by Dayle, Harry
A klaxon sounded locally, and almost immediately the giant fans inside started to spin down, their droning noise dropping in both pitch and volume.
“Right. Um, good luck.” Martin stood awkwardly, waiting. “Listen… I’m sorry if, in the past, I’ve been…you know…”
“Shut up, Martin.” Lucya punched him playfully in the shoulder. “You make it sound like I’m not coming back. I’m coming back. Okay?”
Before he could say anything, a second klaxon sounded.
“Saved by the bell,” Vardy said. “Good luck, Lucya.”
Martin, relieved the moment had passed, gripped a long black handle and pulled it towards him. The whole side of the massive box swung open, revealing a stack of yellow fans, like a jet engine laid on its end. Around it, in the walls, row after row of round openings. He stepped inside, and counted the rows of holes.
“This is the one,” he said, stopping and sticking a bright marker on a dark circle halfway up the far wall.
“It would have to be one of the smallest ones,” Lucya said.
“I did warn you.”
She followed him in, then, using other openings as a ladder, she clambered up the wall, stuck her hands and head in the pipe, and pulled herself in. Her legs kicked in the air as she struggled for traction. “Er, a hand please, guys?”
Martin put his hands on the soles of her feet and pushed, ramming her inside the narrow tube.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “The sound has nowhere to go. Even from here, they might hear you in the conference room.
She held up a hand, just visible in the small space above her head, to acknowledge she had heard.
“We’ll give you ninety seconds, then the fans have to go back on. I’m starting the clock…now.”
Lucya heard his footsteps as he retreated, and the clicking of the huge wall-door closing behind. In the total blackness, she began to wriggle and squirm her way forwards.
• • •
Jake couldn’t help but glance at his watch every few minutes as he made his way to deck two.
“It’s two minutes since the last time you checked,” the sailor by his side said, adding at the last minute: “Sir. Relax, it’ll be fine.”
“You’re right, Daniel. Sorry. It’s just…”
“Yeah, I know. It’s the kids. Really gets to you.”
“Do you have children?” Jake looked surprised; the man looked like he was barely out of school.
“None of my own. Two nieces though, and a little brother…” His voice tailed off.
Jake knew why, and he knew better than to press the subject.
They arrived at the starboard passenger hatch to find a welcoming committee. Four more sailors that Jake knew vaguely were waiting for them. In the time he had negotiated an extension with the Koreans, they had successfully re-established a walkway to the Lance.
“The engine is running. We’re ready to go when you are,” the man nearest the exit announced.
“Thank you, er…”
“Cummings, sir. Billy Cummings.”
The other three introduced themselves in turn. Jake made no particular effort to remember the names. He doubted they would spend enough time together for it to matter.
“So, we’re just waiting for one more.” Jake looked around, checking his watch again. Another minute gone by. Another minute closer to the Koreans’ deadline. He fought the urge to walk the short distance to the classroom standoff. He knew there was nothing to be gained by returning there, but the desire to see Erica, to check she hadn’t been harmed, was powerful.
“I think this is them, sir,” Cummings said.
“Looks like it. And please, all of you, just call me Jake, okay? We all know I’m in charge. Beyond that, who cares about rank?”
Coming towards them, a nurse pushed a wheelchair in which was sat a thin and frail-looking woman.
Jake held out a hand. “Captain Jake Noah. You must be…Mrs Kolstad?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I’m not Ove’s wife. I haven’t seen her. My name is Bodil Solem.”
“You’re a science officer?”
“Yes, specialising in deep-sea research.” She spoke perfect English with only a hint of an accent.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“It is not physical work, Captain. My legs might be weakened, but my mind remains intact.”
“Of course.” He turned to the nurse. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.” A nod to Cummings, and the sailor took the chair in hand, wheeling it out through the exit and over the new temporary walkway. Jake and the others followed.
Jake had never thought of the bridge of the Spirit of Arcadia as being particularly plush. Indeed, its rows of dull consoles were a world away from the more opulent passenger areas of the ship. Compared to the Lance, though, the Arcadia was the height of luxury. The research ship’s bridge could best be described as functional. Everything that was required to navigate safely through the polar waters was present and correct. No more, and no less. If the Norwegian Polar Institute that operated her had spent money anywhere, it must have been in the labs, Jake thought. It certainly wasn’t on the bridge.
Daniel Barrett immediately took up the helm. The others looked expectantly at Jake. There was no captain’s chair to speak of, no pedestal where he could issue orders from on high. It was a simple room, with all the controls laid out along the front. He stood in the middle of the console, and gave the order. “Helm, take us out when ready. Due north, fifteen knots.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Jake looked at the man, opened his mouth to speak, but saw Daniel grinning and changed his mind.
Twenty-Seven
THE NOISE, WHEN it started, was so loud it made Lucya’s head spin. She was too close to the pipe’s entrance; she should have made better progress before they restarted the giant fans. The whirring sound reverberated around her, and for a short while she became completely disoriented in the blackness of the tunnel. A thought flashed through her mind: this was what being buried alive must feel like. Except it wouldn’t have felt like that, because an instant later a jet of cold air hit her like a tornado, rolling over her body, under her legs, wrapping itself around her, clutching her tight. Before she could stop herself, Lucya gave a shriek. She shaped her mouth shut and swallowed the rest of the sound that had tried to escape. She hoped beyond hope that her involuntary gasp would be lost in the swirling air.
The fan regulated itself to a steady speed, and the air flow settled accordingly. Even the noise level dropped off, just a touch.
Lucya realised she had her eyes closed tight. She opened them again, but it made no difference. No light ventured into the tube.
With her hands outstretched in front of her, she placed her palms flat against the curved interior and pulled herself forwards. At the same time, she bent her legs as far as the confined space would allow, and pushed with the toes of her rubber gym shoes. They gave good grip against the slippery surface, but the limited amount of room meant she could move no more than a couple of inches at a time. While she wriggled along on her belly, painfully slowly, her mind recalled the technical drawings. Not To Scale, they had said. Martin had estimated the distance nonetheless. It was at least a hundred metres, and a section of that was ‘uphill’, as the pipeline went up a deck. At her current pace, she realised with horror, she had no chance of even reaching the conference room before the deadline, let alone giving the virus time to work.
• • •
“How do we know the mystery submarine won’t torpedo us?” Daniel asked. “What if they think we’re the Ambush and try and take us out? Or worse, what if the Ambush thinks we’re the unfriendly sub, and they sink us?”
“I’ve been on board the Ambush. I’ve seen their sonar at work. They’ll see us, certainly, and they’ll know we’re the Lance. They knew the Lance was the Lance even before we knew about the Lance…if that makes sense?” Jake scratched his head.
“Yeah, I think so.�
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“I would imagine the other submarine is similarly equipped.”
“So that begs the question” — Daniel wasn’t done yet — “how come they can’t spot each other? The Ambush is a damn sight bigger than this boat.”
It was Bodil who answered. “Modern nuclear submarines are virtually undetectable. They use a range of stealth technologies. Anechoic tiles covering the hull, highly advanced propeller designs that don’t boil the water around them and therefore don’t make noises, even the shape of the hull itself is designed to reduce its radar and sonar signature. If a submarine doesn’t want to be found, it won’t be found.”
“So how are we going to find them?” Daniel looked confused.
“We have an advantage. We can use active sonar.”
“Wait, they must have sonar too, right? If their military sonar can’t find a whacking great big submerged vessel…”
Bodil smiled. She was in her element, talking about her specialist subject to someone interested in listening. Indeed, all four sailors and Jake were watching her intently, hanging on her every word. “There are two kinds of sonar: active and passive. Active sonar works like radar, but uses sound waves instead of radio waves.”
“Like a dolphin?” one of the men asked.
“Yes, exactly. We send out a noise, and when it bounces off something, we hear the echo. Using the time it takes for the echo to come back, we can work out the distance to the object—”
“And by sending out a lot of noise, you can basically map the size of the object.” The sailor looked pleased with himself. The Lance hit a wave, and bounced and juddered, wiping the smile from his face.
“Right. Now I’m no expert on military systems, but I know the active sonar on this boat can pick up objects as small as a single fish. Now, you see perhaps the problem the submarines have?”
Daniel offered up an explanation. “If they use active sonar, the other submarine will detect the sounds they’re sending out. They’ll give away their position.”
“Precisely. So while they are hiding out, they must rely on passive sonar. They can only listen for noises already out there.”
“Like the sound of our propeller.”
“That’s one source, yes. The Spirit of Arcadia will also be making a lot of noise.”
“Really?” Jake looked around. “But she’s not moving. Her main engines aren’t even running, only the electric generator.”
“That generator will cause vibrations. Even the people moving around on the ship will cause vibrations. The passive sonar will pick up all of this noise. Both submarines will know exactly where she, and we, are located.”
“Well I guess that means they’re not planning on sinking her. They could already have done so,” Daniel said, the relief evident in his voice. “So the two submarines are both hiding out, each one waiting for the other to make a noise and give away its position?”
“Most likely.”
“We don’t know that for sure, though,” Jake added. “The unfriendly sub could have gone, left the area. Unlikely, but possible.”
They sailed on for a while, the drone of the powerful diesel engine below and the occasional wave breaking over the bow the only sounds. Each of them was lost in their thoughts.
Sailing on the smaller ship, Jake was reminded of the boat trips his father had taken him on as a child. He’d never really wanted to go, but he hated to see the disappointment on the old man’s face, so when his mother had insisted, he had always obliged. They’d hitch rides on friends’ fishing boats, or hire or borrow sailing boats for a weekend. It didn’t matter to his dad as long as they were out on the water. It was as if his father thought that if Jake was exposed to the sea for long enough, he would develop a love of the ocean as deep as his own. It never happened, but Jake did develop a habit of going along with his father’s wishes, putting up less and less resistance as time went by, ultimately leading him to take a job as an engineer on a small cruise liner. By then it was too late; his career path was set, and although he escaped the engine room and got into the ranks of the bridge officers, he had never escaped the sea.
“This is probably far enough out,” Jake said, coming out of his trance. “Bodil, you’ll have to tell these boys how to deploy your sonar kit.”
She nodded, and began directing them. One of them wheeled her out of the bridge so she could better show them how to get the equipment into the water.
While they waited, Daniel had more questions for Jake. “Do we know where they come from? I mean, are they Russians? Americans? Another Royal Navy sub? Who would attack us?”
Jake hesitated, but only briefly. He reminded himself that transparency in the community was paramount. There was nothing to be gained by holding back information. “We think they’re North Korean, or possibly Chinese. The men who captured this ship were North Korean. They’re the only other survivors we’ve seen. The submarine was probably tracking the Lance.”
“They’re a long way from home. I didn’t think they had that sort of technology.”
“No…neither did Vardy. In fact, he insisted it was impossible. Subsequent events have changed that point of view. Vardy said that the Chinese had a secret submarine development project. It’s possible, although unlikely, they involved the Koreans in that. It’s also possible the Koreans stole the technology.”
One of the other sailors poked his head through the door. “We’re almost ready. The sonar’s being lowered into the water. Bodil is in the control room. I assume you want to join her?”
Jake nodded. “Thank you. Daniel, you have the bridge. Keep us put for now. This is Bodil’s show. She’ll be giving the orders when it’s time to move.”
“Aye…Jake,” he said, and grinned once more.
• • •
“What is it? What happened?” Dan rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. Despite his best efforts to maintain a vigil, he had dozed off when Vicky had gone to sleep.
“I said I think my waters just broke.”
“What? But the contractions had stopped!”
She let out a long, long, rumbling moan.
Dan leapt up, fully awake now. “Okay, they started. I’m going to fetch help.” He moved towards the door, then turned back to her. “Will you be okay on your own for a bit? Perhaps I shouldn’t leave you here?”
“You could try the phone, you big idiot.” She smiled at him. The same smile that had captured his heart.
“Yes, telephone. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll ring medical.” He circled the bed, cut the corner too tight and tripped over the end of the duvet, landing with a heavy thump.
“Dan! Calm down. We’ve got plenty of timeeeeaaahhh!” The last word turned into a pained yowl.
Dan checked his watch. “Didn’t time it, bugger.” He pushed himself up and found the telephone. He searched his memory for the number for medical, then realised it was printed on the phone itself. He dialled, and waited, all the time staring anxiously at his wife. She had jettisoned the bed covers, hence his finding them with his feet. She was sweating profusely. Her hair, normally so straight and perfect, was stuck to her face in a matted, wet heap, like seaweed washed up on a beach. She caught him watching her, and pulled a face.
“You wouldn’t look so good yourself if you were about to give birth, Mr Mitchell,” she said, still managing to smile through the obvious pain.
“Actually, I was thinking how amazing you look. Shit, nobody’s answering the phone down there.” He hung on regardless.
“Perhaps you should go. They might be too busy. I’ll be okay. It won’t take you long to get down there and come back. Honestly, Dan. I’ll be fine.”
He hung up, looking at the phone as if it was personally to blame for the lack of a response. “This is an emergency! They should answer.”
“There might be other emergencies. Don’t forget, we didn’t give them much notice about this — about me — did we? They’d be quite within their rights to say ‘not our problem, deal with it yourselve
s’. We should count ourselves lucky.”
Dan thought about that. It was true, they had been expecting the worst. Any help was a bonus.
“Go! Before I have a baby.”
“Okay. You’re sure?”
She gave him one of her looks.
“Okay! I’m gone.” He got as far as the door, even put his hand on the handle, before turning back one more time.
“What now?”
He leaned over the bed and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”
“Nutter!”
They kissed again, and then he was gone.
Twenty-Eight
IT WAS WHEN she reached the incline that took the ventilation pipe up to deck two that Lucya had a brainwave. It came, as all the best ideas seemed to, quite accidentally. Her arms were going numb. Pulling herself forwards inches at a time was tiring beyond belief. Keeping them stretched out in front of her was limiting the blood circulation. She’d already gone through pins and needles and was starting to lose the feeling in her hands altogether. In an effort to get them down by her side, at least for a few minutes, she tried rolling onto her back. In the confined round space, the only way to do so was to twist her legs and try and pull herself round. The manoeuvre itself wasn’t tricky, but doing it quietly took some effort.
Once on her back, Lucya managed to squeeze her tightly folded arms over her face. The relief was immense; she could feel the arteries and veins open up and the blood flow freely into her muscles.
That was when she had the idea. Instead of pulling herself through the tube, she could push herself using just the lower half of her body. By raising her knees as high as the tunnel-like shaft would allow, she could then push off with her feet. Not only did this method of propulsion require far less effort than she had previously been expending, it was also a lot quieter. The rubber of the wetsuit around her back did catch a bit, but it only took a little shimmying of her shoulders to overcome that problem.
With her new method, and renewed optimism, Lucya slid up the pipe, and ever closer to the conference room, and her beloved Erica.
