, then bent to pick up the file Andrei had dropped.

“What’s in it?” she asked as he flipped through the pages.

“The militia report.” He raised his gaze to the Yalena. The salvage ship was still pitching in the aftermath of the explosion, but she hadn’t been thrown over. “Come on,” he said. “We need to move fast.”

Tobie rose shakily to her feet. “I thought Andrei told us to stay here.”

“Since when do you ever do what you’re told?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, sprinting down the dock after him.

“I saw the reports filed by your shrink in Wiesbaden. The one that says, ‘Has trouble with authority.’”

She leaped from the dock to the still-pitching deck of the Yalena. “The shrink in Wiesbaden was a stupid ass.”

Jax let his gaze travel around the salvage ship’s dilapidated deck. “I still don’t understand why this wasn’t part of your vision.”

“I don’t have visions. It was a remote viewing session.” Reaching out, she let her hand trail along a tattered tarp that covered the nearest lifeboat davits, and felt an odd terror seize her chest.

“What is it?” he said, watching her.

She shook her head and turned away. “Nothing. What exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything that can lead us to the bad guys. Although at this point, I’d settle for some indication as to what was really on that U-boat.”

“Are you so sure it wasn’t gold?”

“Sure? Hell no. I’m not sure of anything. But in my experience, governments tend to store gold behind things like reinforced iron plates. Not in wooden storage lockers stenciled with words like ‘Attention’ and ‘Danger.’”

A fine cold mist blew off the sea, smelling of brine and pungent smoke and bringing them the distant sound of shouting and the wail of sirens. The morning rain had washed away much of the blood from the deck. But an ugly pattern of splatters and smears were still visible on the bullet-pocked bulkhead and rigging. She said, “You think the people who hired Baklanov are the same people who did this?”

Jax went to hunker down beside the stained, splintered bulkhead. “Maybe. Maybe not.”