Neely exhaled and gently reached into her pocket, where she pulled out a flat, round object — a sealed petri dish filled with a pink culture.
She held the container up and studied it under the light. The Russian soldiers might have noticed if some of the test tubes were missing. But they would never have looked for her petri dishes.
When the sun rose that next morning, Neely was still in her lab, now studying a large monitor on the table in front of her. What she found was muted by the somber mood throughout the ship, leaving her staring quietly at the readout for a long time.
On the stern, Alison sat quietly with her legs gently dangling over the starboard edge. With both a safety line and arm wrapped around a large stanchion, she stared out over the glimmering water. The crew worked behind her, repairing their largest winch. She ignored the loud clanging of metal and smiled as some of the first dolphins appeared above the water.
She never moved, not even as Neely approached and sat down beside her.
“You okay?”
Alison nodded.
“Waiting for Dirk and Sally?”
She nodded again. After a long silence, Alison spoke with a soft voice. “How’s Li Na?”
“Still stable. For now.”
“Good.”
Together the pair sat, appreciating the tranquility, as the dolphins played. After several minutes, Neely broke the silence.
“So… there’s something interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“I got back some of the sequencing results for the mice.”
“The ones that all died?”
“Yes.”
Alison looked at Neely expectantly. “And?”
“Some of their DNA is different.”
“That’s significant, right?”
Neely nodded. “Several genes that are normally dormant were changed. Most likely by the bacteria.”
“Changed how?”
“Instead of remaining dormant, like in other mice, they appear to have been reactivated, or switched back on.”
“But without them being alive—”
“I don’t know what those genes did,” acknowledged Neely. Thoughtfully, she continued staring out over the water. “But I’m wondering if the same thing has happened to Li Na.”
Alison had just turned to look at her, concerned, when some of the dolphins began speaking to her. She spun back to see Dirk and Sally peering at her from the water.
She reached down and turned on her vest.
“Hello, Dirk. Hello, Sally.”
Hello Alison.
Sally swam closer. You hurt.
Alison managed a grin. “I’ll be okay. Thanks to Dirk.”
Dirk promptly rose up out of the water, slapping his flippers before falling backward. Me love Alison.
From the edge of the ship, she peered at him curiously. He had never said that before. “I love you too, Dirk. And Sally too.”
Alison looked down to see Sally still watching her. “What is it, Sally?”
Me tell Alison.
Alison wrinkled her brow. “Tell me what?”
What Sally said next took both Alison and Neely by surprise — something neither one had expected, but in hindsight, would seem quite obvious. Me mother.
115
Captain Zhirov moved through the hatches in near-total darkness, feeling his way along the familiar metal corridors until he reached the control room. The emergency lighting was barely functioning and what little remained of their reserve power was dwindling rapidly. Which meant the ship was completely paralyzed.
Nothing was working. The engines were dead, communications and sonar gone. Even the ventilation systems could no longer scrub the deadly carbon dioxide from their air. It was as if all the energy had been completely sucked out of the sub. They were stuck to the bottom of the ocean floor, unable to move and now facing a death sentence if they did not begin emergency evacuation immediately.
The effectiveness of their submarine escape training would prove to be the difference between life and death. And Zhirov was thankful they were not any deeper.
Several of his officers were already in the control room, awaiting the order they all knew was coming — to abandon ship.
Zhirov opened his mouth to speak but stopped when he heard the noise. It was a loud and slow scraping sound, coming from above. The sound of metal against metal.
The Russian crew all peered up, listening. After a short silence, another series of sounds reverberated through the sub’s hull — bumps and bangs followed by more scrapes.
It was the Americans.
After a couple minutes, a much more distinct pattern began to resonate, loudly and repeatedly. They were using Morse code.
Several of the officers began deciphering the letters, forming words in their head until the short message ended. Clear and concise, and sarcastic.
Knock knock. Guess who.
116
Several hours later, Dima Belov sat pensively, somewhat uncomfortable in his cold metal chair. His hands were cuffed behind his back.
In front of him sat a young American officer and his interrogator, flanked on both sides by three captains, judging by their insignias.
After a barrage of questions, Belov had revealed nothing. Not even his name. Instead he wore a bemused expression, studying the men in front of him. They were inconsequential. The real interrogation would begin later, when he was transported off the ship. For now, he was merely buying time.
He needed more leverage. He already had information the Americans would undoubtedly find valuable — he knew that. But nothing that would keep him out of prison.
What he needed was something better. Something he would soon have, with just a little more time.
After another twenty minutes had passed, the old man finally leaned forward and spoke in a thick Russian accent.
“What day is it?”
The captains looked at each other for agreement before nodding to the younger officer.
“Friday.”
“What time?”
“About three thirty.”
“Morning?”
The younger man shook his head. “Afternoon.”
To that, Belov simply nodded. It was all he needed to know, and those would be the only words they would get from him. For now.
Because what none of the men sitting before him realized was that Belov knew much more than anyone thought. He knew all about the Pathfinder ship, the original discovery, and the bacteria. He knew about the Valant acting as a decoy. But he knew much more. He also knew about the team secretly reporting to their Joint Chief of Staff, Admiral James Langford. He knew of the men named John Clay and Steve Caesare, and more importantly, he knew about Puerto Rico.
He knew about the research center and the computer system they were hiding — the one that allowed them to speak to the dolphins. And how integral that computer system and its data were to the Americans’ secrets.
He also knew that, in a matter of hours, they were about to lose it.
Ironically, the team was not Russian. They were German — former members of CASCOPE. Mercenaries, unattached and hired out to the highest bidder. And utterly ruthless in their indifference.
They had been hired by Belov to commandeer a computer system at a civilian facility, and by the looks of it, one that was poorly guarded.
They had already studied the location several days before. And now, lacking any word from Belov, they had their signal to execute.
As evening fell, the moving van pulled into the empty parking lot and stopped near the side entrance. Two of the Germans rolled the cargo door up, jumping down onto the cracked asphalt as the truck began backing up. Slowly and silently.