Fathomless

by Greig Beck

  Cate stood and looked at her wristwatch. “Okay, lets’ move this along. Jack and I will check on excavation work. It’s due for completion within the next six hours. Once that’s done, we’ll be preparing for the drop. As we discussed on the chopper, the sub’s being checked over now – I don’t need to tell you how critical this is, because on a deep dive, if we spring a leak, the force of the water could cut through us like a laser, and the pressure will crush us down to the size of soda cans.”

  “Nice.” Greg grimaced. “I’ve been thinking about that, The Priz class is a Russian design, but I’m assuming there’ll be English instructions, because….”

  “Nope, I asked, but not available,” Jack said. “And no time to get them translated. But I can manage most of the controls, and any specialist equipment or operations can be handled by the two Russian crew.”

  Cate nodded. “Good, and those crewmembers are both marine engineers, and should already be here somewhere, wandering all over the camp. We need to find them, organize them, and work with them.” She grinned. “And yes, they speak English.”

  “Thank god for that,” Greg sighed.

  “Greg – Dmitry Torshin, and Yegor Gryzlov – find them, give them a hot coffee, and then get them to work. Capice?” Cate’s brows went up. “Like now.”

  “Did you say, Igor?” Greg grinned, hunching over and swinging one arm.

  “No, Yegor, and be nice, our lives will be in their hands.” Cate picked up her computer pad.

  Greg saluted. “You got it, boss.” He hesitated for a moment, and then quickly looked over his shoulder to where Jack was hunched over a computer screen. He stepped in closer to her and lowered his voice.

  “Um, Jack… is having your old flame here going to be a problem? A minute ago, you looked like you’d just seen a ghost.”

  Cate’s rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I’m thirty-two not sixteen, and professionalism is my middle name.”

  “I feel better already. And by the way, your middle name is Corinne.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder again. “Seriously, I’m not sure about him. I remember when you two were an item; your relationship with Jack was like a rollercoaster – one day it was all dancing in the sunlight, and the next it was an emotional MMA fight to the death.”

  Cate continued to type on her pad, not wanting to look up at him in case he saw the doubt in her eyes. “That’s all history. This is purely business logic, and I agree with Valery; Jack is a qualified sub pilot and has the necessary skills for the expedition. Valery made the right choice.” Her typing got harder as she felt the need to justify herself.

  “Good, after all, don’t want us all to be trapped in a small metal room if you two decide to have another of your legendary fights.” Greg leaned even closer, his brows up. “Or one of your even more legendary, make-up sessions afterwards.”

  “Now who’s acting like they’re sixteen?” She pushed him back a step. “And besides…” she looked over his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s me he’s interested in.”

  Greg turned in time to see Abby giggle at something Jack was telling her, and his expression dropped.

  Cate lifted her chin. “Okay people, we meet back here in two hours for final briefing.” She turned to Jack. “Mr Monroe, let’s go check on our front door.”

  * * *

  “More than two years,” Jack said as he walked beside Cate. “Then out of the blue, I get a call saying I’m needed for a job. Working with a certain Stanford professor.”

  “You must have thought all your happy days had come at once.” Cate stared straight ahead.

  “I said, no,” Jack said softly.

  She snorted. “And yet, here you are.”

  “Yeah, well, Valery is very persuasive…” He turned and lifted his eyebrows. “…and very rich. It seemed money was no object to him, but speed and secrecy was.” He looked down at her. “Besides, I’d be lying if I said wasn’t curious about you.”

  They walked in silence for a few more moments, and then Jack leant across to her. “I tried to contact you; about a year ago.”

  She could feel him looking at her.

  “I even left a message… left several actually.”

  She stopped and faced him. “Jack, it’s just a job.”

  “Just a job; that’s it?” He gave her a crooked smile.

  “That’s it,” Cate said, feigning indifference. “We had our time, it was fun, but that’s all in the past now. However, for all your faults, and there sure are millions of them,” she smiled. “…you were damned good at what you did.”

  “Thanks… I think. Well, that’s fine with me then.” Jack pulled in a cheek. “So, that image; that’s important, huh?”

  “Sure is.” She glanced at him. “You said size was hard to estimate, but it took out our probe…” she opened her arms about three feet wide. “…and my gut tells me it was no minnow.”

  Jack nodded, as they continued on. “Recognizable predatory behavior – some sort of shark species. But is it an old one or new one?”

  “Well, I think it’s something that’s been trapped there for perhaps millions of years, and I need a classification. It makes sense to get that from an expert.”

  “Ah, so you get to use me. Add my name to the report to lend it some legitimacy?” He nudged her. “Well, I’m glad to be here. I’d hate to think you went on this crazy-ass mission without me. At least this way I can keep an eye on you. For all my million faults, I still worry about you.” He looked from under a lowered brow. “Maybe that’s another of my faults – make it, one million and one.”

  “Well, that one’s not a fault.” She smiled. “But I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself now.” Cate looked up at him. “We also need a pilot, and I know you can work just about every type of submersible on the planet. Besides, you think I’m totally going to entrust my life’s work, and life, to a couple of Russian engineers I’ve never met before? I’m happy to take risks, but I’m not suicidal.”

  She turned back to the huge tent-like structure that had its own plastic canopy entrance walkway. Cate pushed aside the heavy flap, releasing the monstrous sound of grinding rock.

  Just inside there were tables of hats, gloves, protective goggles and earmuffs. Jack and Cate kitted up, and walked to a railing that ran around the edge of the pit. Together they peered down into the deep, fifty-foot circular hole.

  The railing creaked and Cate quickly leaned back, feeling a sudden rush of vertigo. “Whoa.” Beneath her feet she felt the juddering of the rock drills and hammers as they pounded the dense material below her. Normally for mining, they’d use explosives, but given they knew there was a drop of around a thousand feet underneath them, the work was carried out in layers – the rock cut and drilled, excavated away, testing done, and then another layer carved out.

  The foreman rose from the pit in a drop-cage, waved, and took off his glove to shake Cate’s hand. He nodded to Jack.

  “We’re down to the last sections, Professor Granger. The equipment will be withdrawn and then we’re going to pin-blow the bottom layer of diorite; let it drop into the cavern below. It’ll give you a nice neat hole with a strong structure at its edges.”

  “How deep?” Jack asked.

  “We had to cut in two hundred and twenty-five feet… all within a few weeks.” The foreman tilted his hard hat back on his head. “Not bad if I do say so myself.”

  Jack whistled. “We could have just used Heceta Island’s Viva Silva Cave, that’s only a few dozen miles south, and is one of the deepest caves in the continent – drops down about eight hundred feet – would have saved a lot of digging.”

  “I know it.” The foreman said. “And that cave narrows down to cracks – we’d never get equipment into its basement. Better to start here with room to work. Just take the top off; bit like eating a boiled egg – break through the shell, and the rest is breakfast.” He winked at Jack.

  Jack grinned. “Guess so.”

  The grinding intensified, making Cate an
d Jack wince.

  “How long until you break through?” Cate yelled.

  The foreman turned and looked back down into the hole. Small backhoes, mobile cutters and jackhammers were moving slowly up ramps and into lift cages. Bore holes had been drilled around the edges of the pit, each the size of a soda can, and ready to have an explosive charge packed into them.

  “Ten minutes,” he said. “No need to leave, as the charges are rigged to blow downwards. Just keep your safety glasses on, and lean well back.”

  “Great. I’ll stay.” Cate looked to Jack and nodded – she meant both of them.

  Klaxon horns blared, and the remaining crew rose slowly in cages, leaving nothing behind on the rock floor. Cate marveled at how clean the surface looked. Though it was rough-hewn flooring, it was mostly swept clean, probably, she thought, to keep the chance of flying debris shards to a minimum. The explosives ringed the hole, each had a flashing red light on top, the wires to each and then all the way up to a console inside a toughened Perspex booth, set up a few feet from where they stood.

  The foreman called them in, and each placed new padded earmuffs over their head, these ones with two-way radio built in. The foreman checked the line of connections and switches on the panel, like a DJ about to play a dance party’s favorite tunes. He turned to Cate and gave her a thumbs-up, and then lifted a microphone to his mouth.

  “Area is clear and secure, charges are set, and we are good to go.” He took one last look around; satisfied he clicked on the speaker again. “Ready on ten-nine-eight-seven…”

  Cate adjusted her earmuffs, and instinctively grabbed Jack Monroe’s arm gripping it tightly.

  “Four-three-two-one… fire in the hole.”

  The explosions were almost an anticlimax, as the red lights on the charges turned green, there was a muffled line of thumps accompanied by puffs of smoke from each tiny hole. What happened next wasn’t.

  Like a monstrous granite coin, the entire circular floor of the pit just fell away. It dropped silently and smoothly, as though an elevator travelling to the lower floors. The strong lights set up around the perimeter of the pit followed it for a few dozen feet, before it vanished in the blackness.

  “Holy shit.” Cate pulled off her earmuffs, straining forward until Jack grabbed and held her. No sound came back up for what seemed like ages, until there was the distant whump of one heavy surface striking another.

  “Dr Granger, you now have your hole.” The foreman dipped his hard hat to her, and then turned to the tent’s entrance.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Got to check in with the boss.” He waved and left.

  “I thought you were the boss,” Jack said, with an expression that was quizzically amused.

  “Far from it.” Cate watched the foreman go. The man’s job was done and done well. Next would come the drop crew, who needed to first rig up the huge crane they would need to lower them all to the water’s surface, over a thousand feet below.

  That’d probably be done before they even had a working submarine that, at this moment, was still somewhere back on the wind-scoured cliff tops of Barnoff Island.

  Jack grunted. “Well, that was the easy part. So now let’s go and see how Greg and his new Russian comrades are getting on.”

  “Da, comrade.” She grinned and followed.

  * * *

  Greg shook hands with the two men, introducing them both to Abby and vice versa. Dmitry Torshin was a born submariner, an engineer, and would also be their navigator. The man was of average height, broad Slavic features, with a distinctive gap between his front teeth. He never stopped smiling, and Greg liked him immediately.

  The other man, Yegor Gryzlov, was taller; six-two, six-three, maybe, which surprised Greg as he expected someone who spent his life working in a submarine would be more… compact. The big man had experience piloting a Priz class deep sea submersible, albeit an older model, and he would support Jack Monroe who was to captain the vessel. He didn’t talk much and didn’t seem capable of smiling at all. In fact Greg picked up nothing but an air of dour, ill-humor, and of wanting to be anywhere else but here.

  Perhaps working with Americans was not his ideal job, Greg thought, not warming to him at all.

  Yegor’s saving grace was that he was polite, and seemed to take a shine to Abby, bowing and offering his hand to shake. He held onto hers as a basement-deep voice rumbled out.

  “I once have parakeet called Abby. You like birds? Like little pretty sparrow, I think so.”

  She looked bemused, but smiled and continued to shake his huge hand. He hung on until she answered. “Yes, Yegor, I like birds.”

  Greg turned to the submersible. It currently sat in a huge wooden cradle, with rails tracks leading to the edge of the newly-excavated drop pit. The biggest crane Greg had seen in his life sat idle just a few dozen feet back from the dark hole, waiting to lift and lower the submersible into the void. The crane would then remain there, waiting for them to return, hopefully within twenty-four hours. As Greg watched, men still crawled over the sub’s hull, checking seals and banging on the superstructure.

  There was a name written on its side in Cyrillic lettering – Русалка

  “Hey, easy with Prusalka,” Dmitry yelled up at them.

  “Prusalka?” Greg’s brows shot up.

  Dmitry nodded and grinned. “Da, Prusalka; is big fish, but…’ He leaned closer. “…name means, mermaid.” He winked, and then pulled back on seeing Greg’s expression. “You got anything better?”

  Greg thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I got nothin’. So, Prusalka it is then. Hey, do we need anything?”

  Dmitry rubbed his chin. “Tools we have, cranes, welding, supplies, and once all checked should be air and water tight.” He grinned again. “Hopefully.”

  Greg grimaced. “Only hopefully?” He turned to the dour Yegor. “Anything else you need, big guy?”

  “Big luck.” The big man turned away.

  Greg nodded deeply. “Ooookay, well, we all need that – big and small.”

  Abby cleared her throat. “This is going to be in a subterranean environment – it’ll be totally dark. You’ve piloted this type of submarine in those conditions before, right?”

  “In deep water, always dark.” Yegor nodded. “As long as rivets hold, chemical adhesives and welding holds, instruments work and dozens of other life-sustaining operations do their jobs, then we probably be okay. Don’t worry, little Abby sparrow.”

  “Probably? Still not building confidence, Yegor.” Greg sighed and turned away just as Cate and Jack pushed into the tent.

  “All okay?” Cate had a quizzical look on her face, as if picking up on some uneasiness in the room.

  Greg tilted his head towards Yegor. “Our crew friends were just telling us that we’ll probably be safe as long as we have some luck.”

  “He’s right,” Jack said. “The Priz Class is designed to be broken down and then reassembled. It’s big, but it was created to be a rapid-response submersible.” He straightened to his full height, looking the big Russian in the eyes. “Should be ready to go. Are you telling me this isn’t the case?”

  Yegor just stared from under bushy brows, and Greg could feel the tension go up a few degrees. That’s just great, he thought; they’d have two big guys, who might not like each other, trapped together in a tin can, in water thousands of feet deep and blacker than night. What could possibly go wrong?

  Dmitry waved a hand. “No, no, not any real problems. My big friend is just overly cautious. We will be fine.” He turned to Yegor and his jovial expression hardened momentarily, before turning back to Greg. “But we must do final checks now if you wish to launch soon.”

  Greg exhaled, but still felt the awkwardness remain.

  “Please, you show us where we can work. We assume the hydraulic lifts are all in place.” Dmitry waited.

  Cate nodded. “All just waiting on you two gentlemen.” She strode forward, sticking out a h
and. “I’m Cate Granger, mission leader.”

  Dmitry’s brow went up. “Is not Valery Mironov…?” He then quickly grinned. “Oh yes, of course, of course. Sorry to not greet you, but things are moving so quickly.” He gave a huge theatrical shrug. “You are in charge; we are ready when you are.”

  “I got this,” Jack said. “Let me show them the way. I might like to hang around for the final system’s check; I might learn something.” He turned to wink at Greg.

  “Well okay, all good then.” The three men left, and Greg stood staring at the tent flap, his mind whirling. “Is it too late to tell you I suffer from claustrophobia?”

  “It sure is, little buddy.” Cate smiled. “Besides, where would I be without you, Gilligan?”

  “Thanks, Skipper.” Greg turned to Abby. “That makes you Mary Anne.”

  “Ginger.” She lifted her chin and smiled.

  * * *

  The temperature outside the colossal tent was near freezing, and cutting winds carrying furious snow stung exposed skin and seemed to cut right through the thickest of materials. It moaned and battered the canopy walls and roof as Cate, Greg and Abby stood at the edge of the massive pit, staring down, noses running as the three thawed out.

  There was no heating in the tent, but inside it was an unbelievable 60 degrees. The temperature differential was achieved solely by the rising warm air from the massive, underground body of water.

  Cate inhaled. Normally freezing weather made aromas impossible to detect, as the colder it got the more the aromas became locked away from the senses. But in here, so close to the dark hole, she could smell rock moss and sea grasses, warm sand, and when she closed her eyes she imagined she was standing on the shoreline of some dark beach, its surface glinting under a moonless night.

  She opened her eyes and leaned forward, wishing she could get a glimpse. They had lowered cameras and recording equipment, but even with lighting there had been little to see. Movement sensors had picked up small density changes and vibrations, but for the most part, far below them it seemed like there was nothing but dead water. Not surprising, she thought, as when that huge slab of rock hit the water, it would have scared anything living away for miles.