by Dayle, Harry
“Can’t we cut a hole in the pipe? Squirt the virus in through it then seal it up again?”
He shook his head. “The only parts that are accessible are too close to the plant. If we injected the virus there we’d risk it getting into the plant and spreading throughout the whole ship.”
“Bad plan,” Lucya agreed. “Okay. You said this pipe goes to conference room three as well?”
He nodded.
“So we spray the virus in through the vent in that room. Easy!”
“No, that won’t work either. Well, it might, but the chance of success is minimal. The air flow from the plant will carry it straight back out into conference room three. It won’t go against the air current.”
“Can you reverse the air flow?”
“No. That’s not how it works. Besides, it would draw it back into the plant and redistribute it throughout the ship.”
Lucya banged the table with a fist. She turned and leant against it, staring at the metal ceiling. “Shit. There has to be a way!”
“Inject the virus under the door?”
“I think they’d notice.”
Martin leaned forward further, studying the diagram closely. He pulled the enormous page to one side and started rifling through the others, discarding most of them on the floor until he finally found what he was looking for. He spoke quietly to himself, too quietly for Lucya to hear what he was saying over the constant drone of the engine.
Eventually he tapped her on the shoulder. “There might be a way.”
“What?” She turned and looked at him, then pulled one side of her ear-defenders off.
“I said there might be a way. Here.” He pointed to an even more complex diagram.
Lucya looked, and didn’t understand anything.
“This is the air-con plant. The pipe originates here. It’s theoretically possible to enter the pipe by entering the main fan chamber. There’s access for cleaning. Normally that’s only ever opened in port during an overhaul.”
“But you could open it?”
“Yes. We would have to shut off the air conditioning for a few minutes, no big deal.” He chewed his lip.
“What? What’s the problem?”
“Someone would have to get into the pipe. Right inside. They would have to take the virus and crawl through it until they were almost at the conference room.”
“Okay. So again, what’s the problem?”
“We would have to switch the fan on again, as soon as they were inside. They’d have to crawl along the pipe with cold air blowing over them the whole time. They’d have to get to the room without making a sound that might alert the Koreans. They’d have to release the virus near the vent, exposing themselves to it and thus risking a painful death. Then they’d have to stay there, stuck in the pipe, silently, until the Koreans were paralysed and the gas-masked security men could secure the room. There’d be no coming back through the pipe; it would risk contaminating the rest of the ship. And to top it all, this pipe is forty-six centimetres in diameter.”
“Which means?”
“Which means no security guard is going to fit. It would have to be a child. Even I wouldn’t send a child to do this. So that means…”
Lucya nodded slowly. “It would have to be someone small. Someone nimble. Someone with narrow shoulders, who could shimmy through the tight space?”
“Right.”
“In other words,” Lucya said, not bothering to shout, “someone like me.”
• • •
Cabin 811 was easy enough to find, and although Jake didn’t need Erica’s help to locate it, the memory of the recent trip up there, with the young girl leading the way, weighed heavily. He’d felt responsible for her since the very first moment he’d seen her, when her father was unwell. Now those feelings were laced with guilt. He had failed to protect her, failed to keep the bad men away.
He approached the cabin door, and forced the negative feelings aside. The situation existed. Now he had to put all of his effort into resolving it. He reached out and tapped three times.
Miss Matsuo answered straight away.
“Oh, Captain Noah. Another nice surprise. Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He entered the tiny cabin. In his mind’s eye, he could see Erica, back in the corner, carefully examining the many books that were neatly stacked.
“How can I help today? You have more symbols? Perhaps something to explain explosion?” Miss Matsuo clasped her hands together and tilted her head as she spoke.
“No, not symbols. I’m here for rather a different purpose. I seem to remember you have some cameras? And a computer?”
She looked towards the bedside cabinet. “Yes. A little hobby of mine. I know it is cliché, yes? Japanese tourist with camera? I love to take pictures.”
“Does your computer have software to manipulate the pictures you take?”
“You mean Photoshop? Yes. My father say it is cheating. He says computer destroys authenticity of a scene, removes truth. I say it removes trees that grow from people’s head!”
Jake smiled at the young lady. “So you know how to alter pictures?”
“Yes. I take course at college. Very good teacher.”
“Could you, for example, take a picture of a boat that’s nearby, and make it look like it was a long way away?”
She paused, considering the question. “Yes, I think so. It is simple to cut out boat, replace it with sea, and put boat back smaller.”
“Miss Matsuo, you could be about to save some very young lives. Please, I need you to come with me. Bring your cameras and your computer. We have very little time.”
• • •
Russell Vardy insisted that Lucya pay a visit to the medical suite before embarking on the ambitious plan. She left Martin working out the finer points of dismantling the air-conditioning system, and took the fastest route to deck five.
The inner door to the treatment room was open when she arrived. Vardy made no attempt to hide the two men laid out inside, both submariners. Captain Coote was out cold, a drip feeding fluid into his body via a bulky and uncomfortable-looking connection on his arm. It seemed strange, seeing him out of uniform. Stripped of his booming voice and equally large personality, he was somehow more ordinary, more vulnerable.
McNair, on the other hand, was awake, although under a heavy dose of painkillers. Carrie fussed around him, constantly asking if he was comfortable, and if she could make him more comfortable. He seemed to be enjoying the attention. Lucya imagined it made a change from being cooped up in a tin can full of testosterone.
His legs had been set in plaster, still wet. There was strapping on much of the rest of his body too.
“Hey, McNair. How are you?”
“Lucya.” He spoke only in a whisper. “It’s not that bad, not really. It’s mostly just cuts and bruises.” He screwed up his face as he spoke.
“Really? Because I’ve never seen anyone folded into the position you were in. Well, there was this contortionist once, at the circus. Have you ever been to a Russian circus?”
“Funnily enough, no.”
“You really sh— It’s a shame you never had the chance.”
He smiled, kindly, letting the slip of the tongue pass. “Any news on this torpedo? Vardy isn’t saying much. Too busy with some new secret project.”
“You mean he hasn’t told you?”
“No, he hasn’t,” Vardy said behind her. “And now’s not the time. Miss Levin, if you don’t mind? We need to get you prepared.”
McNair rolled his eyes, and winked at Lucya. “See you later. Come and visit. Bring grapes.”
“Yeah, right!”
Vardy turned to the nurse. “Carrie, as soon as you’re done here, can you get down to the classroom? We need a continuous medical presence down there in case anything happens.”
The nurse nodded, and carried on fussing around the injured helmsman.
Lucya followed Vardy back to the outer of the two rooms. He indicated a c
hair; she sat. He closed the door, hanging a Closed sign outside.
“First things first. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this? You are aware of the risks?”
“Sure. I’m going to get the virus. I’ve had it before. Most of us have.”
“Not this variety you haven’t. I told you, it’s a killer. If Jake can’t find the Ambush and get the antidote, you will almost certainly die. I can start making more here, while you’re gone, but realistically there’s no chance of getting it ready before you’re killed.”
“Right. Giving it to me straight. That’s good, I appreciate it. Will the virus harm the children?”
“No. That I am absolutely sure of. I’ve run extensive tests using clean blood samples from ages four right up to seventeen. There is no risk. I know I’ve been wrong about this virus before, but I am positive they are in no danger. I wouldn’t even contemplate trying this if I wasn’t certain.”
“Great. So load me up with the antidote, and let’s get on with it. The clock is ticking.”
Vardy looked apprehensive. He stood up and turned away from her slightly, studying an almost entirely blank dry-wipe board. “It’s not the antidote. You remember how this works? I have to give you immunosuppressives. They’ll slow your immune system. It will slow down the virus, that’s all.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. They stop me getting sick.”
“No! Quite the opposite.” He turned to face her, his expression grim. “They’ll stop the virus killing you, but they’ll also stop your body from attacking any other foreign agents. Any germs, bacteria, any kind of infection that might be lurking in that ventilation pipe, your body won’t be able to fight off as effectively as it should. If you so much as scratch yourself, you could catch God knows what.”
Lucya raised her eyebrows. “Okay. But I’m not going to die, am I? I mean, all those things can be treated, when I get out?”
The doctor sat down again, put his hands on her knees, then thought better of it and folded his arms across his chest instead. “Until the virus has been eradicated, we can’t risk any other treatments. And you should also know, these immunosuppresives? They carry a risk of bringing about cardiac arrest. Normally they’re used in conjunction with a cocktail of other drugs to stop that happening, but we don’t have time.”
“You used them on everyone a month ago.”
“We had no choice.”
“Nobody died of a heart attack, did they?”
“Officially, no. But I suspect they contributed to the death of one passenger.”
“I’ll take the odds.” She rolled up the sleeve on her left arm. “Come on, Doc, load me up.”
He sighed. “Just as long as you know this isn’t going to be an easy ride. In fact, I’d say you’re probably going to go through hell.”
Lucya said nothing, just thrust her bare arm under his nose and stared at him.
Twenty-Six
THE MAN CAME up close to the door. He brought a child with him, his insurance policy. Not Erica this time, but a boy. A damp stain had appeared on the child’s inside leg, and his eyes streamed with tears. Jake didn’t know his name, and his guilt was all the heavier for that fact.
“Give. Under door.” The man looked from the window to the floor, his eyes a poor substitute for a free hand. “See closer.”
Jake nodded. He understood. He took a step back and peeled the sheet of paper from the small square pane of glass set into the wooden door, then crouched and slipped it underneath, giving a push as he let go.
The Korean shot a look at his colleagues. None of them moved. He barked an order. Three men scrambled to their feet and pushed and shoved their way to the door. The first one there retrieved the page. All the time, the leader of the group kept his hand on the boy, the gun at his throat, and his eyes on the window.
The page was thrust under his nose, blocking his view of the door. More words were hurled at the subordinate. Jake suspected they were not the sort that would be used in polite company. One of the men who had failed to retrieve the paper stood up, took the boy, and took the gun. He turned to face Jake. His face didn’t convey the same level of conviction as the leader. Jake suspected that if it came to it, he would hesitate — perhaps fatally — before pulling the trigger. None of that mattered though, because nobody was going to try anything on. At least, not in the sense the Koreans feared.
The leader, now freed of hostage duties, took the page in hand and examined the photograph. He shuffled sideways to be better positioned under the light.
Behind his back, Jake crossed his fingers. Miss Matsuo had done the best she could in the time available. He thought the picture looked convincing, but she insisted with another ten minutes she could have done better. They didn’t have another ten minutes. He didn’t tell her why, and he didn’t tell her the full reason for the picture. There was no point in burdening someone else with the massive responsibility.
“How long?”
The words took Jake by surprise.
“Sorry?”
“How long to get Lance?”
“My men tell me it will be two and a half to three hours. You can see the current has carried her some way out. When they reach her, they will have to work out how to start the engine. An unfamiliar ship, strong currents; this is a big job.”
“Current carry ship, current carry raft. You have one more hour.”
“Impossible.” Jake kept his voice flat. Calm. Showed he wasn’t afraid. Demonstrated that he wasn’t going to be pushed around. “We cannot get the Lance here in an hour. You might as well start shooting children now if you’re not prepared to give us enough time. That will give my chief of security here the justification he so desperately wants to come in and kill you all.” He looked sideways at Max, who moved to make sure the Koreans could see him, and more importantly, the large automatic rifle he was carrying. “Max really likes shooting people. He doesn’t need much of an excuse.”
The man holding the young boy looked worried. It wasn’t clear to Jake if he understood English, and he even chanced a glance at his leader, who shouted something at him, bringing him back to attention.
“One hour half. One hour half then I kill boy. No, I kill girl.” He mumbled some words at the other men. They scurried around like mice, until one of them emerged from the pack, dragging Erica by her ear. “This one, yes?”
“You’re hurting me!” Erica protested, but she didn’t cry, or scream.
Jake felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he saw her. “Erica, be brave, darling. You’re going to be fine, okay? We’re going to get the ship for these men, and everything will be fine.”
“Don’t make me go with them!”
“It’ll be alright. Trust me. We’re going to help these men, just like we helped your father. We’ll look after them just like we looked after him. Do you understand me, Erica?”
She looked at him, the question written across her face.
“Like your father, like your mother. We’ll take care of them, okay?”
“But…” A moment of confusion, then comprehension dawned. “Okay,” she said, and Jake knew that she had understood the message.
“Clever girl. You clever, clever girl,” he said to himself as he turned away, leaving the security men to take up close positions at the door once more.
• • •
The situation on deck two was, as far as Max could see, under control for now. His men had the room covered. Any hint of action and he’d hear about it. The rescue plan, which as far as he was concerned was completely deranged and bound for certain failure, was out of his hands. He had an hour and a half to kill before the others realised it, kids started getting shot, and chaos would ensue. He wouldn’t miss that for the world — what was left of it — but in the meantime, he decided to make himself useful.
Deck ten wasn’t somewhere the security chief spent much time. His visits there were generally confined to the short walk from the lift to the bridge. Going in the other direction,
there was nothing of interest to be found, just endless passageways filled with doors to staterooms. They weren’t even the nicest rooms.
Number 1084 wasn’t such a long walk. Max knocked once, more out of habit than anything else, then slid his master key card into the lock. A click, a tiny green light, and he was inside.
Grace’s uniform was laid out on the bed. It was the only item that was out of place. The rest of the room was immaculate. Spotlessly clean drawers held neatly folded clothes. He wondered how she managed that, with the access to the laundry so tightly rationed. When he checked the bathroom, he found the answer. She washed her own garments in the shower; a towel rail covered in drying underwear and a couple of blouses bore testament to that.
Her notebook was neatly stowed in the single cabinet by the bed, along with her ration card, her passport, and a photo of a man that Max took to be her fiancé. He was a clean-cut blond-haired guy, all muscles and uniform. “The all-American hero,” he said to himself.
Max eased himself into the one armchair in the room, opened up the book, flipped through the pages until he found the most recent entries, and began to read.
• • •
“Ready?” Martin’s voice trembled, just the tiniest bit.
Lucya pretended not to notice. She nodded.
“If it’s any consolation, I think you look amazing in that wetsuit.” He chuckled nervously.
“I think the shower cap and gym shoes might be ruining the effect,” she said, smirking.
“Not for me!”
Vardy was there too. “Remember. No cuts. No noise. Take a minute before you release the virus. The shallower your breathing, the longer you’ll be able to hold your breath.”
“Yes, I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me. Can we get on with it? We’re wasting time.”
Vardy nodded to Martin. “Do it,” he said.
Martin turned to the control panel on the side of the blue-and-yellow box that was the size of a small room. He twisted a key, already in the lock. An indicator light changed from green to yellow. After a second’s hesitation, he hit the round red stop button with the palm of his hand.
