Page 49 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

“How important is it to get that flight data recorder?” Callie asked.

“If we don’t get it, people will die,” Juan said.

“Then I’ll have to lower theSpookdown another 214 feet just to reach it. And another hundred feet just to be sure we have enough to maneuver around down there.”

“I take it you’ve never taken her down that far before,” Juan said.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never been downthisfar before. I doubt another 314 feet will make that big of a difference. But if we go for it, I can’t promise we’ll make it back up.”

“This is our mission, not yours. I can’t ask you to risk your life.”

“Would you go for it if I wasn’t here?”

“I’d have to try,” Juan said.

Linda nodded. “It’s what we do.”

Callie smiled. “You’re my kind of people.”

“What kind is that?” Juan asked. “Crazy?”

“Yeah. But in a good way.”

She tapped the override keys on the navigational console, confirming and reconfirming that she wanted to proceed beyond theSpook Fish’s maximum limit depth, all the way down to 4,314 feet.

The automated system engaged and the electric thrusters whirred to life. TheSpook Fishedged downward. Thirty seconds passed, when the hull suddenly clanged like someone hit it with a ball-peen hammer.

Linda jumped.

“Yikes.”

“No worries,” Callie said. “She’s a sturdy girl, just a little noisy.”

Juan’s eyes were glued to the depth gauge. The warning lights and digital readouts flashed faster and faster the deeper they pushed beyond the safety limit. When they hit 4,314 feet, the thrusters stopped.

“Let’s try the drone one more time,” Callie said. “Only this time, I’ll take it in myself.”

Before the descent, Eric had forwarded a downloaded schematic showing the location of the flight data recorder near the cone of the tail section. The schematic indicated that there was an access door markedFlight Data Recorder Inside. That was Callie’s target.

Callie gently maneuvered the drone’s piloting joystick with one hand and worked the thruster control with the other. It was no simple task. The drone was over a half mile away.

The drone inched through the shower of falling debris that swept across their field of view at a hard angle. The current was moving faster near the ledge, the same way wind speed picks up next to the face of a mountain. Callie fought to keep the drone steady despite the AI-piloting assist as the shaking drone image closed in on the broken fuselage. The drone’s bright LED light swept along the aluminum skin near the tail cone, but no words appeared.

The three of them exchanged a worried glance.

“Here we go,” Callie said as she crept the drone between the fuselage and the silted ledge beneath it. The camera screen filled with swirling debris as the drone’s thrusters kicked up silt when the vehicle passed through the gap.

Unable to see anything in the view screen, Callie could only “feel” her way forward through the muddy blizzard, though she felt nothing in the joystick—there was no haptic feedback. It was all instinct.

Moments later the camera vision cleared enough to allow Callie to execute her next maneuver. She rotated the vehicle one hundred eighty degrees so she could read the other side of the fuselage.

“There,” Linda said pointing at the monitor. In upside-down letters half submerged in silt they all read:

Callie blew air through her teeth.

“That access door is going to be a problem.” Like the letters, the door was partially covered by the silt.

“How big of a problem?” Juan asked.