“Activate the magnet,” Joe said. “Full power. We’re only going to get one shot at this.”
“Coils are powered,” Kamphausen shouted. “Electromagnet is live!”
From the corner of his eye, Joe saw the compass spin wildly as it picked up a new source of magnetism. They were thirty feet above the waves and closing in on the submarine at a shallow crossing angle. The torpedo trail was coming from directly behind them. Kamphausen could see it; Joe couldn’t.
“It’s going to be close,” he said.
Joe slowed as he came in behind the sub and matched its course. The magnet skipped across the water, and the cable scraped across the sub’s back. The magnet came free of the water, hit the stern of the small sub and bounced.
It looked as if the impact might cause it to skip over the top, but the powered side of the magnet was drawn toward the flat iron spine of the submersible. It snapped onto the hull with a solid clunk. The winch strained and let out several feet of cable before the brake locked it tight. The Air-Crane was pulled downward as the tension on the cable threatened to whip the helicopter into the sea, but Joe countered the effect and the Angler surged forward, riding high in the water for a moment before pulling free. It swung forward underneath the Air-Crane, shedding curtains of seawater behind it.
Joe was too busy stabilizing the Air-Crane to worry about the torpedo. Kamphausen held his breath as it passed underneath.
Nothing happened. No explosion. No detonation. The torpedo didn’t even turn to acquire a new target. It just continued on a straight line and traveled off into the distance.
Kamphausen watched it go and gave it a mock salute. “Good riddance,” he said.
Joe laughed and turned back toward the Reunion with the Angler flying beneath them.
Nine hundred feet below, Tovarich and the rest of the Typhoon’s crew waited for a detonation that never came.
“What happened?” Tovarich asked finally.
“Nothing, sir,” the sonar operator replied.
“I know that already,” Tovarich said, the fury barely restrained. “What went wrong this time?”
“Nothing, sir,” the tactical officer said. “Torpedo still running straight and true.”
“So it missed?”
“No, sir, it . . . it was right on target . . . It’s just . . .” he replied, baffled by the situation.
“It’s just what?” Tovarich demanded.
“It’s just that the American submersible is gone.”
The captain stared at his sonarman in disbelief. “What do you mean gone?”
“It’s no longer in the water, Captain.”
Tovarich hauled the man out of his seat. He’d begun his career as a sonarman. He’d show these two amateurs how it worked. He snatched the headset and listened intently, adjusting the frequencies, the bearing and the sensitivity settings. He heard what they heard: the torpedo running but not the submersible.
“Give me an active ping!”
The emitter sounded almost immediately and the return came moments later. The torpedo was there, running off into the distance, as was the stationary freighter he assumed the NUMA submersible to be working from. But the submersible itself was gone.
Tovarich pulled the headset off. “Detonate the torpedo,” he said. “And return to the crash site. Once the cleanup is finished, set course for the deep. I’ll be in my quarters. Alone.”
20
Kurt, Joe and Emma said their good-byes to the crew of the Reunion a few hours later. To their surprise, it was a warm send-off, despite the fact that no diamonds had been recovered. With the ship back on course and scheduled to make its delivery on time, even the fruit company rep stopped worrying. He took the ream of paperwork he’d been preparing for NUMA’s lawyers and tossed it overboard.
Kamphausen, in particular, appeared sad to see them go. He all but crushed Joe in a bear hug. “Haven’t had this much excitement in years,” he insisted.
With Joe at the controls, the Air-Crane lifted off and turned east, headed for Guayaquil once again. Emma was in the copilot’s seat and Kurt sat in the jump seat between the two of them.
Little was said as the flight progressed. Emma seemed pensive even before they took off and grew quiet during the flight, staring out the window for long stretches.