Goliath

The two officers climb up a short steel ladder, sealing the hatch behind them.

Lockhart turns to the general, adjusting the hood of the Navy’s Steinke egress/exposure suit over Jackson’s head. “Ever done this before?”

“No.”

“The suit contains an air reservoir breathing system. Wait until I close the hatch before using the air port to charge the suit. Remain under the chamber’s air bubble with me until the outer hatch opens.”

Lockhart checks the escape trunk’s pressure gauge. “All clear. All right, General, up you go.”

Jackson climbs the steel ladder into the tight, eight-foot-high-by-five-foot wide chamber, his thoughts once more turning to his daughter. She’s okay, she’s alive. By the time you surface, there’s a good chance the Goliath will be on the surface, under Rocky’s command …

Lockhart climbs into the chamber and seals the hatch behind him. Using an air hose, he inflates Jackson’s suit, a combination life jacket and hooded breathing apparatus. The commander charges his own air reservoir, then twists open a red valve.

Frigid seawater rushes in from the floor, rising rapidly around the two men as they huddle together beneath an air bubble flange.

The outer hatch opens above their heads. Jackson feels an invisible hand grab his body, yanking it forcefully up through the open hatch. Instinctively, he raises his arms over his head, his buoyant egress suit rocketing him out of the Colossus and into the pitch dark sea—

Whumpf!

The impact shatters both Jackson’s wrists and drives the breath from his lungs. For a chaotic moment, he rolls along the ceiling of an immovable object like a bug on a ceiling.

Breathe! He inhales a humid breath within his inflated headpiece, fighting to focus through the dizziness and pain. Out of the pitch-dark he sees a halo of light … below and in the distance, shining down upon the sloping spine of the Colossus. Rising up through the light is a long object, guided by invisible hands …

A missile!

And suddenly he realizes—

He is pinned against the underside of the Goliath, trapped eight hundred feet below the surface, witnessing the theft of the Colossus’s nuclear weapons.

The Bear panics, thrashing against the rubberized metallic surface that prevents him from rising as his mind dissects the nightmare his eyes are seeing.

Scrambling across the flattened surface, he heads for a blinding beacon of white light and claws his way toward it—

—and suddenly he is free, shooting upward past the edge of the death ship’s prow, catching a frightening glimpse of two demonic scarlet eyes—

—and the shadow of his enemy watching from behind the viewport’s glass.

Higher … faster … flying up through the shivering blackness like a bullet, until his upper torso shoots out of the water and falls back into the roaring sea. For a dizzying moment he just bobs like a cork, surrounded by darkness and pelting rain. And then a pair of hands grabs him from behind, pulling him closer.

The crew of the Colossus drifts like weeds on a deserted Sargasso Sea, huddling en masse beneath an ominous gray morning sky.

Aboard the Goliath

Simon Covah stands before the immense scarlet viewport, watching as Colossus’s crewmen fly upward through the prow’s beacon of light like human missiles.

David and Thomas Chau stare at the black-and-white images appearing on the theater-size computer screen above their heads. Video sensors mounted along Goliath’s underbelly reveal the dark winged hull of the Colossus , the downed ship half-buried in silt. External underwater illuminators pierce the lead gray depths for the benefit of Covah’s crew, revealing twelve pairs of open vertical missile silo hatches situated within Colossus’s protruding spine.

A swarm of shark-shaped minisubs weave in and out of the light, moving with military precision as they escort each Trident II (D5) nuclear ballistic missile on its journey into the bowels of the Goliath.

Thomas Chau shakes his head in disbelief. “Very impressive.”

David nods in agreement.

The camera angle suddenly changes, offering a bow-to-stern view of the Goliath’s undercarriage. Suspended beneath the curvature of the steel stingray’s belly are dozens of dead crewmen, their buoyant egress suits pinning them headfirst against the sub like human stalagtites.

Chau turns away in disgust. “How can you bear to look? They were your men.

David continues watching the screen, mesmerized. “Actually, I’ve always found death to be quite fascinating, the more gruesome, the better. My maternal grandfather owned seven funeral homes. After school, I used to sneak into the embalming room and watch as he prepared the bodies.” David glances at Chau. “Did you know the viscera of the dead are removed and immersed in embalming fluid before being replaced in the body?”

“You’re a sick man.”