ALSO BY DAVID LYNN GOLEMON Event
Legend
Ancients
LEVIATHAN
An Event Group Thriller
DAVID LYNN GOLEMON
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS
ST. MARTIN'S PRESS
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin's Press.
LEVIATHAN. Copyright (c) 2009 by David L. Golemon. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Golemon, David Lynn.
Leviathan / David Golemon. -- 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-37663-5 (alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-312-37663-4 (alk. paper)
1. Event Group (Imaginary organization)--Fiction. 2. Imaginary wars and
battles--Fiction. 3. Submarines (Ships)--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.O4555L445 2009
813'.6--dc22
2009010686
First Edition: August 2009
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Jules Verne and all of the other dreamers that followed.
For Brandon, Katie, Shaune, and Tram--
the children who supply my energy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the United States Navy--the cooperation received from some nameless individuals was invaluable.
To the kind folks at General Dynamics--without their valuable insight into the future of submarines, this book could not have been written.
For Nicole Verdone and many, many others who keep this author grounded in reality.
The sea is everything. It covers seventenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.
-- Jules Vern, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
PART ONE: DOWN TO THE SEAIN SHIPS
PART TWO: THE SEA CHASE
PART THREE: THE BLACK QUEEN
PART FOUR: FROM HELL'S HEART
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
CHATEAU D'IF, FRANCE
1802
Three years in darkness. Since Napoleon's coup in 1799, Roderick Deveroux had been imprisoned at Chateau d'If for refusing to reveal the secrets of his magical and mysterious designs for seagoing warfare. Without a trial--without so much as a word from his captors or his jailers--he was cast into the old castle's dungeons with the other supposed enemies of France. The fates of his young wife and father were as bleak to him as his own future.
Three years ago the new emperor himself had begged Deveroux for the designs, drawings, and mathematical calculations for his newest ships. The emperor had asked for them, then pleaded, and then finally threatened, but still Deveroux had refused to give the brutish little man what he desired: the design for an oil-fired ship that could drive the implacable British navy--the most powerful force in the world--from the surface of the seas.
As Deveroux lay against the cold wall of his cell, he could hear the sea far below crashing against the rocks of the small island. Roderick Deveroux knew his prison walls were coming very close to driving him insane.
The small door at the base of his cell opened, and his daily ration of meat and bread was pushed through atop a rusty plate. The meat was good, rich, and ripe, as Napoleon would not be pleased if his great prize died of malnutrition before he received the gift that would secure his place as master of the world.
The meal delivery was the same routine as always--he waited for the prison guard to close the trap before he allowed himself to move. This time however, the door remained open. Deveroux allowed his eyes to move toward the door and the still shadow beyond.
"Doctor, there is news from the outside. Perhaps after you hear it you will finally deliver to the emperor that which he desires."
Deveroux didn't move from the damp, moss-covered corner of the cell. He watched and waited.
"Your father has been executed for his monarchist leanings. It was done publicly in Paris."
Deveroux lowered his head and tried to bring to mind the face of his father, but found his memory failed him. His throat refused to work as he tried to swallow. His eyes filled with tears and he raised a hand to his bearded face and covered his mouth, biting his lip to keep the guards from hearing his anguish. The thought came suddenly to his mind and the question was out before he could stop it.
"My ... my wife ... is she--" He croaked the first words he had spoken in more than six months.
"Your wife? You fool, she committed suicide last year because she could not face the humiliation of your treason."
Deveroux wanted to scream but would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. Instead, he again bit his lower lip until blood oozed from his mouth, and then he buried his face in his hands. He remembered-- they told me she was dead with my unborn child in her womb.