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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

So what if it has nothing at all to do with steering the sub? What if it’s actually the way in?

When Gisco was trying to get us to move, he kept hitting it. He punched it three times with his snout before it finally responded and gave off a reddish glow.

The cube that Eko used to consult in the beach house on the Outer Banks gave off a similar, bluish glow. First she would gently stroke it, as if conjuring it to life, and then spread her hands to either side and commune with it.

Maybe these things don’t need to have a key turned in their ignitions, or a switch flicked on. Perhaps what they need is brief physical contact with the person they’re about to collaborate with. Maybe in order to get on the correct wavelength, they must establish the right chemical or electromagnetic bond. Gisco said in frustration that this sub didn’t like dogs. Maybe he was right. Perhaps touching the panel gives the sub a chance to scan a user’s body chemicals down to his DNA and establish the necessary link. Possibly it’s not programmed for dogs.

I get to my feet. The trickle of water splashing onto the floor of the dinghy has increased to an ominous little waterfall. Any second the tons of water above us may crack apart the bubble ceiling, and the river will force its way into this sub like Niagara Falls prying open a tin can.

I touch the red button. Hi. Jack Danielson here. I’d like to establish a collaboration. We have a little leak problem to fix. Then we need to get off the river bottom and head north. Do you read me? Can you answer?

Nothing.

No, not nothing. A faint reddish glow emanates from the panel. But no words come back at me. No operating instructions are projected with holographs.

A faint reddish glow is cheerful enough, but how is it going to get me out of this mess?

Wait a minute. Something has changed. I can still hear Gisco’s shallow breaths, but beyond that, the tiny sub is now completely silent.

No more splash, splash, splash. The leak has stopped.

Did you do that, Yellow Submarine? What next?

No answer. Just a flickering nimbus in the darkness.

I stop trying to talk to it telepathically. It clearly doesn’t have that ability. But, at the same time, it glowed after I touched it, and it stopped the leak when I asked it to, so it must be aware of me.

I put my hands into the center of the reddish flame. Try to open my mind to whatever’s reaching out to me.

A very strange thing happens.

10

10

I am Jack Danielson, standing before the control panel of a souped-up dinghy at the bottom of the Hudson River.