Depth Charge

—————

a novel by Jason Heaton

Copyright © 2021 by Jason Heaton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at [email protected].

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published by Swimpruf Press, Minneapolis

First Edition, April, 2021

Cover design, map, and diagram by Paul Andrews.

Depth Charge





Contents

Prologue

Blow Down

Tube Alloys

Invertebrates and a Crow’s Foot

Into the Vampire

The Taprobane

Night Moves

Circle of Life

Deep Salvage

Bastard Son

The Deep Blue

The Buddhist Power Army

The China Bay Club

A Police Matter

Sunken Crime Scene

Gitche Gumee

Exotic Gas

Dark Descent

Free Ascent

Adrift

Strange Catch

The Kindness of Strangers

A Father’s Secret

Chance Encounter

Car Trouble

Trinco

Looking for a Ship

Terminal Depth

Deep Despair

Consigned to the Depths

The Depth Charge

A Grisly Errand

Decompression Sickness

Blast Radius

Prevailing Winds

Fallout

Mad Dogs and Michiganders

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

For Gishani, and for Mom, my two Number One fans

“You don't reach Serendib by plotting a course for it. You have to set out in good faith for elsewhere and lose your bearings.”

— John Barth, The Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor

Prologue

Cavendish Laboratories, Cambridge, England.

9 April, 1942

“Sir John, there’s someone here to see you.” Sir John Havelock’s secretary averted eye contact, knowing her boss hated to be disturbed. “He says it’s urgent,” she added, to emphasize that this interruption was not her idea.

“Send him in, Mary,” Havelock grumbled without looking up from his desk. His consent mattered little, as the man strode into the office before the secretary had turned to go. Havelock glanced up and then did a double take. The man was young, but with a maturity on his face that war lends. He was dressed in the dark blue wool of a Royal Navy greatcoat, its gilt buttons glittering in the faint light of the dim office.

“Lieutenant James McGuinn, Sir John,” he said in a hurried voice with a hint of an Irish accent. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” It could only be bad when a naval officer made the trip to Cambridge. This week of all weeks, Havelock feared the worst.