Deep Fathom (29 page)

She heard it, too. A high-pitched whistle that was growing louder. She lifted her head. “What is it?”

“Rockets,” he hissed, straddling her.

“What—”

Then the world exploded with a crashing roar. Jack rolled off her and peeked out the window. Karen joined him. Off to
the south she saw a billow of smoke and bits of rock climb high into the sky. As they watched, another explosion blew apart one of the basalt statues far to the west. A stone hand flew across the setting sun.

“What's happening?” Karen asked, cringing.

Overhead, a military jet streaked south. United States markings. Twin streams of fire bloomed as a pair of missiles were launched from the jet's underbelly, screaming across the darkening sky. Other jets shot past, one winging low across the islands, trailing smoke.

Jack pulled Karen back down. “Something tells me the blockade around Taiwan just exploded.” Together, they crawled to a window. The southern horizon glowed as if a new sun were rising. “We'd better get clear of here.”

Another explosion erupted nearby, quickly followed by another. Karen's ears rang with the echoing roars as she scrambled to her feet. Out the window the twilight sky was streaked with ribbons of smoke. They moved back to the door.

“Damn it,” Jack muttered. Their motorboat, untethered a moment ago, had drifted several yards away. He shrugged out of his own pack and kicked off a boot. “I'll fetch it.”

Karen grabbed his elbow as he teetered on one foot. Another telltale whistle pierced their ears, much louder this time. Jack's eyes were huge as he glanced at her. Together, they leaped away from the doorway and rolled behind sheltering walls.

Karen screamed as the blast shook the walls and dust showered her. The roar of the detonation seemed endless. Jack scuttled to her side. His lips moved but she could not make out his words. A huge boulder landed in the next room, crashing down. As the echoes faded, she could finally hear Jack's words.

“…okay. It was a near hit, but we're safe.”

She nodded, her eyes blurry with tears.

He helped her up. This time she remained in the shelter of his arms. They returned to the door.

Jack kicked off his other boot. “I'll just grab the boat, and we'll get our asses out of the line of fire.”

Karen groaned as they reached the threshold. “Oh, no.”

His grip tightened on her.

The squat building across the canal was a blasted ruin. Smoke was so thick it was hard to see clearly. The force of the explosion had blown the boat right back to their doorway. They could easily clamber back in. But the boat was quickly filling with water. Huge rocks had pelted it, punching holes through its hull. Gas leaked in a slow spray from its ruptured outboard tank.

“Now what?” Karen asked.

Jack shook his head.

More explosions erupted—but farther south. Jack pulled Karen to his side. “Sit down.”

They sank to the stone floor, leaning against the wall. Each explosion trembled the stones. Karen found herself leaning less on the wall and more on Jack's arm.

For a half hour they listened. Beyond the window, full night descended. The whistle of rocket fire and dull rumblings continued, but now far to the south.

Jack finally spoke. “I think maybe they're done with us. Just retaliatory strikes. Harassing fire meant to intimidate. I think we'll be okay. We'll hole up here tonight. In the morning I'll swim to Chatan and get help.”

Karen shivered with his words. “The Chinese—”

“I think they'll leave us alone now.” Jack got up and crossed to the doorway. “I'll keep watch.”

Karen stood and joined him. She kept near his shoulder. With the night already cold, she could feel the heat radiating from Jack's body and leaned closer.

The dark sky was foggy with smoke. A jet sped past to the west. Karen followed its course with worry. Movement closer at hand caught her eye. Glancing to the sea beyond the ruins, she spotted a brief glint of starlight on metal. “What's that?” she asked, squinting.

“What?”

She pointed.

Jack squinted, then fished her binoculars out of her pack. He stared through them for a few seconds and scowled. “Great…”

“What is it?”

“Conning tower. Chinese sub. Now I know why they were bombarding the ruins. Covering fire as it crept beyond the blockade. I spotted some type of special forces team loading into a pontoon.”

“Why? What are they doing?”

“Probably being sent in for surveillance and sabotage.” He lowered the binoculars. “How good a swimmer are you?”

Cold terror trickled through her veins. “I was on the university's intramural swim team. But that was ten years ago.”

“Good enough. We're getting out of here.”

Off in the distance, silent explosions bloomed in fiery flowers.

“We'll be okay,” he promised.

Through the rumbling explosions, Karen heard a sound much closer. A scuff of rock. She swung around and was startled to see a dark stranger standing in the doorway. “Jack!”

He spun, moving like a lion.

The man leveled a pistol at him.

Even in the gloom, Karen recognized the tattoo on the man's forearm: a coiled snake with ruby eyes.

A knock on the door woke Lawrence Nafe. He pushed to one elbow. “What is it?” he asked blearily. He glanced to the clock on the nightstand. It was not even six.

The door swung partly open. “Sir?”

He recognized the voice and felt a twinge of misgiving. “Nicolas?” The CIA director had never called upon him in his bedroom. “What's gone wrong?”

Nicolas Ruzickov entered the room, pausing at the threshold. “I'm sorry to disturb you and the First Lady, but—”

Nafe rubbed his eyes. “Melanie is still down in Virginia for the dedication of some damned statue. What do you want?”

Ruzickov closed the door firmly behind him. “The Chinese have attacked Okinawa.”

“What?” Nafe sat up and switched on a lamp. In the light, he saw that the director was wearing the same suit as the night before.

Ruzickov moved farther into the room. “We've just received word of skirmishes between their forces and ours along the Ryukyu Island chain.”

“Who shot first?”

“All our reports claim the Chinese…”

“And what are the Chinese saying?”

“That we attempted to break their blockade of Taiwan, and they were defending.”

“Great, just great…and which is true?”

“Sir?”

“Between us and these four walls, who pulled the first trigger?”

Ruzickov glanced at a chair. Nafe waved him into it. The CIA director sat down with a long sigh. “Does it matter? The Chinese know of our intention to push for a formal declaration of war. If they mean to hold the region, Okinawa is the closer and more significant threat. They've been bombarding the island with missile fire.”

“And the damage?”

“A few strikes. Uninhabited areas. So far, our new Patriot missiles are doing a satisfactory job of protecting the island.”

Nafe eyed his CIA director. “What are we going to do?”

“The Joint Chiefs have already convened in the Situation Room, awaiting your order.”

Nafe got out of bed and paced the room. “With this newest aggression directed against our forces in the Pacific—” He stared pointedly at Ruzickov. “Unprovoked, of course…”

“That is the way all newscasts will report it.”

He nodded. “Then we should have little political opposition to a formal declaration of war.”

“No, sir.”

Nafe stopped before the mantel of the cold fireplace. “I'll address the Joint Chiefs, but I want Congress fully behind this declaration. I don't want another Vietnam.”

Ruzickov stood. “I'll make sure all is in order.”

Nafe clenched a fist. “If need be, we'll bring this war to Beijing. It's about time we instilled the fear of God into the Chinese people.”

“That's all they respond to, sir. Strength. We cannot show weakness.”

Nafe scowled. “And neither will we show them mercy.”

Crouched, Jack eyed the snub end of the pistol pointed at his chest. In a fraction of a second he quickly calculated the odds of disarming their assailant. He would have to take a bullet—there was no way around it—but he could still tackle the smaller man and probably knock the gun away. But what then? Depending on where he was hit, could he keep the man down long enough for Karen to grab the weapon? And what if there were others?

“He's the leader of the group that attacked us before,” Karen whispered beside him, hands half raised.

Recalling Karen's stories, Jack leaned closer to her. “I can take him out…but be ready.”

“How can I help?”

He was surprised by Karen's resolve. This woman was no wilting flower. “A distraction—”

Before any plan could be set in motion, the man acted first. “Come wit' me,” he whispered in stilted English. “We must leave here. Danger.” He lowered his gun and holstered it at his waist.

Jack straightened from his half crouch, suspicious. He looked with confusion toward Karen, who wore a matching expression. “Do we trust this guy?” he asked.

She shrugged. “He didn't shoot us.”

The man disappeared through the low doorway into the roofless building's rear chamber. Jack glanced behind him. Distant explosions continued to echo across the water. Through the window, the glow of fires dotted the southern horizon.

Karen nodded toward the grim view. “It's not like we have a lot of choices here. Maybe we should go.”

Jack joined her. “Yeah, but did you ever hear the expression, ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire'?”

She waved him through the doorway. “Then by all means, you go first.”

Jack ducked through the low door and found the stranger standing by another window, his back to them.

Beyond the window, a small dark boat floated in the lapping waters. As Jack moved nearer, he recognized it as a sampan, one of the ubiquitous fishing vessels of the eastern seas. Made of wood, it was short and narrow-beamed, with its stern half covered in a frame of bamboo and tattered tarpaulin. Two other men were aboard the sampan. One held the mooring line and kept glancing nervously to the south.

“Chinese come,” the leader said, indicating that Jack should board the vessel. “We take you to Okinawa.”

Karen joined Jack and gave him a gentle nudge. “We could always jump overboard if there's trouble.”

Gathering his pack in one hand, Jack climbed over the stone sill. The man with the mooring line offered him a hand of support, but Jack ignored it. Instead, he dropped to the boat and eyed the men. Dark-skinned and short, they were clearly South Pacific islanders, but he could not place where exactly. He noticed that both men wore holstered weapons.

With a moan of complaint, Karen landed beside him. She grabbed his elbow as the boat shifted under her weight. He steadied her, but she kept her grip on him. “Okay, now what?”

Behind them a few terse words were passed between the leader and his men before he climbed in to join them. Once aboard, he waved for Karen and Jack to follow him under the overhang.

The other two men used long paddles to push away and propel them between the buildings. Jack now understood how he had been ambushed. The sampan moved silently through the waters, its dark wood matching the sea.

As they glided, Jack searched for the Chinese submarine. It was gone—as was the pontoon full of armed men. They could be anywhere.

For close to twenty minutes, the sampan slowly drifted among the ruins, moving skillfully through the dark. No one spoke. Distant thunder warned of the war to the south. At last, two large structures towered to either side.

The Chatan pyramids.

From his spot under the overhang, Jack allowed himself a sigh of relief. They were almost free of the ruins.

Rifle fire suddenly tore through the tarpaulin fabric. Bullets chewed into the old wooden sides of the boat. Jack pulled Karen to the floor, shielding her. The leader yelled orders.

A motor at the stern suddenly roared. Jack felt the bow end lift as the prop dug into the water. The sampan lurched forward.

A small explosion blew not far from the stern. A column of water flumed up. Grenade.

Hurry
, he urged silently. Rifle fire continued to pepper the boat.

The leader, busy with the rudder, leaned toward Jack. He held out his pistol, offering it. Jack hesitated, then took it. The man pointed to the bow.

Jack crawled forward.

“Jack?” Karen warned.

“Stay down. I'll be right back.”

Jack inched his way toward the other two men, who crouched with pistols in hand. When he reached them, he silently pantomimed that they should wait for his signal.

Free of the shelter, there was a light breeze. Jack listened as rifle fire pelted the starboard rail over his head, digging away chunks of teak. He waited for a pause in the attack.

When it happened, he jerked up, firing blindly in the direction of the rifle blasts. The other two followed suit. Jack
fired for a count of five, then ducked down. Again the other two men followed his lead.

Covering his head, the next barrage was less riotous. Most shots whizzed by harmlessly. By now the sampan had gained sufficient speed to race and bounce away. Jack stayed down. When they were past the range of the rifles, the men tentatively stood.

Jack rolled to his feet and slipped under the overhang. He found Karen sitting up, eyes worried. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

The leader met Jack's gaze. They stared at each other quietly for a moment, then Jack handed the pistol back. The man took the weapon, slipped it back into its holster, and waved them to a worn teak bench.