Splashdown

Chapter 12

Dane glanced up and saw the circle of light in the middle of the Russian submarine’s underside. The submersible dragged them closer to it with each passing second.

“What’s our next move, Maddock? Because I don’t know about you, but if this is the invitation,” he pointed to the assemblage of grab-arms towing them up to the warfare sub, “then I don’t think I want to go to the party.”

“Not looking forward to an evening with the comrades, eh?” Dane flipped various switches on the control panel, seeking actions that would free them from their aggressor.

“Somehow I don’t think caviar and ice sculptures are what they have in mind for a couple of Navy SEALs caught lying about a Cold War A-bomb.”

“It’s our bomb,” Dane pointed out. “They’re the ones trying to steal it.”

Bones looked up at the Typhoon class sub, the water in its moon pool shimmering under interior lights.

“Gee, why didn’t I think of telling them that before?” Bones reached for the radio. “Maybe I’ll just…”

Dane grabbed him by the wrist. “Take it easy. At this point they’re not going to let us go. So we may as well think of our strategy for once we’re prisoners of war.”

“POWs? What war are you talking about? There’s no war on right now!”

“Prisoners of the Cold War.”

Bones’ silence said volumes about the seriousness of the situation. As part of SEAL training, they’d had endurance sessions that would supposedly help prepare them, both physically and psychologically, for if and when they were ever captured and interrogated under duress or even tortured. But knowing that even the worst moments of those extreme preparedness sessions were administered by SEAL instructors, people who basically had their best interests at heart, couldn’t possibly stack up to the real thing. And as the Russian mini-sub slowed in advance of reaching the Typhoon submarine, both Dane and Bones knew that this was indeed not a drill. They were miles beneath the ocean, their craft incapacitated by an enemy combatant.

Dane slipped a hand down to his waist where he felt for the lump of his Beretta in a holster beneath his sweater. Its bulk comforted him but he knew that he would need to conceal it better. Quickly he removed the holster and stashed it beneath his seat, keeping the gun in his back jeans pocket.

“We should split our guns up,” he told Bones, who immediately ditched his holster as well to reduce bulk. “I’ll try to hide mine on my person, in case they don’t frisk us for some reason, but I think yours should stay hidden in here.”

“Makes sense, I’ll put it here,” Bones said, concealing his weapon in a compartment beneath the instrument cluster. “But I really don’t see what two pistols are going to do against a full-fledged naval war machine, anyhow. They’ve already gotten the better of us just with their mini-sub,” Bones reasoned.

“We’ve still got our missile pod with five left.”

Bones checked the view of the pod outside the dome. “Looks like once again they’ve deliberately smothered it so that we can’t fire them without blowing ourselves up.”

“I don’t suppose you can rig up a way to remote fire them? So when we’re taken off the sub inside the big sub, we can cause a distraction?”

Bones looked at the firing mechanism on his side of the dash. He flipped open the protective cover and stared at the red button within a directional keypad. Then he looked over at Dane.

“You’re the MacGyver, bro. I just know how to shoot the thing.”

The two of them peered up into the moon pool of the Russian submarine, where they could now see indistinct silhouettes of people staring down at them.

“Remind me when we get back to tell the powers that be that we need a remote control for the missile pod.”

“If we get back, I’ll be happy to do that,” Bones said glumly.

“I’ve got an idea,” Dane said slowly, transfixed by something down on the cockpit floor.

“You might want to spit it out, because we’re here.” Bones looked up and saw the surface of the sub’s moon pool mere feet away.

Dane knelt down and disconnected a gas hose, turning a knob on a tank and switching a flow valve.

“Yo Maddock, what’re you doing with our oh-two?”

“If we flood our cabin with oxygen…”

“This thing’ll be a bomb waiting for a spark!”

“Yeah. Such as from a bullet. But I don’t think I need to remind you that’s last resort only kind of stuff. This thing is our ride home. If it gets destroyed, we’re totally dependent on the Russians to get back to our boat.”

“I’m with you,” Bones said, now waving at the stone-faced Soviets waiting around the moon pool.

“You don’t happen to have your trusty butane lighter on you, do you?”

Bones shook his head. Normally he did carry one, but any kind of ignition source was strictly prohibited around submersibles due to the close proximity to pressurized pure oxygen.

“Okay, just put your hands up,” Dane said, his fingertips touching the top of their cabin dome. Bones frowned but followed suit. “Always knew I’d go places with you, man.”

Deep Black vibrated while a crane hook was latched on to their superstructure and the submersible holding them dropped away. Then they were lifted from the water through the moon pool, water sheeting off their dome, the view outside like that of looking out of a car while inside an automated carwash. Even with the distorted view, there was no mistaking the large hammer and sickle painted on the wall of the moon pool area.

“You know the Russian national anthem?” Bones asked.

Before Dane could answer, they heard the snapping of the dome hatch being undone from outside. Looking out at their new surroundings, Dane counted no less than six individuals wearing sailors’ jumpsuits pointing a firearm at their submersible. Dane figured he had time for one last sentence to Bones without being overheard.

“Whatever you do, don’t do anything to make them shoot us while we’re near the sub remember?”

“Understood,” Bones said as the dome hatch was raised and tilted back.

A squat, bald man built like a bullet took a step toward the sub, clearly regarding Dane and Bones with contempt. He asked them a terse question in Russian. When all he received in return were blank stares, he turned and nodded to one of his associates, grimaced, and switched to English.

“Identify yourselves.”

Dane knew the fishermen cover wouldn’t hold water. Fishermen didn’t use submersibles. He had to think fast, and worrying about what Bones might be about to say wasn’t helping his concentration. Nor was the assemblage of firepower aimed in his direction.

“We’re part of a television network expedition to raise the American space capsule,” Dane said, emphasizing the word American ever so slightly.

Bullet Man gave a sour grimace. “We have observed you via sonar returning in your submersible to the ‘fishing trawler’,” he countered, adding emphasis of his own. The television ship is the Ocean Explorer. You lie.”

“No,” Dane said calmly. “We are part of the program, but it is also true that we are operating from the trawler. It’s a two-ship operation.”

One of the other Russians walked over to Bullet Man and spoke to him softly. Dane wasn’t sure why he was worried about volume, since he and Bones couldn’t understand their language, but perhaps he was concerned about one of their own hearing? Whatever the case, Bullet’s next words gave him pause.

“It is our belief that you are operating on behalf of your government, the United States government, in order to keep the capsule’s nuclear bomb from becoming a historical embarrassment should its existence become public knowledge.”

Dane took a fraction of a second too long to reply.

“Bring them down,” Bullet said, nodding to a submariner manning a crane and winch. The sub with Dane and Bones in it was swung away from the watery opening in the submarine’s hull and deposited on the floor of what Dane could now see was actually a large airlock. “First you.” He swing his AK-47 at Bones. “Out. Slow.”

Bones was somehow able to will his sizable form to stand and step out of the sub without lowering his hands. Then the AK’s muzzle pivoted to Dane, who did the same. The air here reminded Dane of a Florida swamp in summertime. A rivulet of sweat sluiced down his face as he thought about his Beretta still in his pants, and the ultra-flammable gas now leaking from the submersible’s pure oxygen system.

“Remove your knives,” Bullet said. Both Dane and Bones removed their dive knives from the sheaths strapped to their calves and slid them across the deck.

“Search them,” Bullet said to a pair of muscle-bound shipmates, one of whom approached Dane, the other Bones. The one searching Bones nodded and stepped back, having turned up nothing but a scrap of paper containing a phone number written in flowery, feminine hand.

The man frisking Dane, however, rested his hand on the small of his back; having felt something. He extracted the Beretta and quickly stepped back. Once beyond arm’s reach, he opened the clip and closed it again. Then he walked over to Bullet and pressed it into his waiting palm.

“This is necessary for a marine salvor in a deep sea submersible?” Bullet said, pointing Dane’s own gun at him.

“No,” Dane said quickly, “but I like to have it on the boat to protect from pirates. We are far out to sea in international waters, and I forgot to remove it from my pants before I boarded the sub.”

Bullet gave a nod of fake appreciation. “Always so quick with an explanation, you are. Perhaps you have engaged in this line of work before? But I tire of your stories.” He uttered a name in Russian and the submariner closest to Deep Black went over to the sub.

“Antonov will search your vessel’s external holds.”

“Your English is pretty good,” Bones said. “Where’d you learn it? Sesame Street?”

Bullet looked at him with distaste. “You may direct your questions to the captain,” he replied. “I think he will want to meet you.”

Beside him, Antonov opened the sample collection bay that had held the rocks. Frowning, the sailor reached inside and pulled out the small metal box that held the dimes. He handed it off to another sailor who in turn walked it to Bullet. He turned the box over in his hands without opening it. He looked at Dane and Bones.

“What does it contain?” He shook the box, sending up a metallic rattle.

Bones shrugged.

Dane said, “No idea. We just saw it in the capsule and decided to grab it.”

Bullet turned the box over once more in his hands. “Too light to be a bomb. I will open it.” His scowl said woe betide them if he didn’t like what he found inside.

All eyes were on him as he pried up the lid.

“Coins.” He scooped a few out and examined them. His gaze turned from interested to puzzled in a heartbeat. “Not valuable.” He inspected the dimes inside the box before dumping them out on the floor and then tracing his fingers inside, feeling for a false bottom. He froze, his eyes locked on something on the inside of the lid. He motioned to a crewmember, who stepped forward to look into the box.

“Look here. There are markings of some kind scratched into the lid.” He turned an austere gaze to Dane and Bones. “Are you aware of these markings?” Both SEALs shook their heads wordlessly.

Over at the sub, Antonov's eyes grew wide and he pointed to the hold. Two more crew members trotted over to see what he had found.

“I know for certain you have the bomb on board.” Bullet said. “And the captain will want to know all about it. Especially, who sent you to recover it?” He held a hand palm up in front of Dane, who was about to speak. “Please. Say nothing further at this time. Get some rest. We are already underway to take a shore leave. It is good to stretch one's legs on land after so much time at sea, is it not? Breathe the fresh air, clear one's thoughts. There we will discuss things like men.”

“Shore leave?” Dane asked.

But the man did not respond. The two newly-arrived crew and Antonov gingerly pulled the nuclear bomb from its hiding place. The three of them walked almost comically over to Bullet in a kind of strange, six-legged dance, their hands forming a collective basket for the powerful device. They set it down at his feet. Bones stole a glance at Dane, who subtly shook his head. Don’t try anything now.

Bullet seemed not to notice the communication and motioned to two men to his right.

“Show them to their quarters.”

Then, to Dane and Bones as they were being led away at gunpoint, he said, “Get some rest while we are en route to our destination.”