“If Jonah alive, he know Vitaly stay and save him,” said Vitaly “If Jonah dead, Vitaly will know for sure. Either way, Vitaly sleep better at night.”
“So we need a plan,” said Fatima.
“I have not only plan. I have solution,” said Vitaly. “You know search theory Bayesian?”
“No,” Fatima admitted.
“I learn this some time ago,”said Vitaly.“Is mathematical equation for finding lost man at sea. We start with the voyage of the… what is the name of Batman’s yacht?”
“The Batboat?” said Dr. Nassiri, a little incredulous.
“No! The ship we chase! Look like Batmobile.”
“Ah,” said Alexis. “The Horizon.”
“Yes, yes,” said Vitaly. The Russian pulled up a regional map on his console and inputted a series of coordinates.
“So we know coordinates where beautiful Fatima rescued,” said Vitaly, pointing at a blinking cursor.
Vitaly flashed a very genuine smile towards Dr. Nassiri’s mother. She visibly blushed despite herself. Alexis rolled her eyes just a little too obviously.
“And we know speed of Horizon,” said Vitaly. “And we know point where we find her drifting. According to calculation, she is under power for seventy-three minutes after rescue then stop and drift. This seventy-three minutes is window where big man Jonah escape with lady friend of Fatima.”
Vitaly added in a second set of coordinates to his map, the location where the Horizon would have lost power. Dr. Nassiri noticed that the coordinates were a little off from where the Horizon currently drifted. Vitaly had already compensated for the hours the stricken ship spent in the current.
“What if he abandoned the Horizon after she lost power?” asked Alexis.
“If he abandoned ship after lost power,” said Vitaly. “Then they would drift together. Same current, same drift. We would have found already.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” said Fatima.
“Okay, no more stupid question,” said Vitaly. “Let Vitaly do Vitaly magic.” Vitaly punched in additional variables, creating a search grid, showing the potential area over six, twelve, and twenty-four hours.
“Given sight distance of periscope and range of radar,” he said, “we have eighteen hours to find Jonah.”
“And Klea,” added Fatima.
“Why eighteen?” asked Dr. Nassiri.
“After eighteen hours, every hour we search represent exponentially greater search area,” said Vitaly, with a confident facial expression that indicated he expected everyone assembled to be impressed. “After this, odds of finding big guy very small.”
“Impressive. How do you know all this?” asked Fatima.
“Learned in Russian Navy while looking for lost sailor,” said Vitaly. “He took piss off back of aircraft carrier. Lost balance, fell in ocean.”
“Did you rescue him?” asked Alexis.
“We find him!” announced Vitaly with no small amount of pride.
“That’s good — why, that’s fantastic!” said Dr. Nassiri. For the first time, the doctor felt a warm surge of optimism flow through his body. Maybe it was possible to find Jonah after all.
“Not so good,” said Vitaly. “Lost sailor drowned. But we find him!”
At least they found him, thought Dr. Nassiri.
Despite Alexis’s protests, Dr. Nassiri insisted they run the batteries down to less than seven-and-a-half percent before the Scorpion surfaced to charge batteries. As near as anyone could guess, seven and a half seemed to be the magic number, any lower and vital systems were compromised or rendered inoperable. It was a gamble. They’d be dead in the water if they were caught, but surfacing earlier or at intervals would leave a trail of breadcrumbs leading the Bettencorps mercenaries directly to their location.
“Preparing to surface,” said Vitaly, slowly bringing the Scorpion up for air.
It wasn’t night yet, not quite, but it should be close. Dr. Nassiri raised the periscope. Through the lens, he could see the perfect reds and purples of yet another brilliant African sunset.
Alexis started the engines, and the entire command compartment was instantly filled with the soothing, familiar hum of the massive twin-diesel engines. A few hours like this and they’d be at full battery power and ready to tackle anything. Vitaly had smartly piloted the massive submarine to one of the far corners of their computer-modeled search area. The course was intended as just random enough to throw off any pursuers while still making effective ground in the search for Jonah.
Dr. Nassiri slowly swiveled the periscope in a full circle. Once clear, he’d have Fatima join him on the conning tower with a pair of high-powered binoculars.
Suddenly, the view out of the periscope fell on a pair of incoming rigid-inflatable zodiacs, the type favored by commandos and pirates alike. They were gaining ground on the Scorpion with every second, and both vessels bristled with heavily-armored mercenaries and weaponry.
“They found us!” shouted Dr. Nassiri. “Dive, dive, dive!”
“The batteries — they’re too low!” said Alexis, almost shouting, intense distress in her voice.
Fatima just stared ahead, wide-eyed and terrified.
“How close?” demanded Vitaly.
“Close,” said Dr. Nassiri. “Dive, dive now!”
“How close to reaching us?” demanded Vitaly again.
“I don’t know,” said Dr. Nassiri. “Fifteen seconds. Maybe less.”
“How did they find us?” said Fatima, breaking her silence.
“Engines to full power,” said Vitaly. He pressed the throttle forward and was rewarded with a rapidly increasing pitch from the engine room as the Scorpion surged to flank speed.
“I ordered a dive,” shouted Dr. Nassiri, clapping a hand on the Russian’s back. “So dive, Vitaly! Dive now!”
“Please trust,” said Vitaly. “Give me countdown.”
I suppose the betrayal was inevitable, thought the doctor. Vitaly actually wanted him to count down to his own capture and probable execution.
The next few seconds played out in his mind. The Bettencorps mercenaries were going to beach their boats on the back of the Scorpion and rush the conning tower. They’d blast open the hatch and—
In fact, they wouldn’t even need to blast it open. They had Vitaly. The Russian could simply toggle some unseen switch and the hatch would fly open. Please make yourself at home. Remember to wipe your feet.
Dr. Nassiri drew his pistol.
“Fine, no countdown for Vitaly,” said the Russian.
Vitaly abruptly threw the submarine in reverse. Time froze for a moment as anything not bolted down flew forward — computer monitors, operational manuals and human bodies alike. Dr. Nassiri barely braced himself on the periscope as the entire submarine rattled and groaned with a symphony of a mechanical torture, gears grinding, propeller shaft shrieking under the strain. Fatima tumbled forward as if blindsided by an errant rugby tackle, falling through the hatchway, protecting her broken wrist while trying to brace herself with the other, landing hard. A loud, Texas-accented goddammit echoed out of the engine compartment, accompanied by a loud clattering.
Dr. Nassiri grabbed the periscope and brought it to bear at their attackers. One of the two inflatable boats had overshot the Scorpion completely and was circling back for another pass. The second had been sucked into the reversed propellers, leaving chopped-up rubber, screaming men and an oil slick in the Scorpion’s wake. One out of two wasn’t bad — and maybe they’d gotten both if he’d given a Vitaly a proper count-down. But they couldn’t count on trying the same trick twice. Worse, the remaining inflatable boat wasn’t alone. Her mothership, a massive, battleship-grey converted transport, fell into the submarine’s long wake, throwing out rescue lines for the survivors.