The Perseus swept down into the slot canyon after him, diving with murderous intent.
Staring behind him, Jack realized his error. A dusty spray of silt trailed behind the sub’s tail, coughed up from the seabed floor by his passage. A clear trail. A stupid mistake.
Giving up any pretense of hiding, he speared on his lamplight and floored the pedals. The Nautilus shot up, corkscrewing out of the canyon.
As he spun, a minitorpedo zipped past the sub’s dome, narrowly missing his vessel. To the left, a brief explosion flared as the torpedo struck a seamount, its thunder echoing through his hydrophones.
Jack tilted his sub into a steep dive, riding the shockwave, and dropped into a neighboring canyon. Flattening out, the bottom of his sub scraped through the silt, casting up a cloud.
What had betrayed him a moment ago could save him now. He thumbed off his lamp and coasted without thrusters, vanishing into the widening cloud of sand and silt.
He heard David over the radio, swearing. In David’s anxiousness to pursue him, he had forgotten his radio line was still open. Jack did not correct this mistake. He eavesdropped. “Goddamn you, Kirkland. I’ll see you die before this day is out.”
Jack grinned. Keep trying, ass**le. He raced down the chute, gliding around an outcropping. A sonar warning chimed. The canyon ended in a flat cliff face only twenty yards away.
“Oh, shit…” He flung the thrusters in reverse, earning a high-pitched whine of protest, and flung the nose of the sub straight up. But it wasn’t enough to halt his momentum. The bottom of the Nautilus struck the wall hard.
Jarred forward, the belts of his harness dug into his shoulders. He forced himself back and worked the thrusters, climbing straight up the wall.
A new warning rang from his computer. His batteries were running low.
“Great…just great…”
Clearing the wall, Jack leveled out and sped along the mount’s summit. He prayed his power lasted long enough. Sensing movement on his left, he turned and was blinded by a shaft of light.
The Perseus flew out of a nearby canyon, straight at him.
Rather than being rammed broadside, Jack rolled the sub, taking the collision on his undercarriage. The Nautilus jolted violently. Struck at the stern, Jack’s sub spun. He struggled to right himself, to no avail. The sub struck the seamount, burying its nose in the thick silt.
Sweating, ears ringing, he fought the thrusters to tug himself out.
With a groan of stressed metal, the Nautilus popped free.
As he swung his sub upright, he peripherally saw the Perseus swinging in a tight loop, its torpedo array swiveling in his direction.
Time to go!
He slammed the foot pedals. Thrusters whined. The sub rumbled and tremored but refused to move. His front thruster assembly was jammed with sand. “C’mon, c’mon…”
He slammed the sub into reverse, blowing clear the choked props.
The Perseus sped closer, determined not to miss this time. “Ready to die, Kirkland?”
Free of debris, Jack goosed his thrusters. With no time to escape, he aimed straight for his adversary, playing a risky game of chicken, trusting in David’s cowardice. An explosion too close would threaten David’s own sub.
He floored the foot pedals and streaked forward.
Rather than shying, the Perseus remained on course.
Jack flicked on his xenon lamp. Light lanced out to stab the other sub, blinding its pilot.
At the last moment Spangler angled away.
Jack flashed under the enemy sub. He caught a quick glimpse of David sprawled on his belly in his cigar-shaped glass pod. Then the Perseus was gone.
Watching it retreat, Jack spotted the torpedo array spinning to track him as the Perseus fled. A finger of fire spat from the array.
“Oh crap!”
Jack straightened in his seat. The nearest canyon lay too far away. His sonar picked up the incoming torpedo as it sped toward him. He found himself leaning forward, as if that would increase his speed. “Move it…”
Laughter sounded over his radio. “Adios, ass**le!”
Jack realized he would never make the canyon. He searched for other options and spotted a large boulder resting on the seamount’s summit. Slamming the left pedal, he dove at a steep angle toward it.
“Suicide, Jack? At least die with honor!”
Jack’s gaze flickered between the speeding torpedo and the oncoming collision. He bit his lip, calculating. At the last moment, he blew out his ballast tanks and gunned his thrusters. The nose end of his sub slammed into the silty bottom in front of the boulder—and bounced.
With the increased buoyancy, the tiny vessel flipped over the boulder, like a gymnast flying over a vaulting horse.
But the torpedo couldn’t.
The huge rock burst under the Nautilus. The blast shoved up the sub’s stern, peppering its underside with shards. Jack whooped, riding the concussion while sucking up new ballast. The shock wave shoved him right over the edge of the canyon.
He dove, dropping like a lead weight straight into the next chute.
Near the bottom, he angled out, skimming along the seabed. Relief and excitement mixed, but it was short-lived. The dark waters above him soon grew lighter as David pursued, closing in with his faster sub.
Jack examined his sonar readings. A strange shadow showed up ahead. He kept his lamps lit, unsure what was coming.
He needed a place to hide—and soon!
Sliding around a slight curve in the canyon, he spotted the anomaly. An arch of rock spanned the chute, a high bridge of thin stone.
He glided under it. It was too small to hide him, but it gave him an idea. He slowed and settled to the silty bottom.
It was time to even the odds.
Situation Room, White House
Lawrence Nafe stood before the computerized strategy map glowing on the rear wall of the White House’s Situation Room. Behind him were gathered the Joint Chiefs, the Cabinet, and the Secret Service.
On the map, the tiny island of Okinawa glowed red.
Destroyed. Hundreds of thousands killed in a blinding flash.
His Secretary of Defense spoke behind him. “We need to choose a target, Mr. President. Retaliation must be swift and severe.”
Nafe stepped away from the map and turned around. “Beijing.”
The men around the table stared.
“Burn it to the bedrock.”
8:55 A.M., Perseus
On his belly in the sub’s sleek pod, David sped around a curve. Sweat ran down his face, into his nose and mouth. He didn’t bother wiping it away. He dared not release his grip on the controls. A heads-up display glowed across the poly-acrylic nose cone. Sonar lines were superimposed over the view of the real terrain.