“Brilliant work,” said Dr. Nassiri as he re-holstered his pistol.
“So maybe you don’t shoot me?” asked Vitaly as he increased to flank speed again.
“So maybe next time you tell me the plan.”
“Learn Russian,” Vitaly grumbled. “To explain English take longer than just do plan.”
Fatima rose to her feet and found a seat in the communications console next to Vitaly. “Is there any way we can charge the batteries without exposing the Scorpion?”
“Is tricky,” said Vitaly, squinting as he spoke. “I think we bring Scorpion to snorkel depth. We then use diesel engines to charge batteries. Takes excellent pilot to do correctly.”
“Please be our excellent pilot,” said Fatima.
“Okay,” Vitaly said with a boyish grin.
The Russian released some of the ballast air from the tanks, allowing the submarine to glide beneath the waves with only the periscope, diesel engine intake, and exhaust snorkel still exposed.
Dr. Nassiri knew they wouldn’t escape this way — all the mercenaries needed to do was follow the trail of diesel fumes — but it might give them the time they needed to charge the batteries, submerge the submarine, and slip away.
The militarized transport ship caught up with the Scorpion, coming alongside. The mercenary mothership paced the submarine, maintaining a standoff distance of less than a hundred feet. Mercenaries crowded the railing, heavy assault weapons slung across their backs. Men manned a series of three heavy machine guns, none of which scared Dr. Nassiri. Even if surfaced, nothing less than a howitzer could put a dent in the Scorpion’s thick steel hull, and the mercenaries knew it.
Without warning, the mothership broke her course, swinging hard towards the Scorpion.
“They’re going to ram us!” shouted Dr. Nassiri.
Vitaly swore in Russian as he reversed the engines and pushed the tiller hard to port, but not fast enough. With unexpected speed and maneuverability, the mothership cut across their bow. The mothership impacted the snorkel structure, narrowly missing the periscope. The intake and exhaust sheared off instantly. Dr. Nassiri’s ears popped with a sudden vacuum pressure as the emergency valves in the snorkel clapped shut, forcing the engine to suck in air directly from the internal compartments of the submarine. Emergency sirens wailed as the suffering diesel engines belched exhaust into the engine compartment.
“Now we dive!” shouted Vitaly over the din of impact and siren.
The diesel engines choked to a stop as the Scorpion plunged beneath the surface, her metal skeleton groaning under the increasing pressure.
The depth gauge barely registered two hundred feet when the bow of the Scorpion dug into the soft sedimentary seabed, scraping to a halt atop an ancient layer of mud and seashells. And then all was silent, save for the chu-chu-chu of the mothership’s propellers cutting through the waters above.
Alexis stumbled out of the engine compartment, coughing. She’d caught the worst of the exhaust. Dr. Nassiri hoped the ventilators were up to the task, the air was so filled with sulfuric diesel fumes it was barely breathable.
“How in the hell did they find us so fast?” asked Alexis.
Before anyone could answer, the main communications relay crackled to life, the Scorpion’s external hydrophone automatically receiving an acoustic transmission.
“Calling the hijackers of the Scorpion,” sounded a booming voice over the radio. “Come in, Scorpion.”
Dr. Nassiri saw Vitaly shudder with recognition. Over the hydrophone, the voice was tinny, distant, echoing as it transmitted through the thermoclines of the water column.
“Who is that?” whispered Dr. Nassiri.
“Colonel Westmoreland,” said Vitaly. “Commander of all Bettencorps forces.”
Dr. Nassiri thought for a moment, then clicked the transmit button.
“This is the Scorpion,” he said.
“Very happy to hear your voice,” continued Colonel Westmoreland. “Everybody okay down there? Our multibeam sonar indicates you are set down on the bottom. That’s good, just stay there. You good for batteries? Air? No leaks, I hope? You guys took a pretty nasty hit.”
“What should we do?” said Fatima.
“Just listen for now,” said Dr. Nassiri.
“Even listening very dangerous,” protested Vitaly. “Colonel Westmoreland is liar.”
“We’re at about ten percent for batteries,” added Alexis. “But every system — air circulation, lighting, everything — is sucking juice. We’ve only got a couple of hours before we’re dead on the bottom.”
“How much air do we have?” asked Fatima.
“I think we’ll circulate out most of the fumes out in the next few minutes,” said Alexis. “The CO2 scrubbers don’t need any power for the lithium hydroxide to do its job. Breathable air could last for days, maybe even a week or more. We’ll freeze to death first.”
“You want me to be impressed?” continued the colonel over the hydrophone system. “I’m impressed. You’ve had a great run. Charles Bettencourt is not interested in drawing this out. You have our vessel; we want it back. No need for further messiness or hurt feelings. Let’s just get you to the surface and we’ll figure things out from there.”
“He’s bullshitting,” announced Alexis.
“Agreed,” said Dr. Nassiri. “But given our situation, I’m not certain if there is anything to do but play along.”
“Guys, I hate to do this, but there’s always a stick to go with the carrot,” continued Colonel Westmoreland. “I’ve got nothing but time and resources. How charged are your batteries? Forty percent? Thirty?”
Ten, thought Dr. Nassiri.
“You cannot outrun us. You cannot outlast us. Every time you surface, we will be waiting. I’m giving you a onetime offer of a negotiated surrender—”
Vitaly clicked off the hydrophone systems. He’d heard enough. It went without saying that any surrender would end with the abrupt execution of all aboard.
“Vitaly, give me a solution,” demanded Dr. Nassiri. “Something other than listening to this man talk us into our own murder.”
“I have theory,” said Vitaly. “I believe there may be hidden transponder on this ship.”
“How would you not know?” asked Fatima.
“Is only for hijack scenario, hidden even from crew,” said Vitaly. “I believe it broadcast our location.”
“Can we find it?” asked Dr. Nassiri. “Turn it off somehow?”
Vitaly shook his head. “Whole purpose is so hijackers cannot find, cannot deactivate!”
“There’s got to be a way,” said Fatima. “Think!”
“Cannot be done!”
Dr. Nassiri slammed his fist into the console with anger as Vitaly shouted at him in Russian. Commando divers were probably already on their way, secretly mobilizing to board the Scorpion and kill everyone—
“I can do it,” whispered Alexis, her volume almost imperceptible.
Everyone stopped dead and stared at her.
“What?” said Dr. Nassiri.
“I can do it. I can find the transponder.”
“How?” demanded Fatima.
“It’s going to be powered, right? It has to be powered in order to transmit.”