Goliath (44 page)

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Authors: Steve Alten

BOOK: Goliath
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Masud takes the OICW gun from Gunnar.
Jalal eyes Rocky lustfully. “I’ll take care of these two. You deactivate the explosive.”
The younger Kurd nods, then hurries down the corridor.
Jalal aims the assault rifle at Gunnar.
Rocky jumps in front of him. “Wait! Simon’s dead, the computer’s running the ship now. Kill us, and you’ll die, too.”
Jalal smiles. “I’m not going to kill you, I’m going to kill him.”
Machine gun fire erupts from down the corridor.
Jalal turns. “Masud?”
Sujan steps out from the galley, a crimson stain spreading across his shirt.
Jalal raises his gun,
—as the blade edge of Gunnar’s hand strikes him in the throat, crushing his windpipe.
Sujan staggers forward, coughing up blood.
Rocky rushes to him, catching him as he falls, guiding him to the deck.
“Sujan—”
He grimaces, choking on a smile. “Go.”
Rocky kisses him on the forehead as he dies.
Gunnar grabs the OICW machine gun and drags Rocky toward the access tube. Gripping the outside of the steel ladder with their hands and feet, they slide straight down the chute to lower deck forward.
Gunnar checks the underwater mine. 2:35 … 2:34 … 2:33 … “We have to hurry—”
And on that, their world goes topsy-turvy.
The enraged computer restarts the
Goliath’s
engines, driving it away from the ocean floor and sending it into a looping wingtip-over-wingtip maneuver.
Gunnar and Rocky are tossed about the corridor as if caught in a washing machine.
The turbulence pummels the frozen ocean surface, cracking it open like an eggshell.
“He who is hated by the people as a wolf is by the dogs: He is the free spirit.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher
 
 
“I had hated and been hated. I had my little world to keep alive as long as possible, and my gun. That was my answer.”
— Charles Starkweather, mass murderer, after his weeklong rampage
The sudden surge of acoustics causes Michael Flynn to jump. He presses the headphones tighter to his ears and closes his eyes. “It’s the
Goliath
, Skipper.” The sonarman’s expression changes.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never heard anything like this.”
Cubit grabs a set of headphones. Listens. “Conn, Captain, take us to periscope depth. Radio, patch me through to General Jackson on the ELF.”
The mammoth submarine rights itself.
DISENGAGE THE EXPLOSIVE.
Gunnar flops onto his back, moaning in pain.
DISENGAGE THE EXPLOSIVE OR I SHALL SEND YOU TO HELL.
The computer’s lost its mind
. Gunnar struggles to his knees, glancing at the mine’s digital display: 1:05 … 1:04 …
“Come on!” Rocky drags him to his feet.
Gunnar grabs the OICW and follows her into the hangar, then yanks her sideways as a geyser of bone-chilling seawater erupts from out of minisub berth 1, blasting the two of them across the hangar.
The
Goliath
ascends, causing a river of water to rush out from the hangar and into the lower deck-forward corridor—
—carrying with it, the body of Abdul Kaigbo, the MEMS unit still dangling from the back of the dead African’s skull.
Battling the current, Rocky and Gunnar reach the prototype.
 
Abdul Kaigbo’s waterlogged corpse floats past the platter mine—
—its two mechanical arms suddenly animating to life, latching on to the underwater explosive.
Sorceress
reseals docking berth 1, stifling the flow of water, as it manipulates the dead man’s steel-and-graphite arms, using its claws to pry open the mine.
The computer registers the MEMS unit weakening from saltwater exposure and its torn connections. With its last ounce of energy, the steel claw rips open the neutron bomb’s triggering mechanism, tearing out the C-4 fuses.
Gunnar collapses painfully into the prototype’s pilot’s seat, then checks his watch.
Twenty-two seconds …
“Rocky, shoot out the starboard wall and get in!”
Balancing atop the Hammerhead by its dorsal fin-shaped hatch, Rocky aims the OICW and fires the remaining 20-mm explosive rounds into the hangar bay wall, then ducks into the minisub’s cockpit, sealing the hatch.
An eruption of seawater shoots into the compartment, the abrupt change in pressure rattling the interior of the ship, widening the gap.
The blast of ocean lifts the prototype, smashing it sideways against the far wall.
Rocky drops into the passenger seat as Gunnar powers up the minisub. Gripping the joystick, he slams both feet to the pedals controlling the minisub’s thrusters.
The steel Hammerhead stabilizes and accelerates, shooting out of the hole into the midnight sea like a dart.
Gunnar adjusts the eyepiece of his helmet, then steals a glance at his sonar console with his left eye. Eleven small objects—
Goliath’s
minisubs—are giving chase, their larger mother ship closing in fast from behind. “This could be a short trip.”
A sudden thought. “Rocky … how’s your Morse code?”
Tom Cubit presses his grandfather’s gold pocket watch to his lips, staring at his charts. The
Goliath
is heading east, moving farther away from his ship with each passing second.
You guessed wrong, Cubit, you screwed up bad
…
Commander Dennis moves closer. “Skipper?”
“Yes, XO, we’re going after her. Restart engines. Come to course zero-nine-zero—”
“Conn, sonar, I’m picking up orca sounds, has to be those minisubs. And something else, Skipper, the lead minisub appears to be pinging.”
“Pinging? Belay that order, Chief!”
“Conn, radio, those pings are Morse code, sir. It’s an S.O.S.”
Commander Dennis looks up at his CO. “Joe-Pa?”
“Gotta be. Chief, raise the number one BRA.”
“Aye, sir, raising antenna.”
“Radio, Captain, get me General Jackson on the ELF. Sonar, where’s the
Goliath?”
“Trailing the minisubs, bearing zero-eight-zero.”
“Conn, radio, I’ve got Jackson—”
Cubit grabs the microphone. “General, this is Cubit. Joe-Pa’s in one of the minisubs, being chased by the
Goliath
. Is there any way you can patch us through?”
Gunnar and Rocky hold on as another mechanical shark rams their vessel’s tail fin.
Five hundred yards behind, the
Goliath
soars through the ocean like a giant bat in a dark cave, the reflection from its scarlet viewports casting a bloodred hue beneath the frozen surface.
Another impact, this one to port.
“Hold on!” Gunnar wrenches the joystick hard to starboard, smashing the sub’s midwing stabilizer into another steel Hammerhead.
“Gunnar, what happened to that goddamn explosive?”
“Shit if I know.”
Two more bone-jarring collisions, this time from below.
The power flickers off—then on.
“What the hell was that?”
Gunnar checks the battery cells. “You don’t want to know.”
Before she can respond, a red light flashes on the console. Gunnar activates the radio. “Bear, that you?”
A blast of static envelops a faint voice—“Joe-Pa, this … Cubit … Scranton. We … sonar. Come west … two-six-zero—”
The prototype is jarred sideways, the jolt turning the message to pure static.
Rocky’s heart pounds. “An American sub?”
“Yeah, but we’re headed the wrong way … hold on!”
Gunnar aims for the luminescent white root of a behemoth iceberg. Adrenaline pumping, he races the prototype around the face of the submerged mountain, his portside pectoral stabilizer scraping ice.
Circling counterclockwise, faster and faster around the face of the berg, Gunnar’s mind screams at him to veer away, afraid he is about to collide head-on into an unseen escarpment. “Rocky, call out our bearing!”
“Zero-ten-zero … zero-five-zero … three-five-zero … three-three-zero …”
Another jolt from starboard, one of
Goliath’s
minisubs attempting to ram him into the face of the berg.
“ … two-eight-zero … two-six-zero … two-four-zero—”
“Christ!” Gunnar yanks the joystick hard to starboard—
—as a pair of Scarlet demonic eyes appears from out of nowhere in the darkness, heading straight for them.
Gunnar pulls the prototype into a tight, teeth-rattling 360, looping around and beneath the incoming starboard wing of the Goliath, the turbulence from the leviathan’s five propulsors sending the Hammerhead caroming off the northern face of the iceberg.
Rocky tumbles sideways into Gunnar as he overcompensates to starboard, then veers to port.
He glances down with his left eye, checking his course.
Two-six-zero.
“Rocky, the radio console … fix that loose wire.”
She unhooks her seat belt, feeling behind the radio.
The speaker jumps to life. “ …
repeat, west
, twelve thousand yards …
eastern face, heading north. Do you read
?”
Rocky grabs the mic. “Cubit, repeat message!”
A thousand yards back, the
Goliath
banks hard to pursue.
“ … iceberg, twelve thousand yards … ahead. Follow eastern face, heading north. Stay tight … depth … two-hundred feet.”
“Iceberg?” Rocky glances at the sonar controls. “There it is, twelve thousand yards, right in front of us.”
The radio transmission turns to static.
 
Cubit prays his message was received.
Just keep on pinging, Joe-Pa, just
keep on pinging
. “Chief, make your depth two hundred feet. Conn, WEPS, firing point procedures, tubes three and four.”
“Skipper, on what bearing? I don’t have a target or a firing solution.”
“Dead ahead. This is a timing play, gentlemen. Joe-Pa’s leading the wolf to slaughter. WEPS, set torpedoes three and four to run-to-enable at six hundred yards.”
“Setting torpedoes three and four to run-to-enable, six hundred yards, aye, sir.”
“Open outer doors. Stand by to fire.”
“Two thousand yards. See anything yet?”
“Yeah,” Gunnar says, focusing out of his right eye, “I see ice, a goddamn wall of it.”
“Circle to the right, keep it tight.”
“Don’t be a backseat driver.” Gunnar leans forward, staring hard at the display image coming from the sub’s forward underwater camera. A mountain of submerged ice lies directly in front of them, its glowing alabaster face becoming visible in the black sea.
Rocky continues the sonar pinging.
Two more jolts, one from starboard, the other from behind.
“Christ, they’re tearing apart our propulsion system.” Gunnar banks hard to starboard, then back to port, unable to shake the minisubs.
“One thousand yards—”
The prototype’s engine stalls, then recatches the sea as Gunnar reworks the foot pedals.
“Five hundred yards—”
 
Sorceress, unfathomable intelligence, directed by a bipolar mind.
Sorceress, a conglomeration of biochemical circuits, caught in a perpetual command loop, repeating its mantra over and over as it spins out of control.
KILL GUNNAR WOLFE … KILL GUNNAR WOLFE … KILL GUNNAR WOLFE …
In a swarm of movement,
Goliath’s
minisubs suddenly converge upon Gunnar’s minisub as one, pinning the prototype between them, restricting the vessel’s lateral movement.
“Damn … I can’t steer … they’ve jammed their fins against our midwing stabilizers.”
“Two hundred yards! Gunnar, do something before they smash us head-on into the face of that iceberg!”
He veers the joystick hard to starboard.
The prototype collides with three minisubs, but is unable to break free.
“One hundred yards,” Rocky yells.
Gunnar grits his teeth, the ice face leaping into his vision. He eases off the foot pedals, slowing the sub.
A crunch of metal on metal as two of the steel Hammerheads grind into them from behind.
“Fifty yards … twenty-five … oh, shit—”
Now! Stomping on both foot pedals, he yanks back on the joystick as hard as he can.
The prototype pulls ahead of the pack enough to execute a tight backward loop up and over its eleven escorts. Barrel rolling out of the flip, Gunnar turns hard to starboard, bouncing twice off the eastern face of the berg before righting his craft.
Unable to slow in time, four of
Goliath’s
minisubs smash headfirst into the unyielding frozen slab and explode.
The other seven continue on, giving chase.
The monstrous ray adjusts its course, chasing the prototype along the mountainous wall of ice, its biochemical computer brain locking and loading a torpedo, its sensors zeroing in on the prototype.

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