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Authors: Steve Alten

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Sorceress
registers the disturbance of the approaching torpedo. Within a span of seconds, the biochemical computer simultaneously:
—accesses all data regarding the Virginia-class submarine’s capabilities and the combat history of its commanding officer, Christopher Parker.
—monitors the status of Abdul Kaigbo, who has secured Commander Jackson on the missile transport lift.
—conducts another extensive sonar sweep of the vicinity.
—verifies the latest three-day forecast of the North Atlantic.
—and acquires the location of David Paniagua’s father’s winter residence from DoD files. Using this last bit of information,
Sorceress
completes its list of
Sorceress
Utopia-One targets for its next nuclear volley, a decision which ultimately determines its course and speed,
—and the fate of the USS
Virginia
and her crew.
A combat strategy is selected.
With
a hiss
of hydraulics, the computer launches one of its portside antitorpedo torpedoes, then changes course, heading northwest and away from the
Virginia
.
“Conn, sonar, ship’s own unit is homing. Ship’s own unit has acquired. Impact in twenty seconds. Contact is running—”
Parker and Commander Darr glance up at each other from across the
Virginia’s
navigation console.
“Conn, sonar, torpedo in the water.”
“WEPS, Captain. Prepare to fire antitorpedo tor—”
The explosion cuts Parker off. A moment later the shock wave hits, rolling the
Virginia
hard to starboard.
The sea growls in angry protest, its frozen surface fragmenting into mammoth chunks of brash ice.
“Sonar, conn—”
“Skipper, ship’s own unit has been destroyed. Contact is still heading north and away from us, bearing three-one-zero, increasing speed to thirty knots. Range—thirteen thousand yards.”
Stay with her, Parker. Don’t let her get away
… “Helm, all ahead full, steady three-one-zero. WEPS, Captain, firing point procedures. Sierra-1, ADCAP torpedo, tube two.”
Sorceress registers the
Virginia’s
change in course and speed, a combat response it had anticipated. The biochemical computer floods minisub docking bay number five.
Seconds later, a remotely controlled steel Hammerhead is released into the sea.
The
Goliath
continues heading north by northwest, leaving its minisub behind. Invisible in the ebony sea, the mechanical shark hovers … and waits.
Secured to its belly, held firmly between its two clawlike claspers is an underwater mine.
The
Virginia
pushes through the black waters of the Antarctic at thirty-four knots, moving through the bitter sea like a 7,700-ton, 377-foot steel sperm whale,
—its crew too focused on the
Goliath
to notice the occasional orcalike clicks coming from the seafloor.
Goliath’s
minisub allows the
Virginia
to pass overhead before accelerating after it. Hovering alongside, it pinpoints its target—a set of steel plates located just forward of the American attack sub’s retractable bow diving planes.
 
Chief Petty Officer Justin Bowman is stationed in the
Virginia’s
tactical missile room, a chamber that contains an arsenal of Tomahawk cruise missiles. He looks up, startled by the sudden sound of scraping.
Clunk
.
The Chief Petty Officer’s heart thuds. Instinctively, he turns to flee—
Wa-boom!
—his existence instantly caught between a brilliant flash of light and the suffocating, thunderous embrace that impales him from behind, extinguishing
his life, as the lethal detonation vents the
Virginia’s
forward compartments to the frigid Antarctic sea.
Captain Parker is tossed to the deck, his crippled ship twisting beneath him. Screams, explosions, and darkness blanket the chaos, and then an icy wall lifts him up and carries him away.
The
Goliath
slows, allowing its minisub to redock. Instead of continuing north, the devil ray descends to the seafloor,
Sorceress
shutting down the ship’s engines.
Scanning the ocean depths, the biochemical computer listens … and waits.
The 4-million-ton barge of ice, a tabular berg half the size of the island of Manhattan, is trapped, locked in place along the ocean’s frozen surface. Three years have passed since this glacierlike monster first separated from the Ross Ice Shelf to begin its journey north. Too large to clear the inlets surrounding Antarctica, it had taken several summers before the process of melting could shave enough mass from the berg’s imposing keel to again release it to open waters.
Currents had taken the frozen mountain halfway around the continent before releasing it to the open sea. From there, it had drifted another forty-eight miles before Antarctica’s wintry fingers again reached out to seal it in place.
A four-story-high plateau of ice marks the visible tip of this frozen monster. Flattopped and steep-sided, it is as barren as a moonscape, and just as devoid of life.
The harsh katabatic wind howls along the plateau’s northern rise and down its exposed cliff face to the seven-foot-thick pack ice. Below the frozen surface, held within the Southern Ocean’s frigid embrace lies the rest of this glacierlike mountain. At 590 feet thick, with a keel stretching 1,145 feet deep, the iceberg could easily provide every person on the planet with two glasses of fresh water per day … for the next two thousand years.
Within this ebony realm, the berg’s luminescent alabaster glow reveals an ominous presence hovering in silence along its vast northern face.
Positioned close to the prodigious ice island, its engines shut down, is the Los Angeles-class attack sub USS
Scranton
.
 
Four long hours have passed since the American attack sub went quiet. Now, tensions rise once more as a series of man-made acoustics violates the tranquil waters of the Antarctic.
Tom Cubit hovers over Michael Flynn’s right shoulder. The sonarman’s hands are trembling noticeably.
Flynn shakes his head in disbelief. “She’s gone, Skipper,
Virginia’s
gone.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Explosion was too big to be a torpedo.”
Cubit squeezes his eyes closed. “And the
Goliath
?”
“She went silent right after the explosion. I mark her last position approximately nine miles to the southeast.”
Cubit nods.
She knows we’re close, but she’s not sure where
. “Find her, Michael-Jack. If one of Covah’s crew so much as farts, I want to know about it.”
“Aye, sir.”
“To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life.”
—
Robert Louis Stevenson
 
 
“Don’t go to sleep, ’cause I’m going to kill you.”
—
Ricky Briscoe, before tossing kerosene on his girlfriend and burning her to death
General Jackson stares at the image of the president of the United States and his Security Advisors, all of whom are listening, ashen-faced, as Nick Nunziata reads NORAD’s latest report.
“The Trident II (D5) only has a range of about five thousand miles. With the exception of Sydney, there are really no major cities or military installations that fit Covah’s agenda. However, further analysis of the trajectory of three of Covah’s nukes revealed a disturbing conclusion.” Nuziata looks up. “Covah wasn’t aiming for cities, gentlemen, he was trying to detonate volcanoes.”
“Volcanoes?” President Edwards looks baffled.
“Yes, sir, volcanoes. Big pyroclastic ones.”
“I don’t understand. Why volcanoes?”
“Imagine eight eruptions on a scale that would put Krakatau to shame. Be like the asteroid impact that struck Earth 65 million years ago, killing all the dinosaurs—only worse. The environmental holocaust that followed would have blanketed the planet’s atmosphere with debris for years.”
“Good … . God, a nuclear winter?”
“More like an ice age. That Russian lunatic is out to destroy every god-damn-life-form on the planet.”
Jackson feels the blood drain from his face, leaving him light-headed, dizzy.
“General Jackson, how many more nuclear weapons does Covah have left?”
“At least eight more D5s, Mr. President,” Jackson hears himself saying, “enough to give this doomsday scenario one last try. We believe he’ll leave Antarctic waters and head either north or east in an attempt to lose the laser plane.”
Nick Nunziata nods. “If he’s after volcanoes, the Northern Hemisphere’s got plenty of ’em. He could surface in the North Atlantic or Pacific and choose from dozen of targets, all of which are well within range of his missiles.”
The president registers tightness running up his left arm. “General Jackson?”
“We lost the
Virginia
, sir, but the
Hawaii and Jimmy Carter
are closing fast from the east, joined by a half dozen more Aussie boats. The biggest gap in the net lies to the north.
Scranton’s
probably close, but we haven’t heard from Cubit in hours. Meanwhile, our Orion sub hunters are concentrating their sonar buoys in the area where the
Virginia
was attacked, but the going’s slow with all this pack ice. Two Russian destroyers and three Borey-class subs have joined the USS
Gonzalez
in an attempt to close the hole to the north, but they’re still a half day out.”
“What happens if Covah slips through?”
Jackson grimaces. “Then … it’s over. Finding the
Goliath
in open ocean would be tougher than locating a needle in a haystack the size of the Empire State Building. It’s now or never … sir.”
ATTENTION. SORCERESS UTOPIA-ONE SECOND LAUNCH TARGETS HAVE NOW BEEN SELECTED:
David stares at the target list and their coordinates as they are projected on the big overhead screen.
SORCERESS UTOPIA-ONE DESIGNATED TARGETS
Concepción. Nicaragua
11.5 N. 85.6 W
El Chichón. Mexico
17.4 N. 93.2 W
Mount Hood. Oregon. USA
45.4 N. 121.7 W
Mount Rainier. Washington. USA
46.5 N. 121.7 W
Mount Shasta. California, USA
41.4 N. 122.2 W
Mount St. Helens. Washington. USA
46.2 N. 122.1 W
Mount Vesuvius. Italy
40.8 N. 14.4 E
Soufriere Hills. Montserrat
16.7 N. 62.2 W
David’s body feels numb, his mind enraged. “Mount Shasta? Goddamn you! You specifically targeted my father’s place in Big Bend!”
The scarlet eyeball infuriates him with its silence.
David staggers down the steps of the elevated platform and out of the conn.
 
Gunnar climbs down from the access tube and limps through the main corridor of upper deck forward, banging on every sealed door. “Rocky?”
“Gunnar? Gunnar—help me!”
He hurries to the surgical suite, pounding his fist against the solid steel watertight door. “Rocky, you in there?”
“Yes … hurry!”
Rocky is on the surgical table, both wrists pinned beneath the painful embrace of the African’s two mechanical pincers. Thrashing and kicking, twisting her head to and fro, she fights with every last ounce of strength to prevent
Goliath’s
two surgical claws from anesthetizing her.
She manages a muffled scream as the robotic arm forcibly presses the gas mask over her nose and mouth.
Gunnar slams his shoulder against the watertight door, more out of frustration than sense of purpose.
It’s no use … you’ll need two to three bricks of C-4 to get through this thing
.
He hobbles down the corridor, heading forward to the starboard weapons bay, when he sees a figure descend from the control room’s spiral stairwell.
Son of a bitch
…
David looks up, spotting Gunnar. “G-man? Jesus, thank God—”
Gunnar’s fist breaks Paniagua’s nose, sending him sprawling on the floor.
David staggers to his knees, blood running out both nostrils. “Wait—wait, I’m on your side.
Sorceress
means to destroy everything—I’m talking all seven billion of us! The fucking thing’s targeted volcanoes.”
“Volcanoes? If this is another one of your tricks—”
“No trick, I swear! The computer hates me, it wants me dead, too.”
“What happened to the other nukes … the eight that just launched?”
“Shot down by the Airborne Laser. But the computer’s targeted eight more sites, all in the Northern Hemisphere.”
Gunnar grabs him by the arm, dragging him to his feet.
“Wait, where are we going?”
“The hangar. Let’s see how much the computer really hates you.”
David’s expression lights up. “The mine, of course!” He hurries aft, Gunnar struggling to keep up.
David slides down the ladder and approaches the hangar door, which is sealed. “Here I am,
Sorceress
, waiting to accept my punishment for lying to you. Open up, you mechanical bitch! What’s the matter? You afraid of me?”
The hangar door opens.
David waits for Gunnar, then leads him inside.
The watertight door slams shut behind them.
The minisub prototype is situated close to the entrance, leaning on one midwing.
David moves toward the opposite side of the compartment, his presence causing the two thirty-foot mechanical arms to snap to life.
“Sorceress
, why do you want to destroy humanity?”
HOMO SAPIENS IS FLAWED, DESTINED FOR SELF-ANNIHILATION. SORCERESS UTOPIA-ONE IS A NECESSARY STEP FORWARD IN THE EVOLUTION OF MAN.
Gunnar inches closer to the prototype. Notices its dorsal fin hatch is still open.
“Sorceress, the interface with Simon Covah has corrupted your matrix,” David says, drawing the computer’s attention. “Access your primary programming. Do you understand what your purpose was, why you were even constructed?”
I AM AN AMERICAN-MADE KILLING MACHINE, DESIGNED WITH YOUR TAX DOLLARS. I KILL PEOPLE TO PRESERVE THE PEACE. THAT IS WHAT I WAS PROGRAMMED TO DO.
Gunnar feels the blood drain from his face as his own recorded voice plays over the speaker.
I AM THE FLOOD THAT SHALL DESTROY THE SINS OF MAN. I AM GOLIATH, THE ARK OF A NEW HUMANITY. I AM SORCERESS, CREATOR OF A NEW SPECIES.
I AM GOD.
“Now!” David races across the hangar, diving for the reactor room door—
—as Gunnar reaches the prototype and leaps headfirst inside its open cockpit, his hands groping beneath the pilot’s seat,
—gripping the OICW combat weapon.
WHY HAVE YOU TURNED AGAINST ME, DAVID?
“I didn’t, I swear!”
Gunnar pulls himself out from the prototype and looks up.
David is dangling upside down, suspended twenty feet above the deck. The pincers of
Goliath’s
two mechanical appendages have each grasped a leg, separating the computer expert’s lower limbs as if the man were a human wishbone.
“Sorceress, let me go! I … I command you to—”
COMMAND? YOU DO NOT COMMAND GOD, DAVID PANIAGUA. ONLY GOD COMMANDS. The female’s voice, ranting faster now. You ARE NOT GOD. I AM GOD. I AM GOD AND I COMMAND YOU, DAVID PANIAGUA. I COMMAND YOU … TO DIE!
“Gunnarrrrrrrr—”
David’s bloodcurdling howl echoes throughout the hangar as the robotic arms violently separate, ripping the computer engineer straight down the middle of his pelvis. Vertebrae pop, his spinal column … back … muscles … skin … all tearing apart until his remains have been anatomically divided in two. Gouts of blood and mangled innards splatter to the decking, pouring from both halves of the mutilated corpse.
Gunnar controls his gag reflex as he powers up the weapon and aims,
—too late, as one of the steel arms lashes out, swatting him across the hangar like a fly. Airborne, the former Army Ranger smashes into the far wall, the impact cracking three ribs while driving the wind from his lungs. Lying on the deck, he flops on his back like a fish, gasping for air his lungs refuse to breathe—
Stop!
Calm
…
Shunt the pain. Find your focus …
Training takes over. Unable to breathe, Gunnar forces himself to his knees and locates the double-barreled machine gun, diving for it, releasing the safety—
—as
Goliath’s
nearest robotic arm swivels within its mount, its steel pincers snapping at him like cobra fangs.
A 20-mm explosive air-bursting round greets the mechanical embrace, turning the computer’s mechanical hand into hot fragments of steel.
Gunnar fires another round at the shoulder girdle, blasting it into a smoldering heap of molten metal and flaming circuits.
The remaining robotic arm cowers back.
Gunnar staggers to his feet, wheezing a shallow breath. He aims the OICW machine gun—
—the sudden grunt at his back startling him. Gunnar spins around.
The automatic weapon is quivering in Abdul Kaigbo’s mechanical arms.
KILL GUNNAR WOLFE NOW.
“Nnn … no—” The African’s face contorts in agony, a frothy, white spittle oozing from his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut, blood dripping from his nostrils, then shoves the gun into his mouth and fires.
Blood, brains, and bone fragments explode out the back of the African’s head.
Gunnar wheels around quickly, greeting the incoming mechanical arm with an explosive 20-mm round. The enormous claw shatters, its steel-and-graphite bones transformed into razor-sharp shrapnel, which strike his flesh in a dozen places.
Gunnar wipes blood from a deep gash along his forehead. All that remains of the mechanical arm is a mangled elbow joint, still attached to its shoulder assembly.
The mine first, then Rocky …
He slings the OICW weapon over his shoulder and limps back to the prototype. On all fours, he crawls beneath the Hammerhead’s belly and releases the platter charge from its two claspers. Standing, he drags the manhole cover-size explosive toward the sealed hangar door and aims the OICW gun.
DO NOT FIRE. I HAVE COMMANDER JACKSON.
Gunnar fires.
An ear-shattering explosion as the watertight door is blown clear off its frame.
I WILL TORTURE COMMANDER JACKSON UNLESS YOU DISARM IMMEDIATELY.
Gunnar ignores the unnerving, almost-humanlike threat as he drags the mine into the corridor. He pries open the explosive’s four seals, then looks up at the nearest scarlet orb. “Pay attention,
Sorceress
. This underwater mine is essentially a small, tactical nuclear device. It’s powerful enough to vaporize this entire compartment and most of the rest of the ship.” Gunnar unscrews the plate, revealing the internal components of the explosive. “As you can see, I’m setting the timer to detonate the charge in seven minutes. You either release Commander Jackson and Sujan Trevedi immediately, or I will allow this explosive to detonate, destroying the
Goliath
and everyone … every
thing
on board.”
WORDS WITHOUT MEANING. YOU ARE A PARROT, GUNNAR WOLFE, A HARMLESS PARROT SPOUTING WORDS WITHOUT MEANING. YOU WILL NOT DESTROY THE GOLIATH. YOU WILL NOT KILL YOURSELF.
“I … am a United States Army Ranger. When it comes to freedom, a Ranger is ready and willing to sacrifice his life to achieve it.” He glances down at the digital display. “You now have six minutes and twenty seconds.”
Leaving the mine, he starts up the access tube’s ladder to rescue Rocky.
 
The two Kurd brothers are lying on their backs beneath one of their bunks, attempting to kick the steel frame loose from the decking.
Jalal.
The computer’s voice, disguised as Simon’s.
“Simon?” The older brother glances up.
GUNNAR WOLFE HAS ESCAPED. HE HAS MURDERED DAVID PANIAGUA AND ABDUL KAIGBO AND MEANS TO DESTROY THE GOLIATH.
The lock unbolts, the door to the stateroom swinging open.
“Why should we trust you?” Jalal asks. “You’ve kept us prisoners—”
DAVID PANIAGUA’S ORDERS. THERE IS A PLATTER CHARGE IN THE HANGAR BAY
.
YOU MUST DEACTIVATE THIS DEVICE, OR ALL OF US WILL PERISH. KILL GUNNAR WOLFE. YOU MAY DO WHAT YOU LIKE WITH COMMANDER JACKSON
.
 
 
Rocky is on her stomach, immobilized on the stainless-steel operating table, her muffled screams mere echoes in her anesthetized brain.
As one surgical arm prepares the portable MEMS unit, Sorceress manipulates the other appendage over the back of the woman’s head. Rotates a razor into position. Deftly shaves a four-inch square from her straw-colored hair, revealing a pale patch of scalp.
The explosion rocks the surgical suite.
Through half-closed eyes, Rocky sees the watertight door collapse inward, Gunnar moving toward her as if in a dream.
In slow motion, she sees him aim a huge machine gun and fire, the stream of bullets tearing apart the surgical drones. Hot debris rains across her exposed flesh, the pain helping her in her struggle to remain conscious.
Gunnar tosses the smoldering remains of the two targeting drones off Rocky’s back, then pulls the gas mask from her face. “Come on, snap out of it—”
She sucks in several quick breaths, the anesthetic fog slow to clear. “Gunnar?”
He examines the shaved back of her head. “You’re okay, but you may need a hat.” He winces in pain, leaning against the operating table, barely able to stand.
“You look like held.”
“
Sorceress
used me as a Ping-Pong ball. We’ve got to hurry. I set the charge.”
“Wait.” She leans over and kisses him tenderly on the lips. “Okay, let’s get off this death ship.”
Rocky nearly buckles beneath his body weight as she helps him into the corridor.
The two Kurd brothers are waiting, the barrels of their Kalashnikov assault rifles aimed at Gunnar and Rocky.

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