Surely we can’t be that deep. The hind part of his brain, the primitive part, was screaming that he was in danger.
The Rising Star was a cargo vessel, not a military vessel. It wasn’t designed for any depth.
“We’ve got to move,” Kropf said from above.
He looked up and saw Kropf opening the hatch to the deck, the same hatch they’d come down just minutes before. One by one, they entered the hatch and began swimming for the surface.
He exited last, checking his dive computer. He read the pressure of the water, blinked furiously, then estimated his depth at seven hundred feet.
Seven hundred feet. He had never been that deep, certainly not with a M25 rebreather. Maybe if we had MK16’s or MK17’s with a mixed gas system, but not with the M25’s. The water pressing against his body was crushing, and he felt the air being driven from his lungs, making it impossible to take a deep breath. He tried to follow the dive computer, careful not to ascend too fast.
It was too late.
He felt drunk, light-headed and disoriented, and he heard Cozak giggling, joined soon after by Vrooman, and then he started to laugh himself, like a schoolboy. There was a shooting pain in his knees and shoulders and he laughed even harder.
We’re not even going to make our first decompression stop.
CHAPTER TEN
Eric tried to understand what he was reading. Something happened aboard the MV Rising Star, something that scuttled the ship. Eight good men were dead.
How is this possible?
He had taken refuge in the conference room, alone, poring over the data on the video monitor, trying to make sense of the debacle. Outside, the hum of voices and keyboards had returned to the War Room as the analysts busied themselves, frantically trying to make sense of the data from Somalia.
There was the beep of an incoming call. When he answered it, he found Nancy staring back. It was dark in Turkey, and he could barely discern the outlines of her makeshift office. She said nothing for a moment, just watched him, then finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”
He started to speak, to question her sincerity, then stopped. She was showing an emotion, something different than her usual anger or disdain. It was empathy. “Thank you. We’ve taken two on the chin. We can’t afford a third.”
She nodded, absently brushing a strand of hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear. “What do you need from me?”
He thought about that. According to the display, his men were being picked up by the USS Peleliu. It was still night in the Gulf of Aden, and conditions weren’t the best for a quick recovery, but he had no doubt they would soon be safely aboard.
Unfortunately, the Orlando had found no signs of survivors from the MV Rising Star. It had simply gone down too fast. The SEAL team hadn’t escaped. “There’s nothing you can do there,” he finally said. “I could use your help here. How fast can you get back?”
She sat up straight. “I can be stateside within sixteen hours.”
“Good. Can you stop in Washington and brief your father?”
She nodded. “He’ll have the reports by then, but if you think it will help—”
“It would be one less unpleasant thing for me. I have to write up reports for those men’s families. I’ll tell them they died as heroes, that it was vital to the nation’s defense—”
“I understand,” she said.
“Thanks. By the time you get here, maybe we’ll have workable intelligence.”
She started to close their video conference, then stopped. Her pale blue eyes lingered on his. “Eric? I’ll always do what I can to help you. No matter how important or how trivial. I want you to succeed.”
The look in her eyes wasn’t the look of someone eager to help — it was the look of a shark before it took a bite out of someone. “Good to know. I’m holding you to that.”
She closed the connection and he sat back in his chair. He held up his hand and noticed it trembling, then realized he had been operating on pure adrenaline for the past twenty-four hours. He needed sleep and food, but not necessarily in that order.
There was a knock on the conference room door and Karen poked her head in. “I’ve worked up a possible scenario with the bomb.”
He motioned for her to take a seat. “I appreciate it.”
“What?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “Me doing my job?”
He smiled. “You know what I mean. I take comfort in having you near. I know it sounds corny….”
She smiled, a hint of something smoldering in her dark eyes. “No worries, boss. You know I’m here for you.”
He glanced out to the War Room, then reached over and quickly squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to call me boss. Not when we’re alone.”
She smiled but gently pulled her hand back. “Eric, I know we’ve been intimate, but make no mistake. You are my boss. I like you, as a boss and as a man, but our relationship is just casual sex.”
“Casual? Really?”
She grinned, but her eyes contained a hint of sadness. “Okay, maybe not so casual, but I’m your employee. What we do between the sheets is strictly physical release. I don’t love you. I like you. I really like you as a boss. The Office needs you. I’ll do anything to help. Just tell me what you need.”
His stomach churned as he realized the truth of her words. She had been honest from the beginning. He had developed feelings for her, even though she told him at the start that she loved her husband.
“Brad is a lucky man,” he finally said. “I hope he knows that.”
Her grin widened. “Oh, he knows. Don’t feel bad. You’re one of the most honest men I’ve ever met. You’ve learned to be a killer, but you’ve kept a small part of yourself clean. Innocent. It’s not a bad thing. It works wonders with John. You don’t have to lose that piece of yourself.”
“Innocent is not how I would describe myself.”
“Really?” She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “That’s exactly how I would describe you.”
He held her hand for a moment, then released it. “What have you got for me?”
She sat back in her chair, glancing briefly at the door. “I wish I had more coffee. Hey, can you get me that coffeemaker for my desk?”
“Sorry. Can’t make an exception. Everyone would want one.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, the nuclear detonation was not accidental. You know how permissive action links work?”
He had a high-level understanding, thanks to Delta’s basic training on nuclear weapons. “It’s a device attached to the warhead that prevents unauthorized use?”
“That’s right. But, it’s not just unauthorized use. Depending on the type of PAL, it can also prevent accidental detonation. It’s not necessary, but even North Korea and Pakistan implemented some type of PAL, thanks to Doctor Kahn. No, it wasn’t accidental. Remote activation is a possibility, but more likely it was GPS locked.”
“GPS locked?”
“Yes,” she said. “I believe they attached a GPS trigger to the arming device. As soon as the bomb moved outside of a narrowly defined set of coordinates, the device was armed and detonated.”
“That’s… pretty sophisticated. It just doesn’t fit with Al-Qaeda.” He shifted gears. “Have you found anything about the malware planted in the cameras?”
Karen leaned forward and typed on her tablet. The monitor on the wall displayed a dizzying complex amount of data. “It’s shell company after shell company, turtles all the way down. I’ve never seen anything this sophisticated. The same goes for the registration of the MV Rising Star. The deeper I dig, the less I’m sure of anything.”