Vostok (42 page)

“The Dunk was in its aquarium when David saw it; the rest I don’t know about. Bin Rashidi’s kept everything quiet, since he ordered his team to follow the
Liopleurodon ferox
. Moving out ahead of the
Tonga
is the
Dubai-Land
, a 280-ton fishing trawler. That’s the hunter’s boat. David’s on board with one of the Mantas.”

Jonas turned to Mac. “What’s the status on our subs?”

“Number One is being recharged. Number Two is in the dry dock ready to launch.”

“Inform Mr. Reed I want to be in the water in fifteen minutes. Zach, you’re with me; it’s time for your first piloting lesson.”

I followed him out the door and down the steel stairwell, my heart racing.

“Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

—Lewis Carroll

I followed Jonas into the bowels of the ship. Reaching the lowest deck, we made our way aft through a tight corridor, past the engine room to a watertight door.

The light was off, the door open.

Jonas led me inside.

Perched on rubber blocks above a pair of sealed horizontal doors in the ship’s keel was the Manta submersible. Aptly named, the hydrodynamic vessel was dark brown on top with a white belly, its body nine feet long with an eighteen-foot wingspan.

“She really does look like a giant manta ray. What’s the hull
made of?”

“Layered acrylic,” answered a mechanic, his navy-blue jumpsuit and leather jacket stained with grease.

“Zachary Wallace, Cyel Reed, our chief engineer.”

Reed snorted sarcastically. “One chief, no Indians. And still no damn heater down here. I had to pour boiling water over the starboard wing just to tighten the support struts on your damn laser.”

Jonas examined the Valkyrie. “It came loose when I pulled out of a barrel roll. Think it’ll hold?”

“Will it hold? Yeah. If you quit trying to fly it like an F-15. Weight distribution’s off. You don’t put a luggage rack on a Ferrari and expect it to perform. Barrel rolls or the ability to melt ice—pick your poison, J.T.”

Jonas turned to me. “We can pull the Valkyries. It’s your call.”

“Melting ice is more important to me, especially where I’m going. Maybe the additional weight will help stabilize the sub in the currents.”

“And maybe if I eat coal for breakfast I’ll shit diamonds later,” the mechanic scoffed. “Only I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Anyway, she’s ready to launch.”

Four minutes later, I found myself seated in the starboard cockpit while Jonas methodically ran through an abbreviated systems checklist from the portside command console. “Hatch sealed. Life-support: go. Batteries: go. Back-up systems: charged. Valkyries: charged. Chamber is pressurized. Mac, are you online?”

“As always. Why does this feel like a bad déjà vu?”

“My life is one big déjà vu. How far away are bin Rashidi’s ships?”

“The trawler’s still a good four miles out. The
Tonga
’s changed course, moving south. As for the creature, there’s nothing on sonar. Maybe they’re just coming ashore to get supplies?”

“Maybe. Keep us apprised. Mr. Reed,
Manta 2
is ready for
launch. Flood the chamber.”

Water rushed into the compartment, lifting the buoyant submersible off its blocks. Rusted hinges groaned as the keel’s three-inch-thick steel doors opened beneath us, venting the chamber to the Southern Ocean.

Jonas maneuvered the two-man submersible out of the flooded dock, into the ink-black sea. Rather than power-on the headlights, he adjusted the cockpit glass to night-vision mode, our surroundings blooming into a tapestry of olive-green.

Below us lay a carpet of sea stars and urchins. Above, a blizzard of shrimp-like krill congregated beneath an island of surface ice. Seconds later the ocean rained emperor penguins, their tiny arms propelling them into the depths, their darting forms trailing bubble streams.

Jonas gave them a wide berth. “You ready to take over?”

“Give me a quick tutorial.”

“Joystick steers, the two foot pedals accelerate the port and starboard propulsors. It’s all about coordinating your limbs with your navigation console. Just remember green is right-side up, red means you are upside down. Switching control to your command console… now.”

I grabbed the joystick while my feet searched for the foot pedals that operated the sub’s twin thrusters. Within seconds our smooth ride became a herky-jerky nightmare.

Jonas pointed to my navigation monitor. “Watch the current, you’re buffeting. The gauge will suggest a course adjustment.”

I glanced at the reading and banked three degrees to starboard, the slight change smoothing out the ride. “It’s an incredible machine. How much pressure can she handle?”

“More than Vostok can deliver. But I’m not sold on lending her to you just yet.”

My stomach tightened. “Jonas, my son—”

“I don’t see how getting to this alien vessel before MJ-12 will
force this Colonel to release Brandy and William. Seems like there’s something you’re not telling me. As for this E.T. who helped you seven years ago, how is that even possible? The ice sheet’s been in place for millions of years. How could it still be around? For that matter, how important could its technology be? And depending on your father to function as a reliable copilot isn’t exactly a selling point.”

“Jonas, this extraterrestrial exists in the upper dimensions, where time has no relevance. It’s the reason I know about zero-point energy. As for Angus, he can be taught to maintain the autopilot.”

“Maybe. But this is more about your credibility, Zach. As someone who’s been the target of smear tactics, I can discount the things I’ve read about you in the paper; however, strictly from a business perspective, we’ve already invested a lot of money in your energy company. With the Institute essentially out of business, the conspiracy stories are starting to wear a bit thin.”

“Jonas, the generators worked. We still have the schematics and more than thirty countries who are ready to do business.”

“Not anymore. While you were out of commission, NASA announced that the E.T. attack on the Capitol may have been provoked by gravitational fluxes caused by your Vostok generators, which affected the aliens’ life-support systems. It’s a lie, I’m sure, but it’s an effective one. No nation on the planet will risk using your generator to supply power.”

I felt exasperated. Once more, the powers-that-be had reasserted control over humanity’s future.

Mac’s voice over the radio interrupted my thoughts. “Jonas, another vessel just entered Prydz Bay. Looks like it’s the support ship for that submarine Zachary described.”

“Download its bearing to our navigation system. We’ll take a look.”

A line of position appeared on our monitors, connecting our present location with Mac’s destination, the eastern face of the
Loose Tooth Rift.

For the next twenty minutes, I kept the Manta on a northwesterly course that brought us to inside a mile of the Amery Ice Shelf. To simulate the feeling of operating in a tight enclosure, Jonas insisted I keep the sub within six feet of the frozen surface while maintaining a velocity in excess of twenty knots, a harrowing endeavor culminating in no less than half a dozen wing scrapes and Valkyrie collisions.

“Jonas, it’s my first time out. Give me a chance to get a feel for her.”

“This
is
your chance, Zach. From here you graduate straight to a subglacial river squeezed beneath the Antarctic ice sheet. If you can’t handle this, how are you going to deal with that claustrophobic nightmare?”

Jonas checked our target’s position on sonar. “That’s close enough. Slow to three knots and power up the Valkyries.

“Now dive to fifty feet and put us in a slow, steep ascent. Allow the lasers to open a hole in the ice directly above us. The moment you see the night sky, cut your engines and the Manta will float topside.”

I followed his instructions, opening a gap in the ice large enough to accommodate the sub. We surfaced, bobbing beneath a star-filled sky awash with a pink swoosh of southern light. A quarter mile to the west, we could see the surface ship’s stern lights, our night-vision binoculars revealing an A-frame towering above her aft deck, a Canadian registry, and the name
Tortuga
written across her backside.

Mac searched the ship’s name on the
McFarland’s
computer, finding three dozen matches but only one vessel her size flying a Canadian flag. “She was built by the U.S. Navy, decommissioned in 2002, then purchased and refitted by a private Toronto firm owned by a subsidiary of the Bank of Liechtenstein.”

I turned to Jonas. “The bank’s a private institution, a tax haven for billionaires. I realize this will sound like more conspiracy theory, but hundreds of billions of dollars have passed through the Bank of Liechtenstein to fund MJ-12 projects. I think we’d better submerge. There’s a GeoEye-1 satellite over Antarctica, equipped with an imaging payload that can locate any surface object on the planet.”

I descended the Manta to ninety feet and leveled off just above the sea floor.

A blip appeared on sonar as we headed for the
Tortuga
’s keel.

Jonas donned headphones. “Lots of noise up ahead. Sounds like it’s coming from the ice shelf. Come to course two-seven-seven, we’ll take a look.”

With the early arrival of its support ship, the
Tethys
had launched fourteen hours ahead of schedule. Jonas and I arrived at the Amery Ice Shelf moments before the tail section of the thirty-seven-foot submarine disappeared from view, following its laser-spewing bow on a thirty-degree down angle into the base of the Loose Tooth Rift and a newly formed underwater cavern.

Jonas stared at the hole, dumbfounded. “That was impressive. You say Skunkworks built that beast?”

“With your tax dollars.” Banking the Manta into an awkward turn, I raced east toward open water.

“Zach, where are you going?”

“Back to the
McFarland
. I need to pick up Angus, load the Manta with supplies, and get through that passage before the
Tethys
gets too far ahead of us.”

“It’s a suicide mission. You’d be lucky to make it a mile before getting lost down there.”

“I’m not just going to let my son die.”

“Agreed. But how will getting you to Vostok save your son?
Explain that part to me, and I’ll take you there myself.”

A text message flashed on both our monitors:
MOVE!

My eyes darted to the sonar where dozens of blips were converging upon us. “Jesus, what is that?”

“Whales. And we’re in their path. Shift controls back to my console—”

A forty-five-foot humpback whale shot past us out of the ether, its thrusting gray fluke barely missing the sub.

Two more bulls followed, and suddenly there were whales everywhere. They were not just humpbacks. I saw minkes and fins, and a pygmy sperm whale struck our portside wing, spinning us about.

Jonas attempted to accelerate out of the roll, only to have the Manta sideswiped by another fleeing dark gray body.