Deep Fathom

Sputtering, David pointed the gun. His face was almost purple. “What did she tell you…whatever it was, it was all lies. He never touched me.”

Jack crinkled his brow. Long ago, Jennifer had mentioned that David had been physically abused by his father. But had it gone further? Jack lowered his voice conspiratorially. “That’s not the way I heard it.”

David stepped nearer. “Shut the f**k up!”

Five seconds…

Jack braced his legs. His hands formed fists.

Spittle flew from David’s lips in rage. “He never touched me!”

One…

Jack swung a fist as the explosion roared through the ship. The deck bucked underfoot. His fist glanced off David’s jaw, knocking him aside.

The pistol went off, a wild shot. The bullet dug into the wall behind Jack. He spun and kicked the gun from David’s hand. It went flying across the floor.

David lunged. Jack instinctively dodged to the side, and as he swung back around realized the mistake. His reflexes had betrayed him. David might have been an ass**le, but he was a keen killer. He landed near Jack’s discarded pistol, which had been his intent, and David rolled toward the weapon.

Karen yelled from the bed, “Run, Jack!”

He froze. “He’ll kill you—”

“No! His superiors want me alive! Go!”

Jack paused. David reached to the gun.

“Run!” Karen screamed.

Swearing, Jack darted through the door, slamming it behind him. Ahead, smoke filled the hall. Flames danced at the top of the stairs. Jack tore into a neighboring cabin. The bomb, primed with a small bit of C-4 from David’s own bomb, had been meant as a distraction so he and Karen could escape.

Jack crossed the cabin and tugged down the folded emergency ladder. Cinching down his diving mask, he mounted the ladder and twisted the release to the aft deck’s hatch.

An alarm sounded.

Flinging back the small door, he dove out. He rolled across the deck and to his feet. Men were running with buckets and hoses. One stopped and blocked his escape, mouth open in surprise.

As the man dropped his bucket and reached to a holstered pistol, Jack ran at him, elbowing him across his Adam’s apple. The guard fell back, gagging. His way clear, Jack dove over the starboard rail.

Holding his mask, he struck the water, then kicked and dug his way toward the bottom. He flipped on his ultraviolet wrist lights just as bullets began to ping and zing through the water around him. He ignored the threat and searched for where he’d stored his equipment.

He quickly found it. Hidden in the shadow of the crumbling wall, Jack took a quick drag from the pony tank’s regulator, then tossed it aside. Karen would not be needing it. He looked up.

The cutter remained topside, but it wouldn’t be there for long. The exploding fuel tank was the signal for Charlie to call in the police. The original plan was for he and Karen to hide down here until the police chased them off.

As he fit his feet into his fins, Jack spotted movement from the corner of his eye. He twisted around, glancing up.

Small metallic objects, no bigger than soda cans, were sinking into the water around him. A dozen, maybe more. As he watched, one of them struck a tall column fifteen yards away. The explosion threw Jack to the sand, slamming the air from his lungs. His ears flared with pain. Bits of rock pelted him. Blind for a moment, he rolled across the sea floor.

As his vision snapped back, he spotted a dozen other charges falling around him. Another trap. He had less than five seconds until the area was blown to fragments.

Grabbing his buoyancy vest and attached air tank, he twisted the vest around and jammed his arms in the wrong way. The tank, instead of on his back, lay upside down on his chest. Swinging with his hips, he jammed the tank against a nearby stone wall and the valve snapped off. Compressed oxygen exploded out.

The tank, now a rocket, jetted away.

Hugging the tank tight to his chest, Jack rode it away from the cascade of depth charges. Fighting for control, his back slammed into the side of one of the submerged ruins. A rib snapped with a jolt of fire. He bit his lips against the pain and twisted his arms more snugly in the tangled buoyancy vest. Using his fins and legs, he roughly guided his trajectory through the maze of columns and walls, shooting like a pinball through an underwater arcade game.

As he rode, the explosions blasted behind him. He felt each charge as if kicked by a mule. A large chunk of basalt flew past him and bounced across the sand.

In seconds Jack’s flight slowed as the air evacuated from the tank. He swam and kicked to put additional distance between him and the depth charges. Finally, he could not ignore the fire in his lungs. He dumped the expired tank and pushed for the surface.

The upper waters were no longer midnight blue, but a deep aqua. The sun was rising.

He paddled toward the weak light and sucked air as his head broke the surface. His broken rib complained with each breath, but the relief of fresh air overwhelmed the ache. He swung around.

The morning was misty, heavy with the promise of rain. Seventy yards away, the seas still roiled around the police cutter. It looked as if the ship floated on a boiling pan of water. As he watched, one last explosion blew to the surface, casting a geyser of water high into the air.

In the distance, the multiple sirens of police vessels whined. Closer, the diesel motor of Spangler’s cutter began to roar. Its bow end surged up as the ship took flight. Wakes churned and the boat swept away.

Jack watched, helpless, hurt. As he tread in place, a sense of defeat washed over him.

He had survived, but he’d lost Karen. And no matter what she argued, her life was on a short fuse. Once her usefulness ended, she would be eliminated.

Off near the coast, the cutter raced away, moving faster, disappearing around the headlands of Nahkapw Island.

As he stared, hopeless, a light rain began to fall, pebbling the seas around him. Then he rolled onto his stomach and began the long swim back to the Deep Fathom.

8:46 A.M., off the coast of Pingelap Atoll

Three hours after Jack’s escape, David stood in the pilothouse of the sleek cutter. Rain sluiced and beat against the window. The storm was worsening, but he did not care. The cover of rain and mist had allowed them to escape once again. Hidden by the heavy morning fog, they had traveled over fifty miles, putting as much distance as possible between them and Pohnpei Island.

Off to the north, he could see the small atoll of Pingelap. His men were busily offloading their equipment into the cutter’s launch. After they finished and collected their prisoner, they would scuttle the ship and travel to the nearby empty beach. An evac helicopter was already on its way to collect them.