32
Elana picked up on the vibe. “Okay, something is definitely going on. What is it?”
“You need to get off the boat,” I said.
“Not until you tell me what’s up. Somebody deleted the nav history. That’s totally bizarre and against protocol.” Elana squinted at me, putting it all together. “What did they find out there?”
I shared another glance with Jack.
“Did they find a UFO? Oh, my God. That’s it, isn’t it? There’s an alien spaceship at the bottom of the ocean, and some covert government agency wants you to retrieve it. It all makes sense. That’s why they killed Weyland.”
“You have an active imagination,” I said.
Flynn climbed into the sub to see what all the hubbub was about. “Did somebody say UFO?”
“There’s no UFO,” I assured.
“You know, you’re going to need help.”
“There’s no UFO.”
He gave me a doubtful look. “Look, I’ve seen that movie. It doesn’t end well for anyone.”
“Would you escort this lovely lady off the sub?” I asked Flynn.
Elana scowled at me.
“We’re running out of time.”
"Okay, okay, I'm going. You two be careful out there."
She climbed out of her seat, then took the ladder to the top hatch. Flynn was right behind her. Once she was off the sub, he pulled the hatch down and sealed us in. With a grin on his face, he said, "I'm going with you. You’re gonna need someone to man the umbilical if you dive to recover anything from that UFO. We might have to fight space aliens underwater."
"I'm telling you, there's no UFO."
“Right, right, of course,” he said with a wink. “Classified.”
In truth, we could use a third hand. And Flynn was the only person on the habitat I trusted.
"Flynn, what you see on this trip stays between us,” I said.
With an eager grin, he gave me a salute. “You can count on me, sir. I can keep a secret.”
I took the helm and submerged the Triton. We cruised out of the habitat and headed into the abyss. Floodlights slashed the darkness as I navigated toward the locationConroy had given me. The current tossed the tiny sub around, the storm raging above. It was like flying through bumpy air.
With an average speed of 3.5 knots per hour, we reached the estimated site in a little under an hour. There was nothing but a void, and the sonar showed nothing on the bottom.
I continued on, moving over a ledge on the sea floor. The bottom began to slope, and I followed the terrain into the abyss. We submerged deeper, from 300 feet to 325 to 350.
Then 400.
“What’s the test depth of this thing?” I asked.
“Operating depth is 1,250 meters,” Flynn said. “Test depth is 2,500 meters. She’s got plenty of room to run.”
We weren’t going to get anywhere near a hull implosion at this depth unless there was structural damage to the pressure hull.
We followed the slope, descending to about 500 feet. That's when the floodlights raked across a black metallic structure. The massive attack submarine was barely a blip on the sonar. The angle of the slope minimized its signature.
