“I’ll be over. Have someone meet me at the airport.” He put the phone down before the sergeant had a chance to reply.
*
Had they been diving during the day, Marsh would have been able to see the golden fingers of sunlight penetrating the depths and lighting the world of Marlin, Barracuda, Sting Rays, Manta Rays and a whole host of beautiful fish that lived in the watery, twilight world of the sea. But the dawn light offered no such spectacle and Marsh concentrated on bringing Challenger down gently to the sea bed.
To counter the effects of any drift that was unwanted, a small turbine no bigger than a beer can rotated in the current. By measuring the rate at which it spun, the on-board computer powered Challenger’s thrust motors at a sufficient speed to keep the submersible on station. It was a standard servo system cleverly adapted for accurate work in oil exploration and using a global positioning satellite that tracked the submersible to within fifteen feet of its reference point.
As Challenger descended, Marsh trimmed her out by transferring water from the aft tanks to the forward tanks and vice versa as the situation demanded. It was a delicate operation and could also be done by the on-board computer system, but Marsh preferred the ‘hands on’ approach knowing that in an emergency, his piloting skills would be better by having control of the submersible as often as possible.
And so the Challenger descended gracefully. It was like going down in a slow moving lift. And the deeper they went, so external vision deteriorated because less light penetrated the clear waters. Marsh switched on the submersible’s powerful floodlights.
To slow up the rate of descent and hold the Challenger steady so that she would neither rise nor fall, Marsh used static balancing as opposed to the dynamic balancing he had used on the way down.
Quite simply, Challenger had three hundred kilos of lead shot on either side of the hull which could be dumped slowly by metering it out from the small holding tanks in which the shot was stored. As the lead shot was dumped, so the weight of the Challenger decreased along with the sink rate.
He began dumping the lead ballast as Challenger approached the planned operating depth and Marsh could see the sea bed lit by the Challenger’s powerful arc lamps. Inside the decompression chamber, Batista and Zienkovitch would know from the instrument read out that it was time to begin their part of the operation.
Marsh flicked a switch on the panel and ordered them into the central chamber. Batista and Zienkovitch were wearing the yellow bottles containing helium and oxygen. Because the air pressure inside the chamber was changing automatically to equal the pressure at the depth they had reached, there would be no risk to the divers when they left the Challenger.
They stepped into the central chamber, closed the watertight door to separate them from the decompression chamber behind them and waited. They would wait until Marsh had flooded the central chamber before opening the upper and lower hatches.
They were standing just a yard away from the nuclear bomb.
Marsh held Challenger steady for the next phase of the dive as Zienkovitch swam out of the central chamber once it had been flooded. His exit was through an opening in the metal skirt. The skirt was rather like a large, overturned bowl, beneath the submersible.
Batista remained inside the central chamber. Above him the bomb was held rigid by three pressure pads extending from the side of the chamber. He floated upwards until he was looking down at the bomb, then he hooked up the cylinder to a lifting arm which was attached to the chamber wall.
When he was satisfied that everything was secure, he opened a small panel and operated a winch which tensioned the nylon rope now attached to the lifting eye of the bomb. He then released the pressure pads so there was a small clearance between them and the smooth sides of the cylinder. Then he pressed the lift button until the bomb was at the top of the chamber which gave him a clear working space beneath it. Satisfied with what he had done, Batista patted the side of the bomb and swam out of the chamber.
Marsh had been so engrossed in maintaining the trim that he was surprised to see Batista and Zienkovitch so soon. He acknowledged them both and let water into the ballast tanks and Challenger began sinking slowly to the bottom.
One old fashioned method used to tell a submersible pilot when he is near the bottom is by way of a weighted rope hanging free beneath the craft. As it touches bottom, the rope slackens and allows a switch to operate, signalling to the pilot that he has the length of the rope to go.
Marsh was already slowing when the signal lamp flashed on and a small buzzer sounded. He immediately dumped ballast and Challenger settled as he trimmed her out. Batista and Zienkovitch then guided Marsh on to the capped well head which was barely fifteen feet from him. Marsh could speak to both divers through the sonar link but it was only Batista to whom he spoke to avoid mistakes. By following Batista’s one word commands, he successfully brought the submersible immediately over the well head.
On the outer rim of the well cap were three, bullet shaped spigots which located into three holes on the rim of the Challenger’s skirt. Marsh felt her twitch as she settled on the spigots. Immediately Batista and Zienkovitch closed a set of spring clamps which were also attached to the skirt rim.
Marsh thought back to that moment when Khan had showed him the nuclear bomb. If only the Coast Guard had found the bomb when they searched the Taliba, he thought to himself bitterly.
Suddenly Batista’s dismembered voice broke into Marsh’s thoughts.
“You can relax now, Marsh,” he said. “The cuckoo is in the nest.”
*
Francesini heard the sound of his wife’s soft footfall behind him. He was in the kitchen fixing a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. He turned towards her as she came through the door. She looked a little sleepy still, her hair tousled and untidy. She walked over to him and kissed him gently on the cheek. He loved her as much now as he did when they married, probably even more. He welcomed the show of affection, even at such an ungodly hour.
“Coffee?” he asked.
She shook her head, pulling her dressing gown round her body unconsciously, accentuating the curves of her body. He never tired of looking at her, whether she was dressed for a dinner party of for bed. It mattered not to him.
“Go sit down,” she ordered. “I’ll fix this.”
He put his arm round her. “Laura, I’m sorry about this. I….”
“Remo,” she interrupted. “We’ve been through this before, so don’t beat yourself up about it. I knew what I was letting myself in for when I married you.”
He did as he was told and sat down at the breakfast bar. He remembered the day they married, in New York, just a week after he had graduated from the ‘Farm’: the C.I.A. Academy. It had rained, but they were happy. And yes, she did know what she was letting herself in for. She had courted him when he was working the beat, on shifts with the NYPD after he had left the military, knowing in her heart what he really wanted to do, and that was to join the C.I.A. He had studied law in the evenings at night school when he was able and graduated with a good degree. Some thought he would stay with the police force, but the C.I.A. was his calling.
“When are you leaving?” she asked. “And where are you going? Or am I not permitted to ask?”
He smiled. He could never tell her where he would be because he might not know or, perhaps worse, he might have to lie. But this time he knew and this time he wouldn’t lie.
“There’s a car on the way,” he told her. “Should be here soon.” He looked at his watch. “Then I’m off to the Grand Bahamas. Freeport.”
“Jimmy Starling going with you?”
She always called James Starling by that name, but never to his face. It was her way of reducing the admiral’s heavy reputation to one of more manageable proportions. But behind that she quite liked her husband’s boss. He was a pussycat really, she often told her husband; but she never told Jimmy Starling.
“Not yet.”
She put the coffee and cer
eal in front of him. “This going to be the last job?” she asked, tongue in cheek.
He held a spoonful of cereal in front of his mouth. “As ever,” he lied.
She reached down and kissed him again. “Don’t let anybody shoot you,” she warned him. “I get used to having you around. Sometimes!”
“I’ll give you a call,” he said when he had finished eating the mouthful of cereal, but she was already through the door and on her way back to bed.
Perhaps this should be the last one, he thought to himself. He got up and put his empty cereal bowl into the sink and drained his coffee cup.
But if that bastard Khan has three nuclear bombs to detonate, he thought to himself, it could be the last one for a lot of people.
*
On board the Taliba, Hakeem Khan breathed out heavily and settled back in his softly upholstered swivel chair. His face was ashen and a small pain had been gathering force inside his chest. He had been sitting at the control console in his cabin, monitoring the dive. Malik was with him. Neither had spoken as Challenger had descended to the well-head. For a long while all that penetrated the silence in the cabin was the sound of the strengthening wind hurrying along the superstructure of the ship, and the occasional depth calls and simple commands from the submersible and the bridge of the Taliba. It was ethereal and unreal; the other world beneath the sea intruding into the real world of his well-appointed cabin.
Normally, Khan would have been on the bridge with Captain de Leon, but he had been persuaded to remain in his cabin because the captain was concerned for his condition. Khan realised that his own health could jeopardise the entire mission should he collapse with heart failure. It would have disastrous consequences on their mission and all would be lost. He had no choice but to heed his own counselling and that of de Leon.
During the dive, Khan had followed each move in his mind as though he was piloting the Challenger. He resisted the impulse to move his hands in mimicry of the moves Marsh would be making as he guided the submersible on to the well head. His spine had stiffened gradually as Marsh descended with the Challenger until he heard Batista guide Marsh on to the spigots. And as the Challenger locked on to the well cap, he felt his strength leave him.
He reached for the bottle containing the small, white tablets. He took two and washed them down with a glass of water. Malik looked concerned.
And it still wasn’t over!
*
Batista entered the central chamber by swimming through the open gap in the side of the skirt. Once inside he floated to the top of the chamber. Zienkovitch entered the skirt to release the cap over the well head. He used a compressed air gun already attached to the underside of the submersible. Placing this on the hub of a wheel on top of the cap, he pulled the trigger of the gun and released millions of tiny air bubbles into the water around the cap as the wheel spun free.
Zienkovitch switched off the gun and pulled the well cap open. It pivoted on its counter weight revealing a small, black hole which descended a thousand feet to a blind end.
Batista waited until his colleague was clear of the skirt and lowered the bomb until it was low enough for him to complete the next stage. He pulled out a small, metal object from his wet suit. It was attached to a small, silver chain which was looped around his neck. He then unlocked a small panel that was on the outside of the bomb casing. Inside this panel was a plate on which was etched a rectangular shadow beside a small, unlit window.
He placed the metal block, which was hanging from his neck on its safety cord, on top of the rectangular shadow. There was a click and suddenly the unlit window burst into a dazzling row of illuminated numbers which had been initiated by a proximity magnet inside the small block.
Batista watched the numbers spin until they settled, from left to right into a predetermined number. Hanging on the same cord as the metal block was a Castell Key. This was a like a small cup, no more than an inch wide in which was engraved a letter. He inserted the key into a recess beside the panel which contained the same, engraved letter, recessed and reversed, which located snugly into the letter on the Castell key.
Then he pushed the key firmly into the casing and turned it in a clockwise direction. He heard the sound of a lock engaging and he released the pressure on the key which sprung back under spring pressure. He then turned the key counter clockwise and removed it, letting it hang from the cord.
He glanced up. “Taliba, Trinity One is primed.” Then he removed the block, snapped the panel door shut and put the magnet and Castell key back inside his wet suit pocket.
The next part of the procedure was simple. All Batista had to do then was to lower the bomb into the well. He reached across the chamber to a button set into the wall and pressed it. An electric motor hummed quietly and the rope attached to the bomb began to pay out as the bomb dropped slowly into the well.
A strain gauge, calibrated in feet showed Batista how far the bomb was travelling. Batista knew the depth of the well and concentrated on the depth gauge.
In his cabin, Khan breathed a deep sigh, carefully letting his lungs settle gently as beads of sweat touched and formed a patina over his face. He listened as Batista called out the descent of the bomb in feet, his voice distorted by the helium gas.
Marsh listened too, impotent, unable to stop this terror. He scanned the instrument panel and watched the numbers rolling over as the bomb descended. Around him the sea was almost totally black save for the glare of the arc lamps which diffused and scattered through the sea. Small life-forms drifted by, then a school of fish. The beginning of creation he thought, and now possibly the end.
Three hundred ….. four hundred. It went on, counting the bomb into its last resting place, deep beneath the sea bed; nto the crust of the earth.
“One thousand, mark!”
“Secure the rope!” Khan ordered involuntarily. No-one could hear him.
Batista secured the wire rope on to a clamp welded on to the wall of the chamber, leaving about six feet free, so that it wouldn’t drop into the well. He then cut the rope and attached a ferrule to the end that was still connected to the bomb. He then clamped this to a watertight antenna that was secured to the inside of the well cap. Satisfied that he had completed the correct sequence of events, and satisfied that everything was in order, Zienkovitch then lowered and secured the well cap.
Once the job was complete, the two divers exchanged hand signals and swam out from beneath the Challenger, and round to the cockpit. Batista showed two thumbs to Marsh: job complete!
The signal from Batista was not a self-congratulatory message to Marsh, but to let him know that it was time to take on one hundred and fifty kilos of water into the ballast tanks to compensate for the weight of the bomb. This would enable the two divers to spring the clamps on the skirt. Without the weight of the bomb, the submersible would be exerting a stronger, upward force on the clamps and make release that much more difficult and dangerous.
Once the ballast tanks had been flooded and the Challenger was now at its previous weight, Batista and Zienkovitch were able to release the clamps in safety. They then swam into the central chamber, closed both the upper and lower watertight doors and signalled Marsh to purge the chamber of water. Once Marsh had completed this, they were able to enter the decompression chamber and allow Marsh to begin the ascent.
Challenger surfaced twenty minutes later about two hundred feet from the Taliba. Marsh used the thrust motors to keep station until recovery could begin. Batista and Zienkovitch were in the decompression chamber on the Challenger and would remain so for a couple of hours to decompress safely.
Once the submersible was secure on the deck of the ship, Marsh opened a valve beside him to let a small amount of compressed air into the cockpit bubble. Normally it was impossible to open the door after a deep dive because such a tremendous pressure had been exerted on it at depth. Allowing just a small amount of compressed air in allowed the door to ‘pop’. Marsh then closed the valve and opened the door.
Khan was on deck when Marsh climbed out of the Challenger. He shook Marsh’s hand, taking him completely by surprise.
“Congratulations, Marsh, a fine job.”
Marsh was not interested in Khan’s gratuitous praise and wanted nothing other than to get the job finished and get back to a normal life; if that would ever be possible. He was about to say something when a member of the crew came up to Khan and told him that Captain de Leon wanted to see him urgently on the bridge. Khan acknowledged the crewman and turned to Marsh.
“We’ll debrief when Batista and Zienkovitch are ready,” he said to Marsh and walked away.
Chapter 13
De Leon was in his day cabin behind the bridge when Khan walked in. The ship’s captain had a concerned look on his face. Khan looked a little ruffled from his exertions walking from his cabin up on to the bridge against the wind which was freshening.
“We have just received a call from Romulus,” he told Khan. “The police are on to that fool Maclean; the safe-house where he had the woman has been raided by the police.”
Khan’s dark eyebrows lifted and he tilted his head slightly, a questioning look on his face. “What about the woman?”
De Leon nodded. “Well, thankfully Maclean still has her. He managed to escape; took her with him.”
Khan sat down and sighed deeply; he could have done without this new development. He looked up at de Leon, deep disappointment and anger clouded his face. “Where are they?”
De Leon shook his head and held his hands out in an empty gesture. “We don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Romulus doesn’t know where they’ve gone.”
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