Goliath

The skipper waits briefly for the roar to die down. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Lawson.” Hatcher is not really sorry, nor does he sound it.

The Democrat from Florida turns to face him. “I don’t need a baby-sitter, Captain, any more than you need a civilian looking over your shoulder. Keep in mind I’m only here because the Appropriations Committee and GAO still haven’t come to any definitive conclusions regarding funding for the new Stealth carrier.”

“The CVX’s design speaks for itself. The advances in deck management alone make the new carrier worth funding.”

“Your opinion. Personally, I’m still not convinced it’s worth all the money.”

Hatcher’s face turns red. “Take a good look down there, Congressman. You’re looking at the most dangerous piece of real estate in the world. Maybe you ought to climb into a jumpsuit and spend some time on our flight deck before you cast your vote.”

“This has never been a question about safety, Captain, it’s a question of whether the ungodly costs associated with keeping these armadas at sea is still worth it. Twenty billion to build a single carrier group, another 12 billion a year just to keep all our CVBGs operational.”

“Maintaining a forward presence isn’t cheap.”

“Yes, but is it still our best strategy? As research into new high-tech systems accelerates, delaying purchases even a few more years may yield a full generation of advantages. Why waste money on systems that may become obsolete before we even put them into service? There’s a growing consensus among my colleagues on Capitol Hill that the carrier groups have become antiquated. Face it, Captain, Aegis may protect your ship in open waters, but at close range, these new Chinese Silkworms and Russian supersonic missiles become too fast and too maneuverable to intercept. The evil empire’s gone, Hatcher. Our new enemies lurk in tight, coastal hot spots like the Strait of Hormuz. What good is a brand-new 6-billion-dollar aircraft carrier if we’re afraid to use it?”

Hatcher removes his cap, wiping the sweat from his receding hairline. “Tell you what, Congressman—if you and your colleagues on Capitol Hill know a better way of kicking some third world dictator’s ass halfway across the globe, then I suggest you fund it—otherwise, give us what we need to do our goddamn jobs.”

Atlantic Ocean: 197 nautical miles due west of the Strait of Gibraltar 850 feet below the surface

16:48 hours

The beast slows, the luminescent glow from its bloodred eyes violating the otherwise ebony depths. A disturbance stirs the bottom silt as a dozen life-forms emerge, as if birthed, from the creature’s dark underbelly. Moving ahead, they hover in formation, their own red eyes blazing green in the abyss as they await instructions from their parent.

The devilfish settles gently on the ocean floor, displacing half an acre of sand and debris.

A bioelectrical impulse is transmitted.

The monster’s brood races ahead to attack the approaching fleet.

Rocky Jackson jumps at the sudden flurry of whistles and clicks. She adjusts her headphones and stares at the SQR-19’s sonar monitor.

“What do you hear?” the XO, Commander Strejcek, asks.

“Ambient sounds, sir, but they weren’t there a second ago.”

Strejcek picks up a headset and listens. “Hmm, biologics. Sound like orca.” Strejcek points to the blips on the sonar monitor. Twelve dots disperse, spreading out in formation across the screen. “They’re hunting. Watch—the pod will surround the school of fish, then blast them with echolocation, stunning them and driving them to the surface. Saw it on the Discovery Channel last month. Extraordinary creatures.”

Strejcek walks away, obviously satisfied with his own conclusion.

Fish? I don’t hear any fish? Rocky presses the headphones tighter to her ears, then maxes out the volume. The clicks reverberate in greater clarity.

A quick glance at her sensors—the Jacksonville is moving to periscope depth. Rocky engages the spread spectrum stealth communicator and its conformal phased-array antenna and sends out a tightly beamed encrypted message. She waits, hoping the sub’s antenna has come out of the water.

JACKSONVILLE—PLEASE CONFIRM IDENTIFICATION OF OBJECTS.

The small objects disperse, the first five closing rapidly on the keels of the CVBG’s forward vessels. Rocky waits, nibbling on her unpolished fingernails, alarm gathering viscerally within her.

A message appears. BIOLOGICS. CLASSIFICATION: ORCA.

She stares at her console as four of the “Orcas” move directly beneath the Ronald Reagan’s keel. The creatures slow, as if drawn to the carrier’s propellers.

Then she hears it—very faint—masked beneath the noise coming from the fleet’s screws.

The sound of small hydropropulsion engines …