Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (dark books to read TXT) 📕

weighed the arguments Solomon-like. Finally, he told them, “Here is what we’ll do. We do need more samples to map the extent of the field, so we absolutely will need the side-scan. We’ll forego the fumarole studies on this trip, so we can add that capacity. We can extend the bottom time to cover more research area. That should about divide the baby in half, maybe, and if we are lucky, without killing it. You two satisfied?”

The two frowned but then nodded reluctantly.

The rest of the launch sequence went without drama. The bright orange device lacked the sleek torpedo-like appearance of UUVs meant for open-water operations. More squat and boxy to help tolerate the unbelievable water pressure, with sensors and arms protruding from the vessel at odd angles. But they were all plug-ins, easily added or removed. Its electric drive propulsion systems were contained in small pods that could be rotated for easier maneuverability, but flexibility came at the expense of speed and range. Just for the Sea Raptor to travel from the sea surface to the bottom of the Tonga Trench would take ten hours.

The davit crane swung the UUV out and slowly lowered it into the water. After a few more checks were completed, divers released the Sea Raptor to slip smoothly below the surface. With nothing else to watch or argue about, and with the sun still brutally hot, the team repaired to the command center. From there, they could monitor the descent in air-conditioned comfort while enjoying cold drinks and a bite of dinner.

As the afternoon shifted to evening and then segued into night, the novelty wore off. The bystanders began to thin out. By midnight, only Mitch O’Donnell and Sandy McDougal kept Rex Smith company.

The trio quickly perked up as they were finally able to watch the Sea Raptor slowly approach the sea bottom, so very far below their keel. Since they were floating in an out-of-the-way corner of a very large ocean, and concentrating on a view only a handful of people on the planet had ever had the occasion to see, they did not pay any particular attention to the waters around them.

It was the shattering noise of the radar proximity alarm that jolted them out of their fixation on the UUV control. Something had just approached within a mile of where they had the Deep Ocean Explorer keeping station.

Rex Smith jumped up and ran out the command center door. When he burst into the ship’s pilothouse, he ran squarely into Bill Bix.

“We got company,” the ship’s captain informed him, then turned and pointed out the window. A fast-approaching patrol boat was clearly visible in the moonlight, making no effort to maintain stealth. The brightly illuminated boat had a spotlight pointed at the Deep Ocean Explorer’s bridge, all but blinding Smith and Bix.

But even in the bright light, they could make out a wicked-looking thirty-millimeter autocannon aimed directly at them.

“Pirates?” Smith asked.

“Not way out here, I wouldn’t think. And not with that weapon.”

Then, from the bridge of the approaching vessel, someone called out on a loud-hailer.

“Onboard the ship, you are conducting illegal activities in Tongan sovereign waters. Stand by to be boarded.”

The patrol vessel slid to a stop a few hundred meters from the Deep Ocean Explorer. The autocannon unerringly maintained its aim directly across the bow of the research ship. Smith and Bix watched anxiously as a team of heavily armed marines climbed from the vessel into a RHIB, obviously with the intent of making the short trip between ships.

Bix grabbed his own loud-hailer and stepped out onto the research ship’s bridge wing.

“Tongan Patrol Vessel, we are an American-flagged research vessel conducting legitimate research in international waters. Interference with our activities is a violation of international law.”

The autocannon on the patrol boat suddenly spat twice, sending angry rounds over the Deep Ocean Explorer’s bow and into the sea beyond.

“On the research vessel, you are in Tongan waters. Stand by to receive boarders. You are under arrest and your ship is impounded.”

Smith and Bix looked at each other, mouths open, eyes wide. This was an eventuality for which they had not planned. Harassment? Sure. That happened periodically in some of the politically dicey waters where they sometimes found themselves. Maybe even being chased away. But the arrest of the crew and impoundment of the valuable and quite famous ship? This was a whole new level. Would they be held as prisoners, pawns to be bartered in a high-stakes game for control of the unbelievably rich gold field?

It appeared they were about to find out. The RHIB full of marines was rapidly approaching. There was not much time to do anything. And they lacked any weaponry to defend themselves. Just the righteousness of their research.

Smith bolted for the bridge door, shouting, “Get the word out to whoever you can, hopefully the Navy in Pago Pago. I’m going to take care of the Sea Raptor.”

The marines were clambering up and onboard the Deep Ocean Explorer as Smith barged into the control room.

“Quick! Put the Sea Raptor in hibernation.” Mitch O’Donnell opened his mouth to question. “Don’t ask why, just do it.”

Turning to McDougal, he asked, “All our data up on cloud storage?” When she nodded, he ordered, “Delete everything onboard. I don’t want a single byte still here.”

Someone pounded on the control room door.

“Open up! You are under arrest.”

Smith waited to open the door as O’Donnell hit the hibernation button and then powered down his computer. At the same time, McDougal hit the button to wipe the servers. There was not enough time to power them down, but there was no way for their attackers to stop the deletion of all the data on the servers either.

The assault troops went compartment to compartment, herding the entire crew into the ship’s small wardroom/dining room. The Tongans then stationed a pair of guards at the door while the rest went to work getting the research vessel under tow.

Smith sidled up to Bill