A warning light on the console showed the propeller rpm’s reaching maximum and going beyond. “You have to reduce speed,” Paul urged.
“I’m trying,” the helmsman said. “Nothing’s working.”
The rpm’s were already three percent beyond the red line. “Why isn’t the limiter cutting in?”
Another crewman joined them on the bridge and went to the circuit breaker panel.
“Hit the override,” Paul shouted. “Emergency stop.”
The helmsman did as Paul ordered. He slammed his palm onto the yellow-and-red emergency stop button that acted as the override. The ship continued to charge south.
It dawned on Paul that the override was just another button to tell the computer to stop doing whatever it was doing. But if the system was faulty or had been corrupted, there was no reason to expect the override to be working correctly.
With the rpm’s still climbing, a shaft failure was possible, or even bearing failure in the engines themselves.
“Keep trying,” Paul said. “I’m headed to the engine room.” From her seat in the cockpit of Scarab One, Gamay continued transmitting to the Condor. “Paul, do you read me? Come in, Condor?”
With no luck, she tried contacting Duke in Scarab Two. “Duke, how’s your radio?”
There was no response. But, seconds later, Scarab Two appeared, rising over the far side of the wreck like the sun coming up. Gamay saw the thrusters align with the body, and the yellow submersible began to come their way. It moved slowly, its lights aimed oddly downward toward the wreck instead of forward.
“The radio must be out,” Gamay said to Elena.
“I’ll flash him,” Elena said.
“I bet he’s been dreaming about that,” Gamay joked.
Elena smiled and began to toggle the lights, tapping out a quick message in Morse code: Radio out. Scarab Two continued their way. It eased over the superstructure of the sunken yacht and began descending toward them. The lights finally came up and focused on them, but there was no flashed message in response.
Elena shielded her eyes. “Thanks for blinding us, Duke.”
“He’s coming in awfully fast,” Gamay said.
“Too fast,” Elena said. With a flick of her wrist, she put the thrusters in reverse and tried to back out of the way, but Duke’s sub bore down on them at full speed and rammed them, cockpit to cockpit. It was a glancing blow, but they were knocked sideways just the same. Gamay felt herself thrown about in the seat.
“What is wrong with him?” Elena blurted out, struggling to get control.
Gamay looked around. There were no leaks that she could see. No cracks. The Scarabs were certified to depths of two thousand feet—their hulls were immensely strong—but the bumper car experience was one she’d rather have on dry ground in an amusement park.
She looked out through the clear dome of the cockpit. Scarab Two was turning around and coming back their way, moving even faster this time.
“Something’s not right,” she said.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Gamay said. “Go. Just go!”
Elena slammed the throttles forward and pushed the control column down and to port. The yellow shape of Duke’s craft raced overhead and turned back to the left.
“What is he doing?” Elena asked. “Has he lost his mind?”
“I have no idea,” Gamay said. “Just keep us moving.”
“I’ve got the throttles full open,” Elena said. “But Duke’s in a newer ride, with upgraded thrusters and newer batteries. I hate to say it but we’re outclassed.”
Gamay could see that plainly. This time Duke sideswiped them and tried to force them into the hull of the Ethernet.
Elena reversed thrust and the orange submersible slowed. Duke shot past once again.
“Now what?”
“Take us up.”
“He’ll catch us if we try to surface.”
“Not all the way,” Gamay said. “Just over to the other side of the wreck.”
Elena twisted the control column upward and the thrusters pivoted into a vertical position. The sub rose up, cleared the superstructure, and sped across it. As soon as they hit the other side, Elena pushed the column forward and forced the sub down behind the yacht’s stern, tucking them into a spot at the rear section of the hull.
“Douse the lights!” Gamay said, flicking a series of switches on her side.
Elena reached forward and switched off the main floods and the sub was plunged into utter darkness. Gamay sighed. “Now, hold your breath,” she said. “And hope he doesn’t find us.”
Up on the surface, on the racing vessel, Paul dropped onto the main deck and sprinted aft. The Condor was charging across the water like a three-thousand-ton speedboat, all but planing across the sea.
Halfway to the engine room, he found the captain, who was rushing forward to the bridge.
“What in the name of Poseidon are they doing up there?” the captain shouted.
“It’s not the crew,” Paul said. “Something’s wrong with the system.”
“I should have known better than to accept a ship controlled by computers,” the captain said.
“We have to get back to the engine room,” Paul said. “She’s over-revving. We’ll blow out the propulsion units if we don’t shut them down.”
The captain turned around and ran with Paul to the aft end of the ship. They ducked inside and took a ladder down to the engine compartment. The noise was ear-shattering and verbal communication was all but impossible.
They found the chief and another member of the crew trying desperately to slow the engines down. The captain made a cutting motion across his neck.
The chief shook his head.
“What about the fuel pumps?!” Paul shouted at the top of his lungs.
They looked at him.
He leaned closer. “Fuel pumps! There must be an emergency shutoff in case of fire!”
The chief nodded and waved for them to follow. Like many modern ships, the Condor was powered not by heavy diesel engines but by a high-tech gas turbine system. Essentially, a jet engine connected to heavy reduction gearing and then to the propeller shaft or shafts.
As they put a bulkhead between them and the turbines, the sound lessened just enough that shouted communications could be heard.
“There are two turbines,” the chief said. “Two fuel pumps. Climb that half ladder and reach in behind the gauges. The red lever will shut off the fuel. I’ll handle the starboard pump. You take the port.”
Paul nodded and went to the ladder. The ship was shuddering and bucking with the speed. The heat from the turbines was like a blast furnace. With sweat pouring into his eyes, Paul climbed up and found the instrument cluster. He noticed the rpm indicator at one hundred thirty-nine percent. Well above the red line.
Without delay, he spied the emergency shutoff lever, grabbed it, and yanked it down hard.
The fuel cut out and the turbine instantly began a rapid deceleration. It was more than the reduction gearing could handle.
With a loud bang and the shriek of tearing metal, something major blew apart in the system. Paul found himself diving for the deck and covering his head as shrapnel flew through the compartment.
The hurtling missiles of steel cut apart several cables and a coolant line. Steam came blasting out and filled the compartment.
Paul looked up as the commotion died. He could feel the ship slowing even as the compartment filled with steam. He got to his feet, drenched in sweat, and made his way back to where the captain and the chief had been. The captain was on the ground, a nasty-looking gash on his leg bleeding badly.
“Get me up,” the captain ordered, holding the wound. “I need to see if we’re all right.”
Paul helped the captain to his feet. The chief pushed the hatches open to help clear the room.
The ship was coasting.
“We’re definitely coming to a stop,” Paul said.
“What happened?” th
e captain asked.
“Something went wrong in the master control unit,” Paul said. “It came alive on its own and wouldn’t respond. We’re dealing with people who know how to hack computers. And this ship is one of the newest in the fleet. It’s basically one big computer.”
The captain nodded weakly, getting whiter by the second. “Rip out all the computers and pull the circuit breakers. We’ll row this ship, if we have to, but I’m not losing control of my vessel again.”
Down below, Gamay Trout gazed into the darkness as the superstructure of the wreck became a silhouette, backlit by the floodlights of Duke’s sub. It was an eerie sight and it sent a chill down her spine. She noticed Elena’s hands on the throttle.
“Hold on,” she said.
From the darkness, Scarab Two appeared, cruising over the Ethernet like some predatory fish.
“He’s following our last heading,” Elena noted.
Gamay watched as the glowing orb surrounding the yellow sub continued to track away from them. It was like watching a spaceship cross some void in the depths of the galaxy. There was no frame of reference. The seafloor was black, the water around them into the distance was black. Directly above was black. Though it was broad daylight at the surface with a cloudless sky, no light could penetrate this deep.
Even the lights from Duke’s submersible faded as he headed into the dark. After several minutes, they too vanished, swallowed up by the depths.
“Where do you suppose he’s going?” Elena asked. “Looking for us,” Gamay began. “Why? I don’t know. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Something big is going on here,” Elena said.
“Seems that way.”
“I should have known,” Elena said. “When the Special Projects Division gets involved, it’s usually trouble. At least that’s what the scuttlebutt is.”
Gamay could not disagree.
“Too much excitement for me,” Elena said.
“Me too,” Gamay replied. “Me too.”
“Shall we surface?”
“Can you do it without the lights?”
“With ease.”
Gamay took one last look into the dark. “Let’s go. I want to warn Paul and the others as soon as possible.”
Elena added some power and the interior display lit up to show the thruster levels. She eased them away from the yacht and was rotating the thrusters when a set of blinding lights came on, aimed right into the cockpit. The four lights surged toward them like the eyes of some undersea monster. A hideous scraping sound assaulted their ears as the grappling arms of Duke’s Scarab clamped onto them like great claws.
Gamay grabbed her own controls and tried to use the arms of their submersible in defense.
But before she could do much, Duke had grasped one of the arms and attacked it with the rotary saw. It snapped off in seconds, and Gamay was left fighting with only one arm. “Use the torch,” Elena shouted.
Gamay ignited their acetylene torch and brought it down on Duke’s cockpit, planning to burn a hole in the bubblelike canopy. To her surprise, she saw Duke’s face in the light and he looked terrified. He held up his hands even as his machine continued to shove the older Scarab backward.
“It’s not him,” Gamay shouted. “He’s not in control.”
Instead of torching a hole in the cockpit and killing Duke, she moved the arm to the side and tried to cut off one of his thrusters. At almost the same instant, they were pushed into the wreck and their own port thruster was bent and rendered inoperative.
Duke’s sub now had at least twice their power.
“He’s pinning us down,” Elena shouted.
“I’m telling you, it’s not him,” Gamay replied.
She extended the torch and began burning off one of Duke’s thrusters, but the circular saw from Duke’s sub shot forward. It skipped up the cockpit glass, leaving an ugly scar, and began grinding on their back.
The hoses to their acetylene torch were sliced through and the sub was instantly surrounded by a whirlwind of bubbles that ignited. Fire engulfed both Scarabs as they battled in the deep.
In the garish illumination, Gamay saw Duke get up from his seat with a black crescent wrench in his hand. He was slamming it against the computer console, smashing the control unit. After a third or fourth hit, the lights on his sub went out and the turbulence of the battle ceased.
The subs, locked together and enveloped in bubbles and flame, fell slowly to the seafloor. They hit the silt and were still. A moment later, the acetylene tanks were fully vented and the fire burned out.
The world became utterly dark. Gamay flicked a few switches.
“He cut our power lines,” Elena said. “Or his sub did,” she added, correcting herself.
Gamay found a flashlight and switched it on. Amazingly, there were no leaks in the cabin yet. She narrowed the beam and held it to the window. It cast just enough light to see the yellow nose of Scarab Two.
Using the flashlight like a semaphore, she tapped out a message to Duke. Are you all right?
A few seconds later, a response came. Sorry, ladies, I don’t know what happened.
Gamay realized what Paul had also discerned up on the surface. They’d been hacked. Duke’s newer sub was the target. Its touchscreen control system made it vulnerable, unlike the older Scarab with its manual hydraulic systems.
It seems you’ve been hacked, Gamay replied with the light.
As Duke’s reply came in, Gamay read it aloud. “ ‘Nothing left to hack now. I’ve smashed everything in sight and ripped out all the wires . . . Don’t suppose they’ll take this out of my paycheck, do you?’ ”
Gamay smiled. And Elena shook her head as she grinned.
“Can we surface?” Gamay asked Elena.
“We have no power, but we can blow out the ballast tanks,” she said. “Duke should be able to do the same.”
Gamay nodded and tapped out the thought.
There was a delay in responding, and they could see Duke moving around in the cockpit, using his flashlight to check readings on the few analog gauges still present in the new Scarab. He seemed to spend a lot of time at the aft wall.
“What’s he checking?”
“The emergency air valve,” Elena said, pointing to a gauge and valve in the same spot on their sub.
Afraid I won’t be making the trip, Duke signaled. Seems you’ve cut into my compressed air tank. Not enough left to gain positive buoyancy. You gals will have to go up first and then come back and get me.
How much air do you have?
Five hours’ worth. Plus what’s left in the cabin.
“Should be plenty of time,” Elena said.
Gamay agreed. All they had to do was get a cable down here and they could use the Condor’s winch to haul Duke back to the surface.
“Good thing Paul didn’t join him,” Gamay said. “He’d have half as much air.”
“And you’d be twice as worried.”
That was true, though Gamay was worried enough for Duke as it was. She tapped out a new message.
We’re going up. Hope you can stand being rescued by a couple of girls.
If it means I get to see the sunlight again, I’ll wear a women’s lib T-shirt for the rest of the trip.
“That, I’d like to see,” Elena said, putting her hand on the release valve. “Prepare to blow tanks.”
Good luck, Gamay signaled.
You too.
With that, Elena turned the valve. A turbulent hissing sound followed as high-pressure air forced its way into the ballast tanks. As the water was forced out, the submersible slowly began to rise.
There was a brief pause and some odd metallic clangs as they untangled from Duke’s sub, and then they were free and ascending.
A few more flashes of light from Duke came forth. If you spot a waiter, send me down a drink.
Gamay laughed and turned her attention upward. For now, it remained black up above, as dark as a night without any stars or moon. She couldn’t wait f
or the first hint of grayish green that told her the surface was not too far away.
A minute went by. And then another. Gamay began to feel a little dizzy. “I feel like I’m in a sensory deprivation tank,” she said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Elena said.
Gamay decided to keep her head level. Looking up was messing with her inner ear and giving her vertigo.
She glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Fifteen more to go,” Elena said.
It was a smooth ride until suddenly they were jarred by an impact. Gamay was thrown forward and whiplashed back into her seat.
“What was that? Did something hit us?”
Elena was looking up as if they’d crashed into the bottom of a ledge or the hull of the Condor or something. Gamay didn’t think so. She’d felt the impact come up through her feet and her lower back like it did when she and Paul went four-wheeling.
She pulled the flashlight from her pocket and flicked it back on. Holding it against the window, she saw clouds of silt and then the featureless gray-brown of the seafloor.
“We’re back on the bottom,” she said.
A light flashed on and off, perhaps thirty yards away.
Missed me that much?
Gamay released her belt and climbed halfway out of her seat. She twisted around and held the flashlight against the rear section of the canopy. Thin streams of bubbles were flowing from the ballast tanks on the Scarab’s back. It looked like someone had opened a whole box of Alka-Seltzer.
“You don’t even have to tell me,” Elena said, “I already know. Duke holed our ballast tanks with that saw.”
Gamay nodded, sat back down, and switched the light off. “So much for Duke’s piña colada. And our quick ride back into the sunlight.”
“It’s worse than that,” Elena said. “There are two of us in here. And we just vented all our spare air. By my calculations, we have less than two hours left.”
In a darkened room, very similar to the Condor’s control center, Sebastian Brèvard stared at the pair of flat-screen monitors in front of him. He grinned almost manaically in the cold computer light as Calista tapped away at the keyboard.