Emma looked up. “The Typhoon is repositioning.”
Kurt already knew that. He could see the lighted swath of ocean floor moving toward them.
He reversed thrust, trying to back out of the open section of the fuselage, but instead of moving in a straight line, the Angler was yanked to the side and pulled around.
“We’re caught on something,” he said, craning his head around to see what had hooked them.
“I can see it from here,” Emma said. “The frame around the retrieval container is snagged on the wreckage.”
Kurt moved the sub forward and then backed up again, trying to pull free. But it was no use. The Angler was hooked.
A third try did nothing to free them, and the wreckage around them began to brighten as the peripheral light from the Typhoon reached the area.
Kurt had no choice. He rotated the thrusters and forced the Angler back into the wreckage, crashing down and shutting everything off.
“What are you doing?” Emma asked, in shock.
“Hiding,” he said. “It’s the only choice we have.”
The light around them grew brighter, filtering through gaps in the airframe like morning sun through high windows. The throbbing sound of the Typhoon’s thrusters grew until the submarine appeared directly above them, rotating slowly until it was aligned into the current once again.
The maroon hull was marked with long scars of corrosion and algae while the lighted gap of the cargo bay shimmered with a sterile white glow.
Two divers in hard suits traveled up toward it, ascending with smaller pieces of debris in their nets and vanishing into the flooded hold. A moment later, the huge bucket reappeared. It traveled on rails in the cargo bay ceiling, stopping and locking into position almost directly above the Angler.
“This is not good,” Emma whispered.
Kurt couldn’t have agreed more.
The bucket remained stationary for what seemed an eternity, its clamshell jaws opening slowly and locking into position. Finally, with nothing more than a pitiful squeak, it began to drop.
There was no mistaking its destination. The huge bucket was dropping straight for the wreckage pile and the NUMA submersible hiding in it.
17
The outstretched jaws of the retrieval bucket plunged downward, crashing into the wreckage surrounding the Angler. Metal screeched as it was torn and twisted. A cloud of silt erupted from the impact site and the Angler tilted over to one side.
With the teeth of the bucket embedded in the silt below, the powerful hydraulic struts activated. The jaws were forced together, burrowing through the silt, until they slammed shut beneath the heap of tangled metal.
The powerful winch in the Typhoon’s cargo bay was engaged and the steel cables pulled taut, straining against the suction created by the sediment. The resistance didn’t last. With a sudden lurch, the latest collection of wreckage was pulled from the seafloor to begin its journey upward.
Watching from the outside, the divers in hard suits saw nothing to differentiate this load of material from any other. It was just another stack of twisted metal being hauled away, with a long trail of silt pouring from the gaps and streaming in the current.
As the bucket neared the opening in the Typhoon’s hull, a maneuver called the shake was performed. The ascent was halted and the jaws were opened a few inches. The tension on the cable was released and the bucket allowed to fall several feet before being stopped.
Each time the crane operator shook the bucket, a new cloud poured from the bottom. After several shakes, there was little sediment left. The jaws were closed once again. The winch was reactivated and the load drawn into the cargo bay.
Once it was fully retracted, the bucket began to move horizontally. At a predetermined position, it stopped and dumped the latest pile of wreckage on the inner deck.
Inside the Angler, Kurt and Emma were thrown about. They remained in their seats. When they were finally dropped inside the Typhoon, both of them were amazed to be alive. The claws had gone under and around them. The hull hadn’t been punctured or even scratched; the acrylic of the canopy was free of cracks.
“Look at the size of this hold,” Emma said, gazing around.
“Used to be the missile bay,” Kurt said. “In their original configuration, Typhoons carried twenty-four extremely large ICBMs. The largest ever deployed to sea.”
As Kurt spoke, he got his bearings. The bay was filled with water, which could be pumped out once the heavy doors were closed. At the moment, they were facing aft and tilted over at a thirty-degree angle. To get free, they’d have to rise up, make a U-turn and then dive out through the opening. Assuming, of course, that they could get free.
Leaning across the cockpit, Kurt spotted the offending piece of wreckage. “I think I can cut us loose.”