Silent Thunder

TWELVE

Hannah's gaze narrowed on Kirov's laptop screen, which was now divided into two distinct sections. One window featured a graphic representation of a GPS device, the other was littered with blue and white icons.

Kirov pointed to the icons. "These are the various destination coordinates still lurking in the GPS unit's memory."

"How were you able to do this on such short notice?"

"The Internet is a wonderful thing. I downloaded a recovery utility that people use when they accidentally delete addresses they need."

He double-clicked an icon, and a map appeared on the on-screen GPS device. "This is the Docklands area of London."

"Whoever owned this has been to that address?"

"Most likely." Kirov pulled up on online telephone directory and keyed in the address. "Club Oasis" came up on the screen.

Hannah nodded in recognition. "That's a dance club."

"Frequent the place, do you?"

"Some of the guys in my crew have been there. It wasn't easy getting them back to work after a night in that place."

"Fairly innocuous," Kirov said. "And we already know this man has a fondness for European pop music."

Kirov turned his attention back to the destination icons. One by one, he clicked them and checked the locations against his online telephone directory.

After he was finished, Hannah checked the notes she had taken. "Fourteen locations, all in either England, Scotland, or Ireland. All public addresses-restaurants, pubs, dance clubs, a racquet club. On their own, they don't mean very much."

"I agree. Perhaps we should just give it a rest until I hear something back about McClary."

"Fine." Hannah picked up the digital music player and earphones.

"What do you want with that?"

"Maybe it'll help me get to know the person who owns it better." She headed for the adjoining door. "Besides, I might like it. Just because you don't like anything recorded since 1970 doesn't mean I don't."

Static. Shrill, earsplitting static.

Hannah sat bolt upright in her bed and yanked out the earphones. At first she thought it was nothing more than the opening refrain of a bit of obnoxious techno pop, but there was no way this could be considered music. She had been listening to the player for over an hour, and while the songs certainly weren't to her taste, she didn't detest them the way Kirov did.

This number was entirely another matter.

She checked out the tiny LCD screen and saw that the song was entitled "Waterbridge." She held the earphones up and still heard only static. She jumped to the next tune and heard guitars, synth drums, and heavily processed vocals, just like almost every other song on the player.

Back to "Waterbridge." More static.

Then, nothing.

She looked at the LCD screen again. It now read: INVALID FILE.

Invalid file.

She went rigid. Christ almighty.

She picked up the phone and punched Kirov's extension. "Get your laptop and bring it down to my room. Now."

"I'll be there in three minutes."

Two minutes later Hannah opened her door to Kirov's knock. He was carrying his laptop and cables. "What is it?"

"You can set up the laptop on my desk."

He crossed the room to the desk. "The iPod?"

Hannah nodded. "We were on the right track, but concentrating on the wrong device. Upload the song 'Waterbridge' into your laptop and tell me what you get."

Kirov uploaded the file and double-clicked it. An "invalid or unknown file" error message came up on the screen. "That's strange," he murmured. "It has an MP3 extension, which would indicate it's an audio file."

"But it's not," Hannah said. "It was given an MP3 extension so that it could be downloaded to the music player and appear in the directory. We need to rename it."

"Rename it to what?" Kirov said.

"I don't know. I'll just start trying extensions and see what works."

Hannah sat next to Kirov and tried several of the more common file extensions, assignable to popular word-processing and graphic file formats. None opened the file.

Until she tried the.wmv extension.

"It's opening," Kirov said as the Windows Media Player appeared on the screen.

The video was a crudely animated map that showed a set of coordinates that Hannah quickly identified as a point off the New England coast.

The "camera" then plunged underwater to show four red cylinders at a depth reading of 1625 feet.

"What the hell is that?" she asked. "Is that what Pavski has been looking for?"

"I don't think so," Kirov said. "If he really knew the location, he wouldn't be bothering with the Silent Thunder, you, your brother, and with reinforcements from the motherland. This has to be something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." He stared at the crudely rendered red cylinders. "Those could represent training torpedoes we used during military exercises."

"Why would they be on the bottom of the ocean?"

"Actually, they were made to float. But it's possible that there's something placed inside to weigh them down."

"Do you think these may have been ejected from the Silent Thunder?" Hannah leaned back in her chair. "Something that can point the way to what they're looking for? Maybe what we want isn't on the sub at all."

The video repeated on the screen, and Kirov jotted down the coordinates. "Who knows? But if Pavski had this information over a week ago, he's probably recovered them by now."

Hannah studied the animatic as the underwater plunge repeated. "Maybe not. If this depth is correct, it would take some expensive equipment and a lot of expertise to do that. We might still have a chance."

"How? Unless you're willing to involve Bradworth and the resources of the U.S. government-"

"No way."

"You're thinking. I can see the wheels go round." He leaned back in his chair, and a small smile curved his lips. "It's a lovely thing to behold. How are we going to do this, Hannah?"

"Experts and expensive equipment," Hannah said. "In case you're forgetting, I am an expert. And as far as resources go, I have a few connections of my own."

By sundown, Hannah and Kirov were on a forty-foot rented fishing boat, heading toward the research vessel Aurora 125 miles off the Virginia coast. Kirov manned the wheel while Hannah stood beside him staring ahead at the 225-foot craft.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Kirov asked.

"Who knows? If it doesn't, we'll try something else," Hannah said. "Captain Tanbury is a good guy, but he may be at the mercy of the researchers aboard. He says they're studying brine shrimp populations."

"Brine shrimp? You mean sea monkeys?"

Hannah chuckled. "Excellent pop culture reference. Did they advertise them on the back of comic books in Russia, too?"

"Not that I know of, but I've seen the packages in your country's souvenir shops, especially in coastal towns. It's ridiculous. Next they'll be packaging algae and selling it to children as pets."

"In any case, this is our best hope. My only other options are either too far away or too closely tied to military interests." She waved back at a man in a bright red shirt who was waving at her from the stern. "There's Tanbury now. I'm afraid you'll have to pretend to be a member of my crew again."

Kirov shrugged. "I'm getting used to being your lackey. As long as I don't catch you enjoying it too much."

"No promises," Hannah said, as they pulled alongside the Aurora and tossed mooring lines to the waiting deckhands.

A rope ladder flew over the side, and Captain Tanbury's round red face appeared above the railing. "Ahoy, Hannah Bryson. Have you come to rescue me?"

Hannah smiled as she and Kirov climbed the ladder. "Rescue you from what?"

"A life of indentured servitude to a bunch of eggheads. Oh, wait." He clapped his head in mock distress. "What am I thinking? You're no good to me. You're an egghead, too!"

"You were damn grateful I was an egghead when I was working with you." They high-fived each other as she climbed aboard.

Tanbury was a bear of a man in his early fifties, with thick red hair both on top and curling out of the neckline of his T-shirt. He gestured down to Kirov. "Who's your friend?"

"Another egghead. Captain Earl Tanbury, meet Nicholas Kirov."

Kirov climbed aboard and shook hands with Tanbury. "Delighted to meet you, Captain Tanbury."

"At least, an egghead with manners. A lot of these scientists think I'm such a redneck that they don't bother with the niceties." Tanbury gestured for them to walk with him down the deck. "I was happy to get your call, Hannah, but I'm guessing this isn't just a social visit."

She nodded. "I need to talk to you about a mutual friend of ours."

"Who?" he asked warily.

" LISA ."

Tanbury smiled. "A subject near and dear to my heart. Would you like to see her?"

"Very much."

"This way." Tanbury led them to the ship's stern, where a two-man submersible was suspended on a winch. "There she is. LISA-Lateral Intake Submersible Application. She still works as well as she did the day you left her with us."

Hannah ran her hand caressingly across LISA's white hull. It was one of her first major contracts, one that had paved the way for many high-profile projects that followed. The egg-shaped underwater craft featured fore-and-aft observation ports and two pairs of finely articulated robotic hands extending from the front of the vessel, tilting downward almost as if poised to play the next movement of a piano concerto.

"Looks good," Hannah said. "You've been taking good care of it."

"Her," Tanbury corrected. "We've been taking good care of her."

Hannah smiled. "Of course."

"And she's been taking good care of us. She gets a little prickly when you try to overwork her, but overall she's a good gal."

Kirov turned toward her with lifted brows. "See?"

"Men and the sea…" Hannah murmured.

Tanbury chuckled. "Aw, I'm just trying to get under your skin. I know how you feel about this stuff. Seriously, though, she's as reliable as any submersible I've ever known. There may be newer ones out there with more bells and whistles, but she's a great little performer. The institute has a mile-long list of research groups waiting to lease this boat, and LISA is a big reason why. You did good, Hannah."

"Glad to hear it," Hannah said. "Because I have a big favor to ask, Tanbury."

"Shoot."

"I want to borrow LISA for a day."

Tanbury smile faded. "I'd call that a damn big favor."

"It gets bigger. I can't tell you why I need it, and no one off this ship can know I have it."

Tanbury shook his head. "I have people from the institute on board who expect to use it all day tomorrow."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to me. I need this, Tanbury."

He studied her expression. "Yeah, I can see it means a lot to you. Can't it wait a day or two? Maybe I can work it."

She shook her head.

"Tough." He thought for a moment. "Let me put on my bullshit hat for a second. What if I tell them you had concerns about the structural safety of the pod and needed to take it away to conduct some tests? That will satisfy the people on board. But after that, when word gets back to the institute and manufacturer…"

"I'll handle it. Stick by your story, and I'll take the heat."

"You'll have to." He grimaced. "Because this is the kind of caper I could lose my job over."

"I appreciate it. You won't lose your job. I'll make sure of that."

"I trust you. There's not many people in this world I'd trust with my livelihood, but you're one of them, Hannah." He walked to the side and stared down at their rented boat. "You won't get far trying to take LISA with that."

"We'll do an underwater tow from the stern. The winch will support it."

"I guess so, as long as the weather holds." He turned back. "Jesus, Hannah, a woman with your connections should be able to just pick up the phone and-"

"You're the only connection that will do me any good right now, Tanbury."

He sighed. "How did I get so lucky? Oh well, we're about to have dinner. Care to join us?"

"The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll have your submersible back to you," Kirov said.

"In that case, cancel the dinner invite. I'll get my crew out here to put LISA in the water."

It took Tanbury's crew ninety minutes to replace LISA's depleted power cells and attach it to the rental boat's winch. Soon after dark, Hannah and Kirov were under way, heading toward the coordinates indicated in the digital video file.

Kirov scribbled on the chart he had spread out on the interior cabin's dining table. "Perfect. We should make it there just before dawn."

Hannah looked at the Samsovian symbols on the map. "Sometime you'll have to teach me this system of yours. Is it really that good?"

"It's very elegant, very clean, and utterly confusing to those who don't take the time to understand it completely." He smiled. "I think it made us feel like we were members of an exclusive club. But snob appeal aside, it takes me back to a different time."

"What time?"

"When I was in the academy, the world was a simpler place. Or at least it appeared to be. We had a country we could be proud of, and we believed our navy was second to none."

"It's a fine navy," Hannah said.

"Don't believe the propaganda. There were fine people in it, and I'd trust my life to almost any of them. But do you know how much of the time U.S. military vessels are at sea? Sixty-five percent of the time. Do you how much of the time Russian boats are out there? Only fifteen percent, all due to mechanical and efficiency problems. Our average was a bit better in my day, but not much."

"It's a country in upheaval."

"There needed to be upheaval. It took me a while to realize it was necessary, but the reality set in soon enough." His lips twisted. "It was forced on me at the point of an AK-47. So here I am drowning in reality and trying to make clarity out of the chaos of my life."

"By killing everyone who caused that chaos."

He smiled. "Trust you to simplify and rid me of any false rationalizations. You're right, of course. You're a very unusual woman, Hannah. It didn't surprise me that Tanbury was willing to trust you with his daily bread." He held her gaze. "I'm beginning to think I'd trust you with much more."

Christ, she couldn't look away from him. She felt… She finally managed to tear her gaze away from his. Crazy. Block it. Hannah quickly glanced at the rearview video monitor and saw the wake of LISA's antenna as it cut through the water. "You don't think the video file we found is showing us the location of the capsule?"

"It wouldn't make sense. Pavski obviously has a copy of the video. Otherwise, he would have wanted that music player. We know that it's at least five days old. Why would he have bothered with the Silent Thunder, Conner, or you? As I said, this might be something else, perhaps Heiser's clue. Of course, Pavski may have already beaten us to it."

Hannah stared into the darkness that lay ahead. "If that's true, he could even be there now."

4:45 A.M.

Hannah's eyes opened. It took her only a moment to realize that the boat's sudden downshifting had wakened her.

"Good morning," Kirov said. "Please return your seatbacks and tray tables to their normal and upright position."

"Are we there?"

"Just another few hundred yards. No sign of Pavski or anyone else."

Hannah pulled off the jacket that Kirov had draped across her while she was sleeping. It was still dark outside save for a sliver of orange on the eastern horizon. She quickly looked up at the rearview monitor, which now displayed a green-tinted "night-vision" mode.

"Don't worry, LISA is safe and sound. I've been keeping an eye on her." Kirov throttled down the engine and idled through the water. "Okay, this is about where we need to be. It's your show now."

Hannah glanced at the sea around them. The seas were calm, and there wasn't a light to be seen anywhere. "Let's get on that winch and raise LISA four feet. That will give us access to the top hatch."

"Aye aye."

While Kirov moved to the stern and activated the power winch, Hannah slipped on the jacket and zipped up. As chilly as it was on the water's surface, she knew it would be much colder a mile and a half below.

Kirov stepped onto LISA's upper hull and rotated the wheel lock until he could pull open its narrow hatch. "Ladies first?"

"Ladies only."

He stiffened. "What are you talking about? I'm going with you."

"The hell you are."

"It's a two-man craft. I'm not going to stay up here while you-"

"Yes, you are. As brilliantly designed as LISA may be, things can and do go wrong. I never dive without a support team on the surface."

"I'm your support team?"

"Unless you think you can pilot LISA better than I can."

"You know I can't."

"Hello, support team."

"Shit."

Hannah reached into the pod, pulled out a four-foot rod, and handed it to Kirov. "This is an amplified underwater telescoping antenna. Attach it to the side of the boat and extend it all the way down. If you connect it to the boat's main radio, we should be able to keep in touch most of the way down."

"Will I be able to see?"

"Nope. For that we'd need a mile and a half of fiber-optic cable. I give great description, though."

"Terrific."

"Give me a few minutes to power up and run diagnostics. After that, you can disengage the winch."

"I'm not happy about this, Hannah."

"And I wouldn't be happy if something went wrong, and I didn't have a support team to rescue me." Hannah settled into the righthand pilot seat, flipped the power switches, and initiated the diagnostic routine. While she waited, she listened to the familiar purr of LISA coming to life. The last time she was in there, Conner was her point man on the surface, making sure the company engineers didn't suddenly change the test conditions. He'd always been there to watch her back.

But Kirov was here. Kirov would watch.

After the "all clear" lights appeared, Hannah looked outside to see that Kirov had successfully mounted the underwater antenna. She gave him the thumbs-up.

He picked up the radio microphone and spoke into it. "Last chance for a little companionship."

She slipped on her headset and angled the microphone over her mouth. "Just close the damned hatch."

He slammed the hatch shut and locked it.

As she buckled herself in, she heard him releasing the winch hook. After a few moments, LISA was free in the water and slowly dipping beneath the waves.

Kirov's voice came over the radio a few seconds later. "Support team to LISA, do you read?"

"Loud and clear, support team. I'm glad you've finally accepted your place in the world."

"I didn't say that. I just wanted to feed your ego. What's your depth?"

She checked the readout. "Eighty-five feet and falling free."

"ETA?"

"About ninety minutes. Know any good drinking songs?"

"Too many. I take requests, you know."

"Maybe I'll save them for the trip back up."

"As you wish. Support team out."

Hannah settled back in the bucket seat and felt her body relax for the first time in days. Why did this experience always bring her so much peace? Many people went nuts in those tiny pods, but she always found serenity once the surface sounds faded, and the last traces of sunlight disappeared. The ocean was hers.

She checked the onboard CD player. Howard Hanson's Second Symphony, which for some reason was a favorite of researchers on deep dives. Dark and foreboding, but ultimately triumphant. Why not? She hit play and let the orchestra take her to the ocean floor.

Eighty minutes later, traces of sediment floated in front of her running lights. She spoke into the microphone. "Kirov, can you read?"

No answer.

"Kirov?

"Yes, my dear. Nice to hear from you. I thought you'd fallen asleep down there."

"I was starting to think the same about you. I'm glad the underwater antenna is working so well. We usually need a lifeline to communicate with someone this far down. I'm nearing the floor."

"Do you see anything?"

"Not yet. Sonar shows me about sixty feet from the bottom. I'm about to hit the high beams."

Hannah turned on the high-wattage navigation lights, which cast an intense aura of illumination around LISA's hull. After a few moments, she saw waves of silt on the ocean floor, almost like tiny sand dunes.

"I've arrived. I'm about a quarter of a mile north-northwest of the target site."

"Keep your eyes open. We don't know how precise their coordinates are. If it was dropped from the surface, it could have drifted."

"Tell me about it." She thought of the two halves of the Titanic, which went under at the same spot but ended up almost a mile apart on the bottom. "I'm going in."

She gripped the control stick and piloted LISA six feet over the ocean floor, moving slowly so as not to kick up too much silt. "Visibility's good. I'm nearing the target zone. Still no sign of anything unusual."

Christ, he hated this, Kirov thought.

He knew what it was like down there. He wanted to be in that pod with her.

No, he wanted to be in that pod instead of her.

Okay, keep his voice calm and casual. She didn't need to know he was in a panic. Support meant emotional as well as physical and mental. She was alone down there and doing her job. If even a hint of the terror he was feeling crept into his demeanor, then that claustrophobic pod could seem like a coffin to her.

"Do you see anything?"

"I'll tell you when I do. Don't be impatient. Wait. I see something. I'm moving in for a closer look."

Kirov was so focused on Hannah's voice from the radio that the sound of his satellite phone ringing startled him. It was in the cabin connected to its charger/antenna unit.

Should he answer or let it ring? He strode into the cabin to check the ID box.

Eugenia.