Page 145 of Enemy Within

Coughing and hacking, Ethan nodded, slapping at Scott’s shoulder. His body burned, his ribs ached, and his lungs felt like they were still filled with water. Like he was still drowning, even doubled over on the ice. “Adam,” he choked out, through his bruised and bloody throat. “Adam was shot.”

Scott cursed, but clambered to his feet. He gave Ethan his shotgun and jogged to where Adam lay. Nearby, Sasha, pale and unsteady, trudged back toward Ethan, one bloody hand pressed to his shoulder. He collapsed to his knees in the snow and pitched over on his side.

Ethan gripped Scott’s shotgun and looked north. His eyes followed the tracks Jack and Sergey had made with their snowmobile until their trail disappeared into the gloom. He couldn’t help Jack now.

What Jack had to do, he had to do on his own.

His eyes slipped closed as he swallowed.Jack… Be safe. Come back to me.

63

USS Honolulu

“RANGE TO THE SUB?” Anderson’s voice went taut as his jaw clenched. The crew was wound tight, the atmosphere in the Conn heavy enough to sink the boat. The world hung on what they did next. On whether they were successful or not.

Boomer called back, his eyes glued to his sonar display. Sweat stained the back of his shirt, and rivulets ran down the sides of his face. “Range, ten thousand feet, Captain. She’s staying close to the ice. I’m getting a ton of refractions. Multiple target points and ice reflection.” His display jumped, flickering between showing five subs and then one, and then three. Back to a single sub.

“Lieutenant Munoz, flood tubes one through six and prepare to launch your torpedoes.”

Clanking echoed throughHonolulu, the damaged torpedo doors on the bow struggling to open fully. The ship creaked and groaned as the hull strained. “What is my target, sir?”

In submarine warfare, the unwritten rules said to always fire on a submarine’s propellers. Disable her. Break her rudder. Leave her dead in the water. Leave her unable to complete her mission. But don’t break her back. Don’t send a hundred men to their deaths.

Those rules didn’t apply here. “Target her midline. Crack her in half. Break her open like an egg, Lieutenant.”

Munoz said nothing, but his hands flew over his control board, priming his torpedoes with coordinates to the center of the Russian sub.

“Conn, Sonar. She heard us flood our tubes. She’s flooding four of her own.”

“Roller, we’re going to need to maneuver after we fire. Be ready.” A submarine was not a jet fighter. Evading torpedoes and trying to swim away like a dolphin wasn’t what they were designed for. He’d used up almost all his tricks. But if he could swim his way out of this, make a break of the depths and save his crew, he’d give it his all.

Roller nodded, chewing gum almost fast enough to blur his jaw.

“Weapons ready, Captain.” Munoz exhaled, holding his trembling hands over the firing board. “As soon as we fire, she’s going to send her torpedoes up our solution.”

“Roller, when we launch, take us down, emergency deep. I want us rolling beneath her. Try and scramble her torpedoes. If we hit the thermocline and kill our propellers, those torpedoes might turn their attention back home.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Anderson nodded to Roller and turned back to Munoz. He opened his mouth, ready to give his next order. Behind him, by the dark plotting table, there was a blur, a deep clap followed by a grunt, and then footsteps.

A pistol cocked and jammed against the side of his head. “Not one more fucking step,” a voice growled. “You’renottaking out that sub.”

Everything stopped. His crew stopped breathing. Everyone’s gaze turned to the center of the Conn. EvenHonoluluseemed to still, as if holding her breath while her captain stood with a gun to his head.

They had a traitor on board. Had been carrying him the whole time, from the start of the mission. One of Madigan’s men, embedded in Lieutenant Cooper’s own team. President Spiers’s words of warning, his reason for fleeing Washington, his subterfuge getting to the Arctic. It had all been for nothing. Madigan had been right by Spiers’s side theentiretime.

Anderson’s eyes flicked sideways. He stared into Sergeant Wright’s steady gaze. Cold fire and dedication burned back. The kind of soul-deep dedication that belonged to a martyr. There’d be no reasoning with Wright.

Behind Wright, Coleman slumped sideways, falling to the deck. Blood seeped from his chest, staining the deck bright red, a klaxon of color even in the dim lights. Fury blazed from his eyes as he glared at Wright. Faisal and Doc kneeled beside him, trying to press on his chest as Coleman coughed up blood.

“Disarm those torpedoes.” Wright dug the barrel against Anderson’s skull. “Now.”

Anderson said nothing.

“I said, disarm those torpedoes!” Wright roared. His fingers squeezed the grip of his pistol as his face twisted, murderous wrath in the harsh curve of his lips.

Anderson stared him right in the eyes and stayed silent.