CHAPTER 111

It was still dark, but only just. The horizon was brushed with pale pink, and though it made little difference under the water, Thomas was sure that they had only minutes before they would be visible from the shore. Jim was slouched in his seat beside him, barely conscious, fading in and out, but not losing any more blood and not getting obviously worse. Kumi floated above them like a mermaid on a dolphin’s back, her jeans discarded, her belt lashed to the sub’s camera array, her long, slender legs trailing out behind them. Twice she had pounded on the plastic canopy when he had inadvertently taken her too deep, but so long as the engines held out, they might just make it.

Thomas had kept the lights off because they were so close to the surface, so they were relying on sonar and on Kumi, whose head was just above the water. Now she patted the front and gestured boldly ahead; she had seen the Nara’s lights, and the boat lay directly in front. Thomas pushed the sub as hard as it would go, feeling the painful slowness of the vessel as they chugged out to sea, but hope had begun to blossom again. It was frail yet, but it was hope nonetheless.

Then Kumi was banging on the top, a frantic and urgent tattoo that sent Thomas pulling the sub up so that the top broke completely clear of the water. Before the sea had stopped running down the bubble, she was working the hatch mechanism. She flung it open and moved aside so that Thomas could stand and stare out into the gray light. He started to ask what the fuss was, since the boat was still a couple of hundred yards away, but he stopped.

A plane was coming in low: a flying boat with Japanese markings and no sign of weaponry. Thomas reached inside the sub, grabbed the flare gun, and handed it to Kumi, who, dripping from head to foot and now sitting astride the vessel, grinned. She took it, sighted, and fired. The sky overhead burst like the Fourth of July as the flare hung in place.

The plane circled back around, dropping like a gull skimming for fish. Thomas climbed out and held Kumi, all forgotten in the joy of rescue. Jim managed to stand, look out, and smile.

And then the flying boat was coming in to land, the spray kicking up around its floats so that the sub bobbled on the wake and Thomas had to hold on to keep his footing.

The aircraft came to rest between them and the Nara and, a moment later, the side hatch opened and a figure appeared, just visible as the sun finally pushed into the sky. A rope was thrown, and Thomas fastened it to a cleat on the submersible’s bow with a practiced bowline. In minutes the plane was towing them.

But it was towing them back to shore.

“No!” Thomas shouted to the plane, waving his arms. “Take us to the boat! The beach isn’t safe. I’ll explain later.”

The plane did not alter course, however, and as they continued to move forward, Kumi’s smile stalled completely and she looked at Thomas with something like desperation.

“What are they doing?” she asked.

“Not the beach!” Thomas shouted again. They were close enough to touch the plane now so his yells sounded wild, out of control.

“I’m afraid we have to, Thomas,” said the man in the plane’s hatchway. His voice carried. A strong and comforting voice. A familiar voice. “We have things to discuss.”

Thomas leaned forward and stared at the figure as the morning light finally reached his face. It was Senator Zacharias Devlin.