“Aye-aye!”
The Fitzgerald’s engines whined in response to his team’s work, and the big ship shuddered, but the grasping limbs didn’t budge. Izerman swallowed as the sea broke over the bow of the ship, rushing up the foredeck and crashing into the bridge.
He suddenly knew that he wasn’t going to get the ship loose, and also that he’d waited too long to order an evacuation.
He still had to try.
“All hands, abandon ship! I say again, all hands abandon ship!”
The order given, Captain Izerman watched as the water climbed up and swallowed the deck of his ship. Those in the bridge knew they weren’t getting out when the water rushed past the windows and they found themselves staring down into a murky sea.
Izerman reached out one hand toward the window as the first crack formed and let out a single whispered word.
“No.”
Then the glass shattered and the ocean rushed in.
The beat of the rotors washed out over the sea as the helo’s powerful searchlights scanned for any sign of the SEAL team in the waters below. The crew had trained for this a thousand times, but the stakes were always higher in real life — they knew that they were all that stood between the men below and a watery grave.
“Sir, something’s going on back at the Fitz.”
Commander Gavin glanced over at his copilot. “What is it?”
“I don’t know, sir, but their lights are weird.”
“What?” The pilot frowned, leaning over to glance in the direction where his copilot was looking. “What are you talking about?”
“Just look for yourself.”
Gavin turned the helo around, then frowned and tipped its nose forward as he circled back toward the ship.
“Hey! We haven’t cleared the area yet!” the rescue swimmer yelled from behind him.
“It’ll have to wait!”
As they got closer, the scene below them became more and more bizarre, until the reality of the situation finally dawned on them. None of them could quite believe it. They were seeing the lights of the USS Fitzgerald as they shone from twenty feet down. The ship was sinking.
“Holy shit,” Gavin said in a stunned voice. “What the hell just happened?”
There was no response other than the beat of the Seahawk’s rotors and the shimmering light refracted from the water below.
“Where are they going?” Rankin asked, his voice husky.
“Don’t know, brother,” Hawk said as he clung to the remains of the raft, fatigue beginning to seep through the adrenaline and numb his arm.
He looked around before his eyes returned once again to where the Fitz had been, focusing on the eerie glow that was fading into the distance. It had to somehow be coming from the Fitz, but he couldn’t imagine how they could have gotten that far away so quickly. The glow didn’t look right either, more like some ghostly apparition fading into the night than the lights of a US destroyer.
The lapping of the waves against the wreck somehow seemed louder in his ears as the sound of the helo rotors faded in and out in the distance. He pulled himself up a bit higher, then secured the Chinese national a bit better before slumping against the partially inflated rubber membrane.
They’d started the night with a full squad of real-deal US Navy SEALs, now all that was left were two battered SEALs and a Chinese national who looked like he’d been drowned twice and put away wet.
“Anyone have a freaking clue what the hell just happened?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
CHAPTER 1
The man walked through the halls of the E-Ring, ignoring those around him as he locked his eyes on the entrance to the tank. The case cuffed to his arm barely swung with the motion of his walk, and he moved more stiffly as he got closer.
At the security entrance to the tank he paused as the two marine guards eyeballed him, then directed him to the security station.
“Rear Admiral Karson, reporting as ordered.”
“Yes, sir. Please look into the scanner, sir,” the marine ordered him politely, one hand not quite resting on his weapon.
Karson grunted but leaned over and stared into the retinal scanner, letting the infrared beam do its work. It paused for a moment, then chimed as his identity was confirmed.
“Very good, sir. You’re cleared to enter.”
Karson nodded and waited for the doors to begin to open, slipping through as soon as there was room. He walked over to the conference table, nodding to the men who were already seated there, then saluted.
“Admiral Karson reporting, sirs.”
“At ease.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Karson said, depositing the case on the table. “I have the recordings from the North Sea Task Force.”
The president nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Is it as we feared?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
A soft murmur rose up around the table, the two- and three-star admirals and generals unable to quite keep their thoughts to themselves in that moment. Karson understood the temptation, but his nose didn’t quite bleed enough yet to join them.
“That’s the fourth incident this year,” the president said.
“Confirmed, you mean,” was Karson’s reply. “There have been several incidents which defy our attempts at classification. And that’s just in the navy’s jurisdiction, don’t forget.”
“Yes, yes,” the president agreed, “confirmed incidents. And that’s not even accounting for civilian losses, and attacks on other nations’ militaries. I can’t believe that we’re the only ones suffering these attacks.”
“Certainly not,” General Brewer, a US SOCOM (Special Operations Command) commander spoke up. “The Russians lost a carrier three years ago, and that submarine the year before. We’re pretty sure the story they sold to the public about reactor malfunctions is a cover. While we’re almost certainly losing more ships, it’s most likely because we’ve got a lot more to lose. Reports from land units are more spotty, but it’s clear that something strange is happening there too. I lost a team last month in Brazil, and all that was left of them was their gear and kit. The rescue team didn’t find any sign of their bodies, even though we dropped on their position less than six hours after the mayday call. The scene looked like something out a movie, and it wasn’t one of the happy ones.”
“Keeping this quiet is rapidly becoming a larger strain than we’re prepared to handle.”
The group turned to look at the one man other than the president who wasn’t in uniform, many of them paling slightly at the thought of the public finding out about a problem they couldn’t yet explain, let alone resolve.
Eric Durance, the CIA’s case officer for the incidents, met their gaze with an even look.
“We might have a better chance at keeping a lid on things if we could get some reliable intelligence on the situation,” General Cullen, military liaison to the White House, growled at the CIA man.
“I’m sure we would,” Eric replied in the same calm tone he’d used earlier, “but whatever is behind these incidents doesn’t use electronic communication, which basically cripples ninety percent of my surveillance capability. We don’t all get multitrillion dollar budgets, General.”
“Enough.”
The single word from the president quieted the table as he looked up from the file he had been skimming.
“I think you’re all missing something important here,” he said tiredly.
The table’s focus was unwaveringly on him as everyone began to rack their minds for what they might have missed that would have caught their president’s attention.