John pointed.
A star bloomed in the darkness. Off to the south, high above.
Ground zero.
The old man turned to Amanda. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His grief was plain in every line of his face. He had aged decades in a single moment.
Amanda spoke. “I’m so sorry.”
He closed his eyes and turned away, inconsolable.
Amanda turned back to the DeepEye. The man’s daughter, all the others, they had sacrificed everything in an attempt to save the world.
But had they wasted their lives?
The Polaris trigger had blown. That was plain on the DeepEye monitor. But what of Amanda’s attempt to block the two amplifiers?
She stared at the blued-out screen. Her idea had been a simple one, employed rapidly. She had ordered the Polar Sentinel to dive deep. She needed distance from the surface.
As the submarine had plummeted into the Arctic depths, she had rapidly punched in the coordinates and aligned the DeepEye toward the locations of the two nearest amplifiers in the array. Once it was deep enough, she had pointed the DeepEye and widened the breadth of the sonar cone to encompass both devices, needing the distance and depth to accomplish this. Then she had turned the full strength of the DeepEye upon the pair of amplifiers and prayed.
For Polaris to work, the array had to propagate a perfect harmonic wave, just the right frequency to generate an ice-shattering effect. But if the DeepEye was transmitting across the wave front, it could alter the harmonics just enough to disrupt and perhaps jangle the wave front from igniting the two amplifiers within the DeepEye’s cone.
Amanda stared over at the monitor, waiting for it to clear.
Had her plan worked?
9:18 P.M.
RUSSIAN I-SERIES SUB
Burrowed between two mattresses, Jenny clung to Matt. The world cartwheeled around them both, not smoothly, but jarringly, like a paint shaker. Even with the cushioning, she felt battered and bruised. Her head rang from the concussion of the explosion.
But she was still alive.
They both were.
Matt hugged her tight, his legs and arms wrapped around her. “We’re heading down,” he yelled in her ears.
She also felt the increasing pressure.
After a long minute, the world slowed its spin, settling out into a crooked angle.
“I think we’ve stabilized.” Matt slid an arm from her and peeled away one edge of the mattress to peek out.
Jenny joined him.
In a berth across from them, Kowalski had already poked his head out. He waved a field flashlight up and down the crew quarters. The floor was tilted down and canted to the side, still rolling slightly. “Is everyone okay?” he called out.
Like butterflies leaving cocoons, the rest of the party emerged. Muffled barking confirmed Bane’s status.
Magdalene cried from farther back. “Zane…he fell out…!”
Zane answered faintly from the other direction, “No, I’m okay. Broke my wrist.”
Everyone slowly crawled free, checking their own limbs. Washburn carried Maki. She sang softly to the child, soothing him.
Tom worked his way up the narrow passage between the stacked bunks. His eyes were on the walls and ceilings. Jenny knew why. She heard the creak of seams, the pop of strained joints. “We’re deep,” he muttered. “The explosion must have thrust us straight down.”
“But at least we survived the explosion,” Ogden said.
“It was the ice around the sub,” Tom said dully. “It shielded us. The hollow sea cave was a structural weak point of the station. It simply shattered away, carrying us with it.”
“Are we going to sink to the bottom?” Magdalene asked.
“We’ve positive buoyancy,” Tom answered. “We should eventually surface like a cork. But…”
“But what?” Zane asked, cradling his arm.
All of the Navy crew stared at the walls as they continued to groan and scrape. Kowalski answered, “Pray we don’t reach crush depth first.”
9:20 P.M.
UNDER THE ICE…
With a start, Craig woke in darkness, upside down. He tasted blood on his tongue, his head ached, and his shoulder flared with a white-hot fire. Broken clavicle. But none of this stimulation woke him.
It was the spray of cold water in his face.
In the darkness, it took him a moment to orient himself. As he righted himself, his hands reached out to glass walls. He felt the source of the jetting spray. A crack in the tank’s glass door. The water was ice-cold.
His eyes strained for any sign of where he was. But the world remained as dark as oil. Water rose under him, filling the tank. He could hear the bubble of escaping air. The tank was no longer intact. He had survived the shockwave of the bomb, but he was deep underwater.
And still falling.
The spray grew fiercer as the depth grew deeper.
Ice water soaked through him, thigh-high now. His teeth chattered, half from cold, half from shock, but mostly from growing panic.
He secretly feared being buried alive. He had heard tales of agents being eliminated in such a manner.
This was worse.
The cold rose through him faster than the water. Which would kill him first, he wondered, hypothermia or drowning?
After a full minute, the answer came.
The loud bubbling stopped, and the spray of water slowed to a trickle, then stopped. He had reached some equilibrium point. The pocket of air was holding the water back…at least for now.
But he was far from safe. The small pocket would quickly stale, and even before that, the cold would kill him.
Or maybe not.
Fingers scrambled into the pocket of his parka. The clink of glass sounded. His fingertips touched broken glass, cutting. Still, he searched and found what he sought. He pulled out one of the glass syringes, unbroken. He had taken two samples from the ice lab, insurance at the time.
Now it was survival.
He thumbed off the needle cap.
There was no way he could find a vein in the dark.
With both hands, he stabbed the long point into the flesh of his belly. The pain was exquisite. He shoved the plunger, pushing the elixir into his peritoneal cavity. From there, it should slowly absorb into his bloodstream.
Once emptied, he pulled the syringe free and dropped it into the icy pool at his waist. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, his limbs soon followed.
A fear rose through his panic.
Would the cryogenic elixir absorb fast enough?
Only time would tell.
9:21 P.M.
RUSSIAN I-SERIES SUB
Holding his breath, Matt stood with the others. The old sub groaned and popped. Kowalski swung his flashlight up and down the passage. Distantly a soft hiss of water whispered in the boat. A leak. The darkness pressed down upon them.