“Mr. Kalinin,” said Lord Edmund coldly, “there is one line as arbitrator of the organization that I have never crossed. You’re telling me to cross it and sell them all out.”
“Is that line really worth holding?” Kalinin asked, while thinking, It’s this pointless sense of duty that let Amalgam run rampant, isn’t it? Instead of really doing anything, you just formed your little “Justice League” to maintain a masturbatory balance. What point is there now in remaining loyal to Amalgam’s past?
“If you want the registry, you’ll have to find it yourself,” Lord Edmund announced. “Don’t expect me to just hand it to you.”
“As you wish.” Kalinin looked around the small room, then reached for a bookshelf that took up most of one wall. He threw everything on one shelf unceremoniously onto the ground, spreading dust that stank of mildew. Edmund Jr., lying on the floor beside it, coughed. Kalinin was just reaching for the next shelf of books when he realized something. “No,” he murmured, “that’s not right.”
A Bible lay on the small table next to the elder Mallory. Kalinin picked it up now, first tracing a finger along the spine, then grabbing the upper edge to peel it down and reveal the binding beneath. From that binding, he pulled a piece of paper, which had been folded into quarters. On it were lines of letters and numbers: some kind of code. This was the registry he was after, and Kalinin carefully folded it back up to place in his breast pocket.
The elder Mallory just watched as Kalinin went about his work. “How did you know?” he finally asked.
“This is iniquitous information,” Kalinin answered. “Hiding it in the spine of a Bible seemed like the kind of thing a man like you might do.”
“You’re not going to ask about the code?” Lord Edmund inquired.
“Let’s see... Perhaps the Vulgate knows?” suggested Kalinin, lightly tapping on the Latin Bible in which he’d found the paper. The numbers likely correspond to its verses, he thought. A highly primitive method. If I put it to an AI designed for cracking codes, I’ll have it decoded in less than an hour.
The elder Mallory sniffed in displeasure, confirming his suspicions.
“I’m finished here,” Kalinin announced. “You’re free to do as you wish.” With the Bible tucked under his arm, he turned to leave the room.
But the elder Mallory called out to him. “You’re not going to execute me?”
“There’s no need,” Kalinin replied. “There’s nothing you can do now, after all.”
“You’re saying I’m already a person of the past?”
“Not just that,” he pointed out. “You’re already a prisoner.” I would imagine the old man never leaves this room, Kalinin thought. He’s bound to it by invisible chains...
Kalinin cast a final glance at the man’s son, Sir Edmund. His face was pale and hollow, but below the surface burned a clear hatred for his father... He could tell from the indifferent way he’d watched their conversation, as if the younger man had forgotten even the pain of his current injury.
The father who had disengaged from life; the wounded son enraged by his betrayal. A desolate feeling came over Kalinin as he imagined himself and Sagara Sousuke in the same roles. What a hypocrite I am, he thought, to look at this man, my shadow self, and tell him that he is a prisoner. Am I not also bound by the chains of my past?
Perhaps acting out some kind of personal desire, Kalinin took out the Browning that he’d confiscated before, squatted down, and placed it in front of Edmund Jr. “I’m returning what’s yours,” he announced, and then silently left the room.
He sensed the man picking up the gun behind him, but he knew it wasn’t to shoot him.
Outside, the rain had grown heavier than before. Two black station wagons were parked in front of and behind Sir Edmund’s Toyota, with six subordinates waiting in front.
“Let’s go,” Kalinin said.
The men silently piled into the wagons and prepared to withdraw. Kalinin didn’t have the good relationship with them that he’d had with his old squadron, and they were somewhat less skilled, but he liked that. It meant less time wasted on conversation and less disappointment when they were inevitably lost.
As he sat down in a passenger seat, Kalinin heard a single gunshot from the cottage. The driver’s hand paused for a moment over the key, but then he started up the engine with an attitude of indifference.
Kalinin heard another sound coming from the house, a sort of grief-filled wail, not quite a moan and not quite a scream. But as the station wagons drove off, scattering mud, it eventually faded from his hearing.
Maybe the elder Mallory preferred this end, he thought. Perhaps his presence there—in that village, which only his son knew about—was proof that he’d hoped his son would come and settle things with him. Perhaps that bullet, liberating him from the strong bond they shared, was a more suitable finale to his journey than an assassin’s gun or the slow diminishment of old age.
What is the world worth, if I can’t— Kalinin dismissed the thought immediately and opened a pre-prepared channel on his satellite phone. “I’ve acquired the registry,” he announced.
“Excellent. Return, please,” Leonard Testarossa’s voice responded. There was a bit of a lag since he was on the other side of the planet, but the voice was otherwise very clear. “Things are going more or less smoothly for us, too.”
“‘More or less?’” Kalinin noted. “Is there an issue?”
“My little sister has sniffed out our plan,” Leonard admitted. “We can’t hide from satellites, so I think it’s only a matter of time.”
“Any countermeasures?”
“We have the US Navy acting on our behalf,” Leonard told him. “They’ll do everything in their power to sink the Toy Box. In fact, they should be just in the thick of it now...”
●
“Con, sonar! Torpedo on bearing 1-2-0, distance 2500! Approaching at fifty knots!” The tense report came in from the sonar shack just as a red symbol appeared on the front screen. A Mk. 48 torpedo, fired from the US Navy nuclear attack sub, Augusta, was heading for the Tuatha de Danaan.
Tessa, in the captain’s seat, immediately gave her orders. “Right full rudder, bearing 290. Maintain speed.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. Right full rudder, bearing 290. Maintain speed,” Mardukas, her executive officer, repeated.
It wasn’t the ideal move for evading an incoming torpedo. In theory, the best choice would be to turn east and speed up. The crew in the control room, seeming to think the same thing, all looked at Mardukas in confusion. With just the slightest shake of his head, the XO told them not to doubt the captain’s orders.
Indeed, thirty seconds later, a new report came from the sonar technician. “New torpedo contact, bearing 2-9-3! Distance 800! Speed fifty knots!”
“I thought so,” Tessa whispered, without even a smile. If she’d chosen to escape in the standard way, they would’ve flown right into the enemy encirclement, but she had anticipated this attack by reinforcements. “Maintain course,” she commanded. “Reduce speed.”
“Reducing speed, maintaining course, aye.”
“Open torpedo tube doors, three and four.”
“Open tube doors three and four, aye. Data input complete.”
“Good,” said Tessa. “Fire three and four.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” said Mardukas, acknowledging the order. “Firing torpedoes three and four.”
Two ADCAP torpedoes fired from the de Danaan’s launch tubes. These were decoys to keep the enemy at bay. The nuclear attack sub front of them would be forced to take evasive maneuvers, and they’d use that gap in their formation to break through.
The first torpedo approached from behind, and the numbers signifying its distance ticked down. Seven hundred yards, six hundred yards, five hundred yards...
Now, thought Tessa. “Come right to 3-3-5,” she announced. “All stop. EMFC to passive.”
“Aye. Coming right to 3-3-5. All stop. EMFC, passive.”
Once her steadfast piloting had drawn the torpedo in just far enough, Tessa swung the boat around, and in that same instant, activated their electromagnetic fluid control. A curtain of particles arranged along the hull dropped its water resistance significantly. The Tuatha de Danaan slid sideways through the water like a car skidding on the ice.
It was an unthinkable move for a submarine of its size. The floor of the control room tilted hard, and those who hadn’t grabbed onto something were thrown to the port side.
“Incoming!”
The enemy torpedo’s guidance system wasn’t designed to tail a large submarine moving this way. It lost sight of the de Danaan, and slammed into a countermeasure six hundred meters away instead.
There was a roar and a jolt; the de Danaan’s frame groaned, and the control room’s screen blinked wildly.
“EMFC, active!” screamed Tessa. “New course 1-1-0! Fire one and two while reversing course!”
“Aye, ma’am!” Mardukas hollered back. “EMFC active! Course is 1-1-0! Fire torpedoes one, two!”