“Melting ice is more important to me, especially where I’m going. Maybe the additional weight will help stabilize the sub in the currents.”

“And maybe if I eat coal for breakfast I’ll shit diamonds later,” the mechanic scoffed. “Only I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Anyway, she’s ready to launch.”

Four minutes later, I found myself seated in the starboard cockpit while Jonas methodically ran through an abbreviated systems checklist from the portside command console. “Hatch sealed. Life-support: go. Batteries: go. Back-up systems: charged. Valkyries: charged. Chamber is pressurized. Mac, are you online?”

“As always. Why does this feel like a bad déjà vu?”

“My life is one big déjà vu. How far away are bin Rashidi’s ships?”

“The trawler’s still a good four miles out. The Tonga’s changed course, moving south. As for the creature, there’s nothing on sonar. Maybe they’re just coming ashore to get supplies?”

“Maybe. Keep us apprised. Mr. Reed, Manta 2 is ready for launch. Flood the chamber.”

Water rushed into the compartment, lifting the buoyant submersible off its blocks. Rusted hinges groaned as the keel’s three-inch-thick steel doors opened beneath us, venting the chamber to the Southern Ocean.

Jonas maneuvered the two-man submersible out of the flooded dock, into the ink-black sea. Rather than power-on the headlights, he adjusted the cockpit glass to night-vision mode, our surroundings blooming into a tapestry of olive-green.

Below us lay a carpet of sea stars and urchins. Above, a blizzard of shrimp-like krill congregated beneath an island of surface ice. Seconds later the ocean rained emperor penguins, their tiny arms propelling them into the depths, their darting forms trailing bubble streams.

Jonas gave them a wide berth. “You ready to take over?”

“Give me a quick tutorial.”

“Joystick steers, the two foot pedals accelerate the port and starboard propulsors. It’s all about coordinating your limbs with your navigation console. Just remember green is right-side up, red means you are upside down. Switching control to your command console… now.”

I grabbed the joystick while my feet searched for the foot pedals that operated the sub’s twin thrusters. Within seconds our smooth ride became a herky-jerky nightmare.

Jonas pointed to my navigation monitor. “Watch the current, you’re buffeting. The gauge will suggest a course adjustment.”

I glanced at the reading and banked three degrees to starboard, the slight change smoothing out the ride. “It’s an incredible machine. How much pressure can she handle?”

“More than Vostok can deliver. But I’m not sold on lending her to you just yet.”

My stomach tightened. “Jonas, my son—”