James Patterson - Max

“Unlike our quarry, who can.”

“Yes, sir!”

Mr. Chu thought for a moment, though he already knew what he was going to do. The weakest link in the chain always had to be eliminated. The men and women he answered to would expect no less.

He again met the eyes of his second-in-command. The fourth had failed, which was a failure of the third, who had picked and trained him. So it was also the second’s failure, since she had picked and trained the third. Ultimately, this was Chu ’s own failure, for he had picked and trained his second. That was how it would be viewed by the board. They all knew it.

Mr. Chu sighed, then motioned to his second-in-command. She gave a quick nod, then barked instructions at the two armed guards by the doorway. The fourth-in-command cringed and started to beg for mercy but was immediately silenced. The guards dragged him from the room.

Mr. Chu again sighed heavily. If only the girl had joined his force! It would have been glorious. Instead, she had turned into an increasingly intolerable problem. Fortunately, he was holding the final ace: her mother, Dr. Valencia Martinez.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Mr. Chu turned to look out the small, thick portholes in his office wall. He knew the fourth-in-command’s solution would take several minutes. “Now the… mutants are on a U.S. Navy submarine?” Mr. Chu verified, gazing out at the blackness.

“Yes.” There was a world of frustration in that one word.

Mr. Chu turned and met the eyes of his second-in-command. “Attacking a U.S. submarine, armed with nuclear warheads, would be suicide. Not only for us, but for those we represent. Even on a global level.”

The second-in-command was torn but was forced to admit that Mr. Chu was right. “Yes.” She let out the word.

“But, of course, if something were to happen to the bird people while they were not on the submarine…” Mr. Chu let his words trail off, and turned to stare out the portholes. At this depth, no light filtered down from the surface.

One of the armed guards dragged in Dr. Martinez. “Ah, Dr. Martinez,” Mr. Chu said pleasantly. “Thank you for joining me. I wanted you to see this. If the CSM does not curtail its activity, a similar fate awaits you.”

There was a slight vibration, and Mr. Chu’s gaze sharpened. Then – there it was – a rush of bubbles, barely visible, from a torpedo hatch being opened and closed. It was the fourth-in-command’s final solution. A dim, pale object in a blue suit shot out into the blackness and seemed to blossom, momentarily, in the dark water. In the next second, it was crushed and compressed into an unrecognizable blob.

At this depth, the water pressure was equivalent to several tons of weight per square inch.

The fourth-in-command had probably suffered for less than a second, not even having time to drown before every bone in his body was pulverized.

Once again, Mr. Chu and his second-in-command met eyes. “Well, outside the submarine, it’s a very dangerous environment.”

The second, not daring to display the shiver of distaste and fear she felt, nodded. “Yes,” she said as the pale blob floated away into the dark water. “Yes, it’s very dangerous out there.”

I’LL BE THE FIRST to admit that in terms of book learning, we’re right up there with, like, sheep and goats. So you won’t be stunned to hear how surprised I was to find out that islands don’t float on top of the water. You can’t go under them, even if you’re in a schmancy expensive submarine.

“ Islands are formed several different ways,” Brigid explained helpfully while I tried not to snarl at her. We were standing around a topographical (read: lumpy) map of Hawaii and the surrounding ocean. “ Hawaii was formed by an underwater volcano spitting hot magma up from the earth’s core. In fact, scientists believe that one volcano formed all the islands of Hawaii, as the hot interior core rotated beneath the earth’s crust. Right now, the Big Island is being formed. In ten million years, there might be yet another island, past the Big Island.”

“Huh,” I said, feeling more trapped than ever. We’d been on the sub for eight hours and had explored every last inch of it. I felt like I hardly had room to breathe. It was like, Hello, Claustrophia? It’s me, Max .

Now I was being forced to witness Dr. Amazing’s brain at work, as Fang paid attention to her every word.

“Which is why we have to go around the islands to get to the area where the fish die-off was observed,” said Captain Perry. “Right now we’re passing the Molokini Crater, which is a big sea-life preservation area.”

“Huh,” I said. We were in a large tin can under six hundred feet of water, and I couldn’t escape. I was starting to feel dizzy. Was the sub running out of air? Where did we get air from, anyway? We needed to surface . We needed to surface, and -

Max. Go lie down. You’re having a panic attack .

What?! I thought wildly.

You’re having a panic attack , the Voice went on. Go lie down on your bunk and slowly breathe in and out .

“Uh, I’m tired,” I mumbled. “Think I’ll go rest.”

I stumbled out of the situation room and staggered down the narrow corridor, squeezing past sailors. I felt like I might pass out any second. Every cell in my body wanted to get off this sub. Even knowing that it was the only way to rescue my mom didn’t make it any better. I’ve been locked in cells and dungeons and dog crates and never panicked like this.

You’re okay, said the Voice soothingly. Go lie down. There’s plenty of air .

I fumbled my way into the small storeroom that had been turned into our bunk room. Inside, I collapsed on one of the bottom bunks, trying not to throw up. A minute later, the door pushed open.

“Nudge?” I croaked, my hand over my mouth.

“Nope,” said Total, trotting up to my bunk. He had a cold, wet washcloth in his mouth, and he put his front paws on my bunk and dropped it on my face. It felt incredible. Then he nimbly jumped onto the narrow bunk and curled up by my feet.

I pressed the wet cloth to my face and tried to breathe in and out slowly. Just like the Voice had told me. I moaned softly, suddenly overwhelmed by my life.

“You’ll get your sea legs soon,” Total said. “Or we can rustle you up some Valium or something.”

“No!” The only time I’d had Valium was when my mom gave me some during an operation to take a chip out of my wrist (long story). In my hazy stupor, I’d said all sorts of stupid, embarrassing things. There was no way I was going to do that again.

“Suit yourself,” said Total, pushing my legs over to give himself more room. “Listen, Max, while I have you here -”

“Trapped in my bunk with a panic attack?” I said.

“Yeah. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he went on.

Oh, this was gonna be good. What would it be now? Sub chow not up to snuff? Lattes not available? Had he encountered more discrimination against Canine Americans?

“It’s about Akila.”

I lowered the washcloth and peeked at Total with one eye. “Yeah? You miss her, huh?”

“It’s more than that.” Total licked one paw, collecting his thoughts. “It’s – you know I’m nuts about her.”

“Uh-huh.” Nuts being the operative word here.

“Amazingly, she feels the same way about a mutt like me,” Total said. “Well, now we’re thinking about… marriage.” He sort of mumbled the last word.

I sat up, eyes wide, swallowing my shocked laughter. This wasn’t funny. It was cute but not funny. Total’s feelings were real, even though he was a – Canine American.