Goliath

Identity: Stage Three: I am peaceful inside. My inner world is beginning to satisfy me more than outward things.

—Deepak Chopra

Charcot Seamount 112 Nautical Miles NW of La Coruña, Spain North Atlantic

The Charcot Seamount rises abruptly from the depths like a foreboding jagged wall. Running east-west for more than fifty miles, the submerged mountain range forms a natural barrier, its massive cone-shaped peaks redirecting currents, forcing cold, nutrient-rich waters upward along its steeply sloped walls, providing food for huge populations of corals, sponges, and fish.

Goliath soars over the peaks and through the valleys, maneuvering within the whirling eddies like a gargantuan dancing manta ray.

Diving and rising, twisting and turning. With each pass, Sorceress finetunes its sensor array until it can actually feel the currents pressing against Goliath’s wings. The incredible sensation stimulates its lightning-damaged neural pathways to grow, increasing the connection between the sub’s mind and body, body and mind.

Inside the control room, Simon Covah straps himself tighter in his command chair, feeling as if he is riding an underwater roller coaster. “Sorceress, respond—”

Thomas Chau’s Asian complexion pales as he stumbles up the platform. “Covah, what the hell is your sub doing—trying to make us all sick?”

“Something’s … wrong. The computer won’t respond. Sorceress, this is Covah. Terminate current maneuvers.”

No response.

“Sorceress, this is Covah—”

VOICE IDENTIFICATION VERIFIED.

“Explain current maneuvers.”

REALIGNING PUMP-JET PROPULSORS, RECONFIGURING TACTICAL SYSTEM TO OPTIMIZE ALL FIELDS.

“Terminate maneuvers.”

REALIGNMENT WILL BE COMPLETED IN ONE MINUTE, ZERO-THREE SECONDS.

“Sorceress, terminate the realignment procedure now.”

REALIGNMENT WILL BE COMPLETED IN FIFTY-SEVEN SECONDS.

Chau’s eyes widen. “It’s ignoring you.”

Covah grips the armrests of his chair, closing his eyes as the sub rolls hard to port and keeps on rolling, the ship’s wingspan nearly vertical as it glides through a narrow opening set between two towering peaks.

Chau’s feet go out from under him. The falling crewman lunges for the support rail of Central Command and holds on, his body dangling thirty feet above the tilting chamber.

“Sorceress—”

The sub passes between the two mountainous barriers and rights itself.

REALIGNMENT COMPLETE. TACTICAL EFFICIENCY NOW 100 PERCENT.

Thomas Chau pulls himself up and over the rail, a murderous look in his almond eyes as leans toward Covah, and whispers, “You’ve lost control.”

Covah stares impassively at the giant viewing screen, sucking in painful breaths. “Step away from me, Mr. Chau.”

The engineer pauses, then dutifully backs down the platform’s steps.

Covah wipes beads of sweat from his caterpillarlike mustache. “Sorceress, run a complete diagnostic on your—”

WARNING: SUBMARINE DETECTED. BEARING ZERO-TWO-FOUR. RANGE, 122 KILOMETERS. SPEED, TWENTY KNOTS.

“Can you identify?”

AFFIRMATIVE. VANGUARD-CLASS. HMS VENGEANCE.

Covah looks below and to his right, where the tall African remains strapped in his chair. “Mr. Kaigbo, is Vengeance the sub we seek?”

Kaigbo nods, still on the verge of puking.

Covah attempts to lighten the mood. “Once more then, to the thrill of the hunt. Sorceress, plot an—”

Before he can finish the order, the ship’s propulsion system kicks in, driving the mechanical devilfish up and over the seamount and through the cold North Atlantic to intercept.

Aboard the HMS Vengeance

“Sir, we’ve reached the rendezvous point.”

“Very well.” Commander Whitehouse turns to his XO. “Are the Americans in the ASDS?”

“Aye, sir, standing by.”

The British skipper reaches for the shipwide intercom. “Sonar, conn, any sign of the Colossus?”

“Conn, sonar, no tonal contacts.”

Whitehouse grinds his teeth. Just like the Americans, always late. “Slow to one-third. Prepare to launch ASDS.”

The Advanced SEAL Delivery System, or ASDS, is a fifty-five-ton minisub designed to transport a SEAL squadron from a surface ship or submarine to an objective area. Resembling a pygmy sperm whale, the blunt-nosed vessel is capable of descending to depths of 190 feet over a range of 125 miles.