people on that sub.”
“So what are we going to do? Cruise up to his window, wave, then blow the fucker up?”
“I was thinking more of giving him the finger first,” she said, with a faint attempt at a smile. “But we should talk to him before that. I didn’t believe that Warden was telling us the whole story any more than you did, so we ought to find out Glas’s side of it.”
“Then blow the fucker up.”
“If we have to.” She looked back at the pilot. The dot representing the sub on the inertial navigator was approaching its origin point. “How much farther?” she asked him.
“About a quarter of a mile,” the pilot replied nervously.
The couple moved forward for a better view as the Mako continued toward its destination. Nothing was visible yet, but a readout on the navigation screen ticked down the distance in meters. Four hundred and fifty, four hundred … “What if it’s moved?” Nina wondered, still not seeing anything. “Maybe they figured out that something went wrong and took off.”
“Then we go back to the surface, and Chuckles here takes a swim with the sharks,” said Eddie.
The pilot gulped. “It will be there, it will be!”
Three hundred meters. Their prisoner looked from side to side for any sign of the mother ship. Two hundred, and the pilot’s hands visibly trembled as he reduced speed. “I think they’ve buggered off,” Eddie growled, hefting the ASM-DT.
“No, no, they will be here!” the pilot squealed. “They will be, they will—there!”
He pointed off to the left. A faint line of lights appeared through the murk.
As they closed, the line grew longer. And longer.
“Wow,” said Nina, unable to conceal her amazement. “That’s a big-ass submarine.”
The craft bearing the lights gradually took on form. The mother ship was well over two hundred feet long, a sleek white shape resembling an ultramodern mega-yacht—but one with the ability to plunge beneath the waves on a whim. Large circular portholes ran along the length of its hull, a long wraparound window marking the bridge atop the elevated, streamlined superstructure. “Must have cost a few bob,” said Eddie.
“Ninety million dollars,” the pilot volunteered.
“Did I ask for a fucking brochure?” The man fell silent, cowed.
Nina spotted movement through a porthole. “Shit, they’ll see us!” She hunched down, tugging at Eddie’s sleeve for him to do the same. “Where do we dock?”
“Behind the bridge,” the pilot hesitantly answered, “or on the keel.”
“Go to the top one,” Eddie told him, pushing the gun behind his ear. The man obediently guided the Mako upward.
“You sure?” Nina asked.
“Be a lot easier for us to get out by jumping down than climbing up. We’ll need to move fast.”
The larger submarine slid past the windows as its offspring moved into docking position. The area aft of the superstructure was revealed as a flat deck; on the surface, it could be used by passengers to enjoy the sunlight, but underwater it acted as a landing platform. Bright lights revealed a port set into it.
“Can you dock on your own?” Eddie asked the pilot.
“Yes, it’s—it’s automatic.”
“Good. Where does the hatch open, and how many people will be there?”
“The docking port goes into the engine room. I don’t know how many people will be inside—three or four, usually.”
“But there might be more,” Nina said. “Coming to congratulate you for killing us.”
“They won’t be celebrating for long,” said Eddie grimly. “All right, dock this thing.”
Sweating, the pilot maneuvered the Mako into position. A graphic of the docking port appeared on a monitor, crosshairs guiding him into the perfect position. A series of bleeps, and the crosshairs turned green; he pushed a button, and the computers took over to lower the sub into position. A couple of bumps and clanks from below, then the engines shut down as flashing text on the screen announced that the minisub had docked safely.
“That everything you need to do?” Eddie asked. The pilot nodded. “Cheers, then.” He smashed the rifle’s butt against the man’s head, knocking him back into unconsciousness. “You’re fucking lucky I didn’t kill you.”
“What next?” said Nina as they headed for the hatch. “I don’t want to rush down there without knowing who’s waiting.”
“We don’t have to,” Eddie replied. “We’ll let them come to us.”
At the bottom of the docking connector, two of the submarine’s crew watched as an engineer released the hatch, stepping back from the residual drips of water before looking up into it. The Mako’s own hatch was already open at the top.
But nobody was coming