Deep Fathom
Gasping, he slammed his foot hard on the right pedal, driving his submersible away from the crystal. As he broke contact, Jack snapped back into his own seat, back into his own body. The tingling sensation vanished.
“—hear me? Jack!” Lisa yelled in his ear. “Answer me!”
Jack touched his throat mike, needing some physical contact with the world above. “I’m here, Lisa.”
“What are you doing?”
“Wh-What do you mean?”
“You’ve been off-line for forty minutes! The Navy was about to launch one of their ROV robots to search for you.”
Jack drifted away from the pillars. He widened the focus of his lights and saw the salvage cables hanging ahead. How had the Navy hauled up the two plane sections so fast?
He glanced at his clock. Only two minutes had passed since he’d hooked the tail fin and engine section to the cables. How was that possible? Frowning, Jack remembered the glitch Lisa had noted after his first dive.
“Lisa, what time do you have topside?”
“Three-fourteen.”
Jack stared at the sub’s computer screen. The digital clock was thirty-eight minutes slow.
“Jack?”
“I…I’m fine. Just another communication glitch.” He glided toward the cables. Had he blacked out?
Lisa’s voice came back tentative, full of suspicion. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Lisa, nothing to worry about. I’m going for the next pieces.”
“I don’t like this. You should head up now.”
“I can handle it. I’ve got green lights across the board. How are you reading now?”
Lisa’s voice returned reluctantly. “Receiving you fine now.”
A new voice interrupted. It was Admiral Houston. “Your doctor is correct, Mr. Kirkland. You had everyone in a panic topside.”
“It’s just a glitch, sir.”
“I don’t care. This mission is over for today.”
Jack’s grip grew hard on his controls. He glanced back at the crystal spire. His initial panic at the strange event had burned down to a deep-seated anger. He was determined to find out what had happened. “At least let me hook up these last cables. They’re already down here.”
Along pause. “Okay, Mr. Kirkland. But be careful.”
Jack nodded, though no one could see him. “Aye, sir.”
He swept his submersible up to the first cable and checked the computer screen for his next two targets—a cracked section of fuselage and a chunk of landing gear. Grabbing the cable’s end, he dragged it over to the curved section of fuselage wall. He noted a portion of the plane’s lavatory was still attached to the inside surface. Working rapidly, he attached the magnetic hook and called topside. “Ready on cable one.”
The technician acknowledged, “Hauling away.”
Jack swung toward the second winch line. As he turned the radio buzzed in his ear. It was Robert on the Deep Fathom. Jack was surprised to hear from the marine biologist. “Jack, I’ve got movement down there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something large just cleared the trough between two seamounts northwest of your position and is coming your way.”
Jack frowned. For something to show up on sonar at this depth, it must be huge. “How big?”
“Sixty feet.”
“Jesus…what is it? A submarine?”
“No, I don’t think so. Its outline is too fluctuant, its movement too sinuous. Not artificial.”
“So, in other words, a sea monster.” Jack remembered the serpent that had startled him in the hold of the Kochi Maru. “Is it another orefish?”
“No, too thick.”
“Great,” he mumbled. “How far off now?”
“A quarter klick. But it’s picking up speed. Damn, it’s fast! It must be attracted to your lights.”
“Can I outrun it?”
“No. Not without a larger head start.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Play dead.”
“Say again.”
“Settle to the seabed, turn off lights and motors. Abysmal sea life is attracted to sound, light, even bioelectric signatures. Turn everything off and you should be blind to whatever is coming.”
Jack was not comfortable with this choice. As a former SEAL, he was trained for action, for a more proactive means of defense. But without an assault rifle and grenade launcher, he would have to listen to the expert here. Jack settled the Nautilus’s skids to the silty seabed.
After a short pause he flicked off the battery switch. The xenon lamps winked off. The constant whine of the thrusters went silent. Darkness swamped over the tiny sub. Even the internal lights dimmed and died.
His own breathing seemed so loud in the tiny space. His eyes strained for something to see. Distantly, he thought he could pick up flickers of winking lights. Was it just his eyes playing tricks? Bioluminescence? Ghost lights?
Robert whispered in his ear, “Don’t communicate. It might be able to focus on you. We’ll try pinging from above to scare it off.”
“Where—”
“Quiet! It’s just clearing the last ridgeline. It’s huge! Here it comes!”
Jack held his breath, afraid even that would be heard. He craned his neck, searching the darkness around him. His eyelids were stretched wide.
“He’s circling the area. Damn, what is it?”
Jack felt a trickle of sweat roll off his nose. The sub’s cabin had grown humid. Without the carbon dioxide scrubbers working, he knew he had maybe thirty minutes of air before it became stale. He could not play possum forever.
Suddenly, he sensed something large move over him. He saw nothing, but something primal in his brain set off alarms. Jack’s heart hammered. Fresh sweat broke out on his forehead, and he fought to see anything around him. What was out there?
“He’s on top of you,” Robert whispered.
The sub shoved a few inches across the silt. But Jack knew nothing had touched the tiny craft. The dragging movement was from the wake of something large sweeping past, close, the dead sub buffeted by its passage.
The Nautilus rolled onto one skid, twisting around slightly, caught in the wash of another wake. Jack froze, lifting both palms to brace against the acrylic dome. How big was this thing? The sub spun for two heartbeats more, then crashed again to the seabed with a screech of metal on metal, the left skid landing on a chunk of wreckage.
The sub now rested at a tilt, teetering slightly on the uneven perch.