Volkov surveyed the yacht and looked over the side at the submarine. “You have been a colossal pain in the ass. You have come close to destroying our plans and our billions of dollars in expense.”
Bernadette blinked three times. She wanted to show how much she appreciated his words. She tried to move her mouth; words did not seem to want to form. She mumbled a subtle, “Hmmm.”
Volkov stood directly over Bernadette. “You think you have stopped us by exposing our plans to the newspapers? You have failed. The Russian Mafia is much stronger than you think.”
Bernadette’s mouth made a benign, “Oh,” in response.
Volkov took this as a sign that Bernadette was being argumentative. “Ha, the Russian Mafia bows to no government, and we will prevail. We do not need the Russian Military. We have infiltrated all of your fringe groups in the United States. Once we’ve finished here, and raised the temperature of the sea, we will watch America fall into chaos, and our operatives will lead all the factions. This will be the greatest takeover of another country ever orchestrated by us.”
Bernadette shook her head to clear her eyes and try to focus. She was starting to come out of the hallucinations.
“You don’t have to worry about your fate, my dear,” Volkov continued. “I’ll make sure that all of you die after we’ve finished here with the drilling. But I will make sure that your death will be especially painful and I will exact whatever pleasure I see fit off your body before I see the light fade from your soul.”
Bernadette now understood why the vision of her grandmother had appeared to tell her about a dangerous man. He was also vicious. Volkov shouted instructions in Russian to his crew. Bernadette and the crew of the yacht were pulled up from the deck and pushed to the railings. Sebastian resisted. He was clubbed to the floor with the butt of a rifle.
Bernadette felt a large hand over her face. “I will be sending you all to my ship.” Volkov said. “This very nice yacht will be a lovely prize for me, lucky for me; the submarine did not put a hole in it. I do not want the bother of having to clean up your blood from these beautiful decks.”
His breath was on her face. He smelled of stale meat and alcohol. Her heart was racing; her arms began to shake of their own accord. If these were to be her last moments on Earth she wished it could have been in the arms of her lover, Chris. Her mind reached out to him. Wherever he might be in the world, she made a desperate plea that she would one day be with him again.
Another pair of hands grabbed Bernadette. A face appeared close to her. It was a thin face with scars. It looked familiar.
“Don’t you remember me?” the face asked.
“Hmm, no,” Bernadette mumbled in an attempted reply. Her tongue was just starting to make itself useful in her mouth.
“I am the Kazak you wanted to throw to the sharks in Key West—now you remember me?”
Bernadette stared at him hard. “You must be a good swimmer.”
The Kazak laughed. “Yes, I am very good. I escaped your boat in hurricane waves. You should have killed me. I make sure I kill all your friends in front of you. You will watch as I feed them to the sharks.”
Bernadette shook her head. “You’re not a nice man.”
The Kazak roared with laughter. He translated Bernadette’s words to the Russians who broke into a chorus of laughter.
The laughter brought Bernadette to her senses. The fog left her brain. Sharpness came. She could see all the Russians, what weapons they had and where they stood. A large red ship was 500 metres off their starboard side.
Her crew had been moved to the railing. She needed a plan. It appeared in flash of silver. A silver canister rolled onto the deck. McAllen had kicked it towards her. She knew what to do. She dropped to her knees and grabbed the canister. With one twist she released the cap. A stream of fluorescent colour shot out of the canister. Bernadette pointed the canister at the Russians. They raised their guns—not one fired.
“Everyone. Over the side—now,” Bernadette yelled.
The yacht crew leapt over the side with no hesitation. The fear of the Russians was far greater than the five-metre drop to whatever lay in the water.
Bernadette followed them over. She expected to land on hard plastic or fall through the debris into the cold Pacific Ocean. But she bounced.
She bounced high the first time and almost collided with Margaret Ashley. On her second bounce she landed on Grace Fairchild. She gave out a loud whoosh of air and several invectives.
Bernadette rolled over to her side and looked up. They’d fallen onto the bouncy castle. One of the inflatable playthings used to amuse children at birthday parties. It was at least ten by ten metres with tall-inflated pillars that resembled palm trees. Colours of blue, yellow and green rotated in an inflatable maze.
A slide was in the centre. Sebastian and Percy were hanging onto the top. Both of them were having difficulty understanding whether this bouncy castle was real or part of the magic mushroom hallucination.
McAllen came towards Bernadette, bouncing as he did so. He looked somewhat comical, bouncing over an inflatable frog to get to her. Bernadette lay on her side. Trying to stand on this thing was impossible. It floated on the waves. Small flags fluttered overhead proclaiming this the fairest bouncing castle of all.
“We need to get onto the other ship,” McAllen said, pointing to the supply ship that Volkov had arrived on.
Theo picked up a toilet seat cover from the water “Maybe we could paddle this floating plaything over there if I could find a few more of these. It’s only a few hundred meters but it’d take time.”
“Look around for anything we can use as paddles, we need to get moving before the Russians come out of their hallucinations. They probably have weapons on their ship,” McAllen said.
“I don’t think we have to worry about any of that, Uncle Mac,” Becky said.
“Why’s that?”
“There are more Russians coming.” Becky pointed towards the stern of the yacht. A large destroyer with a Russian flag had dropped anchor. Three zodiacs full of sailors with weapons came towards them.
54
They were taken aboard the Russian destroyer and handcuffed. Bernadette wondered if their luck would ever change. They stood in line on the deck. An officer approached them yelling instructions to the sailors. The handcuffs were taken off.
“I apologize for my men putting you in handcuffs. I am Captain Anatoly Yelchin of the Russian Navy. We have come here to destroy this drilling operation. The article that was published in your American Newspapers alerted our government to the disaster that the Russian Mafia has been trying to make on the American people. We are here to put a stop to it. I assume you are one of the ones that helped uncover this?”
“Yes, with a lot of help from the people I’m with,” Bernadette said
Captain Yelchin took Bernadette to one side, away from his men. “I understand you are in possession of the stone of Thule. Is this correct?”
Bernadette stared into the face of the captain. He looked too young to be the captain of the Russian Destroyer that bobbed alongside the yacht. He looked all of twenty-something with bright blue eyes and a light beard that struggled to frame his face.
“How do you know of this?” she asked.
“My wife’s family are Russian Inuit, they are called Yuits from the Chukotka Territory. Your journey has been all over the Arctic Peoples Facebook group. I have strict instructions from my wife and my mother-in-law that I’m supposed to aid you any way I can.” He looked back at his men. “My men know nothing about this. I will tell them I’m aiding in the destruction of the drill,” Yelchin said.
Bernadette tried not to smile. The little Inuit woman from Iqaluit had expanded her reach farther than she could have imagined. “The stone is on the yacht, but we have no idea what to do with it.”
“Sigurdsson will know,” McAllen said. He had moved closer to Bernadette and the captain and overheard the conversation.
They climbed into
the zodiacs and motored to the submarine. The crew of the submarine was coming out of their hallucinations to find Russian sailors with guns trained on them. They put their hands up, again.
McAllen, Bernadette, Sam and Becky went on the submarine with the captain and the sailors but there was no sign of Sigurdsson on deck. They went below into the confined space of the submarine. The boat smelled foul. Stale air with rancid human odors assailed them. They searched each small room until they came to a room marked, ‘private-keep-out’, in large letters.
McAllen swung the door open to see Sigurdsson sitting at a desk looking at a laptop with swirling colours.
“Barney. Are you okay? Samantha asked. She rushed over with Becky and they wrapped him in a hug.
“I knew you’d come,” Barney said in muffled voice from the huddle that engulfed him.
“We’re glad you’re safe,” Becky said.
Sigurdsson looked at McAllen. “Sorry, Mac, I’ve failed everyone. I thought I’d be able to drill down below the magma and unleash the river, but every drill bit I’ve used becomes useless once it hits the underground lava flow. I’ve only increased the temperature of the ocean.”
“What if you had a different drill bit? Maybe tipped with something stronger?” Captain Yelchin said.
Sigurdsson shook his head. “I’ve tried everything they’ve sent me. Titanium, diamond, nothing works.”
“I was given a rock from the high Arctic by an Inuit woman,” Bernadette said. She said it was from the headwaters of the River of Thule. Damned if I know what she was talking about, but my gut feeling tells me we give it a try.”
“The drill became detached from the submarine when your boat backed off. It’s a thousand metres on the bottom of the ocean and I have no way of reattaching it,” Sigurdsson said.
“We’ll use the mini-submarine on the back of the yacht. It has a robotic arm. We could attach the stone to the drill bit with it,” McAllen suggested.
“Excellent. I will have my sailors take it down, and have it attached,” Captain Yelchin said.
“I think I have to be on board the submarine,” Bernadette said.
“Why is that? You need to go 1,000 metres deep in a small glass bubble?” McAllen asked.
Bernadette closed her eyes. “No, the thought scares the hell out of me, but the old woman in the Arctic said the stone was in my care to get it to the headwaters of Thule. I feel responsible for it.”
“Fine, you will go down in the small submarine. Anyone else?” Yelchin asked looking around the group.
“I need to go as well,” Sigurdsson said. “This whole fiasco is my fault. I need to see the drill bit is affixed properly.”
Samantha hugged him harder. “You know if you unleash the water under the magma there will be one hell of an underwater explosion?”
Sigurdsson shrugged. “Yeah, I know, but we have to stay down there to monitor the drill, to make sure it’s working.”
“Let’s get going,” Captain Yelchin said. “I have reports on my radio that American ships are approaching and some submarine hunting aircraft. We need to be finished with this before they arrive.”
55
Bernadette watched the water encase them as they descended in the small submarine. There was nothing comforting about the thick bubble of Plexiglas that stood between them and the sea.
Getting into the little submarine had taken all of her reserves of courage. The three-seat sub looked like a toy. Percy had given them a quick overview of the craft and shown them how they’d communicate with the surface. A spool of thin wire would release an antenna on the back; this would allow them radio communication in the deepest part of the ocean.
Bernadette looked at the thin-spooled wire and wished it were hooked from the ship to the submarine. She got in, strapped herself in and muttered a silent Hail Mary prayer for their return to the surface.
The first few metres of descent were filled with garbage. Plastic bottles, plastic bags, everything plastic was floating around them in a swirling circle as they blew tanks and began to descend. Bernadette sat beside the Russian sailor who navigated the submarine. Sigurdsson was in the back seat.
The sailor introduced himself as Sergey, he had a brush cut and two gold teeth that flashed when he smiled. He told Bernadette he had been to Canada twice and liked Canadian bacon, but not Canadian hockey players. Russian hockey players were much better according to Sergey. Bernadette smiled at Sergey, trying to hide her absolute horror with the depth they were going to.
The water grew darker. Sergey switched on the lights. Small fish swam into view. They swarmed the submarine to see if it was some predator that might be eating other fish that they could then consume themselves. When they realized this was a sea creature of metal they darted away.
A massive great white shark swam by, then began to circle. Was it checking the submarine to see if it was edible or a threat? After a few more circles it flicked its big tail and shot off into the depths.
They descended deeper. Bernadette could see the depth gage. 500 metres became 750, then 950. Now, they descended slowly. Sergey was feeling his way in the dark, not wanting to bump into the drilling rig.
The stone was affixed firmly in the robotic arm in front of them. It was glowing white. The red glow on board the ship had changed the moment they entered the water.
“There it is,” Sigurdsson said, pointing towards a faint object on the sea floor.
They came upon a cage, some twenty metres in diameter with a series of rods inside. Sergey deftly maneuvered the mini-submarine alongside. Sidgurdsson instructed him how to attach the stone to the end of the drill bit.
Bernadette watched as the stone fit perfectly to the drill bit end. How was that possible she thought? It was as if this stone had morphed from a simple stone to a direction finder and now here it was a perfect fit to the end of a drill.
“Push that button on the side of the cage,” Sigurdsson said to Sergey.
“How long will it take?” Bernadette asked.
“Not long,” Sigurdsson said. “I’ve been trying to penetrate below the magma for the several days. If this stone works, it will pierce through the magma and into the underwater river. Then we’ll see some fireworks—or rather, waterworks.”
“I will back off a bit,” Sergey said.
“Good idea,” Bernadette said trying to mask her terror at being so deep with a potential natural explosion about to take place. The small sub moved off at the speed that resembled a puffer fish to Bernadette. Not a speed that matched the danger they were in.
A stream of bubbles came from the drill. The submarine moved one hundred metres away. The bubbles became a torrent. The submarine was being pushed away by the stream.
“Can we move any faster?” Bernadette asked Sergey. She was trying to mask the tension she felt. Her voice had a noticeable squeak to it.
“This is maximum,” Sergey said, his gold teeth flashing a smile. The little sub toddled away with its small propellers at 3 knots.
“It’s happening,” Sigurdsson said, his voice full of excitement. “We’ve broken through.”
A geyser erupted before them. A column of white water shot up twenty metres wide that became thirty then forty metres wide.
“I think we head to the surface now,” Sergey said.
Bernadette had never heard sweeter words. She turned to nod at Sergey. The drilling rig was coming at them when she turned back.
The rig cage tumbled towards the submarine end over end. It was caught in the submarine’s lights. Sergey could do nothing at the controls to avoid it. Bernadette hoped it would somehow take one more revolution and pass over them.
It dropped onto the bubble of the submarine in a sickening crunch. They felt the jarring of the heavy metal cage. It shook the submarine then forced it down to the seabed. A cloud of sand rose from the sea floor. Bernadette reached her hand up to the plexi-glass to see if it had cracked. It was cold to the touch, but she felt no moisture. They were safe—for now.
/> “What do we do now?” Bernadette asked Sergey.
Sergey spoke into his microphone several times. He got no answer. “Our transmission antenna has been ripped off.”
“What now?” Sigurdsson asked leaning forward from the back. “Do we have any back up?”
Sergey flashed his ridiculously positive gold teeth. “I am Russian—we always have backup plan.” Sergey took out a satellite cellphone; he attached a cable from it to the console and started typing on the keypad.
“That works down here?”
“Russian cell phone with Morse code for deep water,” Sergey explained. “I will ask our submarine to come to our aid.”
Bernadette looked at Sergey for a moment to try to understand what he had just said. “How is a nuclear-powered submarine going to move this drilling rig off us? They can’t even see us down here.”
“Not a problem. The submarine will use their hydrophones and I will tell them how close they are getting to us,” Sergey said.
“I hope they don’t crush us,” Bernadette said looking out the bubble at the drilling rig sitting on top of them.
Sergey said nothing. His fingers flew on the cell phone as he gave their coordinates to the submarine. They sat in silence. The sand had cleared. All they could see beyond the lights were the end of the rig.
Sergey broke the silence. “We should be seeing my submarine the Alorsa very soon. I am very proud of this boat. She is 3,000 tons underwater, 74 metres long with a submerged speed of 25 knots.” He flashed his gold teeth once more. “I am considered the best driver of the boat. But don’t worry. I have told my friend, Dmitri, that in no way is he to crush us.”
Bernadette frowned. “I hope he’s as good as you say. I’m not much for swimming at this depth.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Sergey said. “If this bubble cracks, the pressure down here would crush us immediately.
A massive shadow appeared above them. “There it is.” Sergey began typing on his phone.
They could feel the rig moving, swaying with the movement from the submarine. The rig scraped right then left on the bubble. It made a loud screeching sound and stopped.
Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Page 26
