Sam cocked his head to the left, and the small crease of a smile curved his lips. It appeared Tom had ripped the diver’s regulators straight off the tank. The diver, unable to breathe, had raced toward the surface.
His odds just improved. A lot.
The sight boosted Sam on and he moved his massive, mechanical right leg into a second diver. The knee connected to the man’s solar plexus. It should have been enough to knock the man out, or at the very least, take the wind out of his lungs. But instead, the man spun round, and continued to hack at the weaker joints and seals joining Sam’s upper torso and his helmet.
A sharp light hiss came from someplace he couldn’t see. It was the diver behind him. Whatever the man had been trying to achieve, it looked like he was getting dangerously close.
Sam tugged his legs into his chest and tumbled backward, like a gymnast doing a back summersault.
The diver hung on throughout the maneuver, but when Sam was coming back up, Tom ripped the man’s dive-mask clear off — crushing it in one piece, blinding the diver.
“Thanks,” Sam said.
Tom replied. “Not a problem. I got bored waiting for you to deal with them and catch up.”
They adjusted their positions so that their backs faced each other. The remaining two divers appeared to circle them, never quite coming close enough to confront them, more simply biding their time, waiting for something to happen.
Sam fought with the weight attached to his left boot, but every time he got close to it, one of the divers would make a move, attempting to re-engage.
Stalemate.
In front of them, a second team of divers spewed forth from the submarine. They moved in on them, quickly.
“We gotta go, Sam!” Tom said, “We’ve got company!”
“I see them!”
Sam tried his weight again, but it didn’t budge. Whatever the divers had used to attach it with, was too tough to break, and too flexible to snap. What was worse, with the single pincer it was impossible to untie.
The new group of divers joined what remained of the first and they slowly encroached on Sam and Tom. Again, their opponents appeared to work with the smooth and lethal efficiency of elite forces.
Every time one of them got within arm’s reach, Sam or Tom would try to punch or kick them. They were able to move surprisingly fast for two guys in giant atmospheric suits. More importantly, weighing nearly 500 pounds meant that if they connected with their target, it would serve its purpose well.
None of the divers had a weapon, or if they did, none of them wanted to use it. That was interesting. It meant they weren’t interested in killing him — yet.
So what did they want to do, abduct him?
The Mexican standoff continued for at least fifteen minutes, with neither side gaining any real advantage. Their attackers had more men, but Sam and Tom had a much larger air supply. If they could hold off for another thirty minutes, the divers would almost certainly run out of air.
Everything was going to be all right.
That was until someone managed to cut Tom’s emergency ballast weights.
Chapter Fifty-One
Free from its iron emergency ballast, Tom’s Exosuit raced toward the surface. He tried to fight his extreme buoyancy by swimming downward, but it was impossible. He was simply too positively buoyant.
His Exosuit broached the surface and warm sun hit his face full on.
He was on the VHF radio to the Maria Helena in an instant. “Pull me up, Sam’s being kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped?” came Matthew’s calm reply. “We’ve taken two diver’s hostage ourselves. They’re on deck now, but don’t seem interested in talking.”
Genevieve was in the water a moment later, hooking up the tether for the crane. Veyron started to bring Tom in.
Tom said, “Tell Elise to get the Secretary of Defense on the line and keep her there. I want to speak to her the second I’m on board.”
“Understood,” Matthew replied.
The crane extended several feet off the starboard side of the Maria Helena’s deck. Tom heard the machine’s diesel engine kick into action. The engine whined as Veyron knocked it into gear, and the cable started to shift.
A moment later, Tom was being lifted into the air by a steel tether attached to the top of the atmospheric diving suit. At a height of roughly ten feet above the sea, the crane rotated until the Exosuit was directly above the deck. Then Veyron kicked the winch into the opposite direction.
Tom’s feet reached the deck of the Maria Helena. He felt unsteady. The suit wasn’t designed for movement on land — it was only stable in the water. Genevieve secured the back of the atmospheric diving suit to a holding cradle, and Veyron quickly went to work removing Tom’s helmet.
As soon as it was off, Elise handed him the satellite phone.
Tom said, “Madam Secretary?”
“What happened Tom?”
“One of your subs just kidnapped Sam!”
“You sure it was one of our submarines?” she asked, her voice terse.
“Certain. It was the heavily modified Seawolf Class Nuclear attack submarine, the USS Jimmy Carter.”
“The Jimmy Carter…” she let the words slowly roll off her tongue. “Are you sure? How the hell could you possibly recognize her?”
“For starters, it was the last of the Seawolf Class nuclear attack submarines. It had nearly a hundred feet in greater length that allowed for the insertion of an additional section known as the Multi-Mission Platform, which allowed launch and recovery of ROVs and Navy SEAL forces. In this case, that was how they kidnapped Sam.” Tom sighed. “And besides, I read the number on the conning tower — 23 — AKA USS Jimmy Carter SSN-23.”
“You’ve memorized every submarine by number?” she asked, without shielding her scepticism.
“No. My dad commanded her two years during her original sea trials.”
“Okay,” she accepted the fact. “Assuming you’re right and its one of our subs that have kidnapped Sam, why would they do so? He’s on our side.”
Tom said, “Sure, but are they?”
“Are you questioning the loyalty of the men and women on board one of our nuclear attack subs?”
“Not at all, ma’am. Having served myself, I wouldn’t dream of it. My concern is with senior brass and politicians who might be willing to kill to protect whatever secrets were buried inside the Clarion Call.”
The Secretary of Defense paused, as though considering the possibility. “But who would even know that Sam was planning on diving the Clarion Call today?”
“Exactly. Sam Reilly informed you that we planned to dive her and retrieve whatever was buried inside old man Mike Reilly’s secret smuggling compartment. Who did you tell?”
The phone went quiet. Suddenly, she swore. “I informed the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who is currently with the President inside the Presidential Emergency Operations Center.”
“Who would he have informed?” Tom persisted.
“Good God!”
“What?”
“The President, naturally, but also each of the Military Service Chiefs from the Army, Marine Corps, Navy, and Air Force, and the Chief of the National Guard Bureau.”
“And now we have an abduction by a nuclear attack submarine, while Sam tried to retrieve secrets from the scuttled Clarion Call.”
“Did he find what he was looking for?” she asked.
“Yes, and now they have it.”
“Then there’s nothing we can do. It’s unlikely they will kill him. The submariners probably have orders to retrieve the evidence, and then they will return him to the nearest dock.”