☼
Chapter 2
About 140 km offshore from Scarborough, cradled by the North Sea, the Deep Sea One oil platform towered from the heaving dark waters. It was a massive structure, its long steel legs pinned to the ocean floor, fixing it firmly. Permanent structures did not peak anywhere near the Deep Sea One and it looked like a lost robotic lighthouse above the rising and falling waves. On the supported platform its drilling rigs rose majestically like steeples of steel and electricity over the various production facilities, which lay dwarfed against it on the platform. The crew quarters were separate, spaced out in several sections of box-like assemblies. Although the weather was wild most of the time the small crew was accustomed to it and professional in the duties that ran around the clock. Most of the men got along swimmingly, as much as a group of different nationalities and cultures could cope in the cabin-fever conditions of such a living and working space. Most of the time things ran smoothly, both personally and productively, on the giant drilling platform.
"Jaysus," Liam exclaimed, as he came rushing into the small office of the production manager, "helluva day we havin' out 'ere!" He was referring to the untimely storm, which had hit them harder than expected. They knew it was coming, two days before, but it was not supposed to be so violent. Liam was shaking from the cold, his hard hat askew on his wet hair and he bolted straight for the coffee machine. For once he would take a warm beverage over a Guinness and he rubbed his hands together as the machine steamed away.
"We have to check the north post, Liam," said Darwin, the shift's subsea engineer. "I am not sure, but what I got after checking the old bottom of Drill 3 didn't sit well with me. I could be mistaken, but it looks as if we might have some problem down there on the electricity line or maybe the structure is faulty at some point."
"How urgent is it? Can it wait until I chug this 'ere cuppa and thaw me bones? That last wave had the hand of God in it, I tell ya! Swept right halfway up the rig where I was fixing that rusted plate, and then I still had to weld the damned thing, otherwise we'd fall right through," Liam gasped, taking off his hat and running his hand over his head so that his hair was left in matted disarray. He had been a mechanic extraordinaire for more than thirty years, yet he still could not get used to the frigid shock of sea spray on days like these.
"No rush, Liam. Just finish up there and join me at the bottom. I'm going to prepare the ROV for inspection so we can get that bitch sorted before the storm comes in," Darwin said, himself silently craving a stiff whisky for the cold. He walked onto the platform deck, feeling dreadfully exposed for a moment as it dawned on him that he was but a speck on a manmade piece of tangled iron in the middle of the furious ocean. Darwin had great respect for the ocean. He was fully aware that, at any time, the water could enfold them like in the disaster movies his children liked to watch. Things like that scared him—those sudden reality checks where he realized just how small he was in the grand scheme of things . . . and he had nowhere to run.
Quickly he slipped down the iron stairs, four flights, to get to the sub-launching bay where they kept the Remote Operated Vehicle for examinations of ocean-floor conditions and also for repairs to the platform and its components. Isolation was dangerous and all aspects of the oil rig had to be kept running efficiently at all times. He had noticed topographical discrepancies when he sent down the ROV a few hours before to check on any abnormalities in the structure's tubular steel members, which were driven deep into the seabed. Darwin readied the machine for a dive, checking the electrical wiring and settings for optimal feedback. He activated the high definition (HD) cameras, making sure that their tilts had a full range of motion so that he could observe the entire area when they panned. Then he waited for Liam to help launch the submersible.
The strange little minisub looked like a bug caught in a web of wires with bright green stripes across the bottom between the two skids on the side that accommodated its movement once it was below on the seabed. There was no way Darwin was getting into his diving suit today. It was simply too rough in the North Sea. Normally he preferred going under the water, just to make sure that he could catch whatever the cameras did not, especially where the umbilicals hid in the murky parts. However, the machine went where Darwin and Liam could not—the depths that would crumple their bodies like flimsy beer cans.
"Position the LARS, Tommy!" Liam called, using the acronym for the launch and recovery system vehicle, as he raced down the stairs.
"So glad you could join me before the tsunami comes," Darwin snorted. His colleague gave him a long steely look and said, "You shouldn't be jokin' like that, Darwin. It's not that far-fetched that it could happen 'ere today, y'know?"
"Get to it," Darwin said evenly, as he looked at the LARS mechanical arm, which hummed lowly into action, lifting the submersible and sweeping to the right to launch it into the churning waves.
"There she goes," he announced, as he watched the tiny minisub bob on the waves for a few moments and then sink beneath the surface in a halo of foam and bubbles. He was not sure if it was rain or sea spray, but he was soaked within the small amount of time it took him and Liam to get to the bay. Now he could have used that cup of coffee, or whisky, of course.
"Don't you just love technology, Liam?" Darwin asked, as he watched the feed on the monitor.
"Normally I hate it, dunno how t' use it, but with this, yes, I am very glad I don't have to go down into those gloomy depths where Davy Jones' Locker lurks, my friend," Liam groaned through his grey and brown beard, which still had some crystal droplets lodged in its strands.
"Right, let's get some tea and get our blood running again," Darwin suggested, and his colleague eagerly led the way up to the kitchen. It would be about thirty minutes before they would recover the minisub and a hot cup of tea would be a nice break for the men. The oil rig ran with a small efficient staff and most of the men shared responsibilities, some doing up to four different jobs on the platform. Expertly trained men who could perform tasks in several capacities were very productive, especially when someone fell ill or could not spare time for a breakdown while handling drilling duties. There was always someone to fill the gaps and handle the overlapping tasks.
"Tiamat is pissed," Liam said, as he wrapped his hands tightly around his cup. He looked out the wet window, through trickling droplets that twisted the world outside. It was grey and miserable. Looking out over the endless expanse of ice cold water he could see the sea breathing steadily around them, heaving and falling in great swells of frigid power.
"Who the hell is Tiamat?" Darwin asked, if only to make conversation. He knew his colleague enjoyed spinning yarns about maritime superstitions and he allowed him his fabled therapy.
"The sea goddess of chaos, o' course!" came the answer from Liam, who still stared out as if he expected to see her.
"You are such a pirate, Liam."
"Pirate? I am a distant descendant of Boadicea, you know," he boasted and left his colleague with yet another anticipatory expression and a twinge of befuddlement. He was forced to explain.
"She was a feared seafaring warrior, she was. Foe of the Roman Empire and leader of the Iceni tribe who sailed from Wales to kick some Roman arse back in AD 61or somethin'," he bragged. Darwin did not have the heart to torment him with the question of how he could possibly have traced his lineage that far back, and he dare not mention that the woman in question was in fact Welsh and not Irish. He let Liam have his moment and simply nodded with an affirmative smile.
A while later they set out to facilitate the recovery of the minisub. Shivering from the sudden shock of cold sheets of salt water, the two cowered down in the booth to get the green bug up and stashed before the brunt of the storm hit the solitary tower. As they entered the booth Tommy, the assistant engineer, looked ashen.
"What? Tommy. What?" Liam asked, as he stood staring with a measure of devastation.
Looking helpless and nursing an impending breakdown of nerves, Tommy said, "The ROV is gone.
"
"Gone where?" Liam asked quickly, before he could fathom what Tommy really said.
"Gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found. Fucking GONE!" he cried, in an unstable tone that compelled Darwin to calm him with a pat on the arm.
"Calm down, Tommy boy. Now, how do you know it's gone? Did the umbilicals detach? We could always make a plan to retrieve—"
"No, you're not listening, Darwin. The minisub disappeared without a trace. He is going to fire me for sure, but I swear to God, I have no idea how it happened. Everything was secured. You checked it yourself," Tommy wailed, seated on the control desk cradling one cheek in his hands.
"I did. We did. It was secure, so how the hell did it come loose?" he asked in astonishment, more to himself in contemplation.
"It could have been the undercurrents. The drift is monstrous today," Liam tried to sound logical and also calm his colleagues while inside he panicked about telling the boss about it.
The three men stood quietly in the din of the raging waves thrashing the booth, each trying to make sense of the mystery and each worrying about reporting it to the owner. Finally Darwin stepped up and decided that sooner was better than later.
"Give me the satellite phone. I'll tell Mr. Purdue."
☼
Chapter 3
"How to get tenure," Nina dramatized the term, as if she was about to break into song. She stood in her office in the pale morning sun, dressed impeccably in her usual suit fetish, pinstriped grey for today, but her heels were cast aside carelessly. Between her teeth she had her pen horizontally lodged as she stared at the whiteboard she had been scribbling on since seven o'clock. After Professor Matlock screwed her out of credit for the Wolfenstein Ice Station discovery, of which he had no knowledge until she begged for emergency funding to explore the possibility, she had been setting aside her petty papers. Publishing was important, yes, but doing the work and not being more than a footnote in a hastily published book of stolen research rubbed sandpaper up her ass.
Wolfenstein—Secrets of the Lost Nazi Ice Station was a joke, a slap in the face of serious exploration of the so-called conspiracy theories surrounding the lost treasures of Hitler's Third Reich. That was meant to be her book, her victory. The expedition was going to be her passport to tenure, for sure, and Matlock wasted no time to nab it from her grasp using long talons grown by money she did not have. He was nothing more than a callous glory whore and she was done playing games. Nina had made up her mind the day she found Sam Cleave in Matlock's office to do an editorial feature for the Edinburgh Post, yet another feather in the department head's cap. Well done, she had thought, you even stole my friend, you self-righteous prick. She was not going to tell anyone anything anymore. Whatever research she found herself pursuing was going to be her own. They would know about it only when the papers were published and she had her own PR working the media.
No one could be trusted.
And here she stood, hung over and exhausted after a night of looking for subjects trending in the underworld of contemporary history. Even just one would do. One solid lead was all she needed on something so profound that in no time it would rocket her name onto every notable list of desirable tenure applicants. Then she would leave Braxfield Tower and its ridiculous mock functionality in her wake and not only match Matlock's position, but surpass his grandeur and fame.
"Okay, maybe I am getting ahead of myself here," she slurred over the pen as she regarded the whiteboard and its myriad research subjects. "But a girl has to see the big picture first and boy, once I get the right freaky thing to chase, you will all beg me for scraps, you bastards." Alas Nina had to admit that nothing on her board jumped out at her as a plausible pursuit to get grants for and her patience was running low.
Every now and then she relived the frozen hell she spent with Matlock, Purdue, Sam and the others in Antarctica. In her dreams she could still hear the gunshots in the dire enclosed spaces of the subterranean structure they were held in, the sobbing of her friend, Fatima, when she failed to save the sick soldiers they found at the station. Above all she relived the sound of her own heartbeat when she thought she was going to die in a confined space under the ice—the black hole of the submarine they escaped into open waters with and the way it invited her like the beckoning of a coffin.
Her skin crawled at the memory of the claustrophobic adventure and the bad company it came with. "Not again. Not this time. No, this time I am going to do it all by myself. I don't care how," she nodded. "God, I could use a cigarette now."
But she did not give in. It had been a month since she quit smoking. Subliminally she might have done so because of Sam's betrayal in helping Matlock to further his fame by writing that article about him. "Yeah, your editor sent you to do it. The devil made you do it. Your precious Patricia made you do it," she snarled in the reflection of the window as she looked over Salisbury Crags, lamenting her lost friendship with the journalist. It was outside this very building where they met, sharing a smoke break, and perhaps she thought that she could rid herself of Sam Cleave along with the killing sticks. After all, they were both carcinogens to her and she needed a fresh start.
It had been months since Matlock published his precious book and still everyone from faculty to journalists, bloggers and filmmakers asked her opinion of it, dismissing entirely the fact that she was, in fact, part of the undertaking. Maybe Matlock knew what torment it would be for her to be questioned about his bestseller while she knew the truth of it.
Nina sighed and pulled the pen from her mouth. Hopelessly she wiped the whiteboard clean as if it would give her some clarity, but it did not. She slipped on her high heels, fixed her bop-styled hair and pulled on her tapered blazer. It was time to teach her first class for the day and she thought it best to set aside for now the blazing trail she envisioned until she could get more information—until she could ensnare some fool to fund her exploits.
With a deep sigh Dr. Nina Gould gathered her papers and zipped her bag, hoping that she would get the chance to redeem her attempts or watch Frank Matlock choke on his tongue, whichever came first.
☼
Chapter 4
Purdue rushed to his waiting helicopter. News of his ROV gone missing disturbed him immensely and he had to get to Deep Sea One as soon as possible. The circumstances under which the minisub vanished were not particularly unusual, but never before had it been dislodged during routine inspections or repairs, not even while the North Sea brought its most violent power to the oil rig. Gary, his pilot, was already waiting for him as Purdue jerked open the round door and quickly fixed his headphones to his ears and then fastened his seatbelt. On his private plane he did not care much for belts, but in the small Robinson it was a must.
"Go, go, go, Gary!" he shouted. Gary had never seen his employer like this. Sure it was a very costly loss, but he reckoned Purdue was overreacting and although he wanted to ask why the urgency was so great he knew that this was not what he was paid for. Purdue was quiet for most of the way as the jagged borders of land below gave way to the blanket of shifting blue majesty. It seemed endless, with a glimmer running over it as the sheeted squalls rolled over the rising tide.
"Do you have a mint?" Purdue asked his pilot.
"Uh, yeah, in the satchel behind your seat, sir," Gary gestured with his head.
"Thanks, I like to chew when I'm nervous," Purdue admitted as his fingers struggled clumsily with the wrapper before he managed to pop the foil and toss the white sweet into his mouth.
"May I ask . . .?" Gary started slowly, hoping his boss would catch on to his question before he was forced to utter it and sound inappropriate. Fortunately for him Purdue was a sharp, no-bullshit man and he replied immediately without looking at Gary.
"It is just that I have been dealing with some rather serious discrepancies on the ocean floor under the platform and I have to send it down for inspection at least twice a day or we might face a catastrophe," Purdue explained. "You see, without that minisub there is no wa
y to avert any problems that might arise. I'm sure you appreciate the gravity of that."
Gary did appreciate the importance of it and he affirmed so with a serious nod of his head without showing Purdue that he was still confused by it all.
Within an hour they had reached the platform and Gary carefully set the Robbie down, his piloting prowess formidable. It took great skill to land the helicopter in conditions such as these and before the left skid even touched the slippery deck Purdue leapt out into the onslaught of the saline patter. He cowered into the second building from Drill 1 and disappeared, leaving Gary to the peril of the weather.
"The weather is terrible! Tell Gary to take the heli back. I'll be here for the next few hours," Purdue told Liam, even before the nervous crewmen could properly greet their employer.
"Will do, sir," Liam replied, and shot a quick concerned glance to his colleagues in the booth before exiting.
"I don't know how this happened, sir. There was no alarm for the detachment of cords or umbilicals and the camera was functioning perfectly the last time I checked the screen," Tommy reported with a shivering voice. The men did not know why their boss considered inspections so crucial, but he had made it clear to all of them that the minisub was a pivotal part of the functioning of Deep Sea One. Purdue shook off the excess water from his coat and hair and appeared so engrossed in what he could make of the monitors that he did not even respond to Tommy.
"Do you have the feed ready?" he asked.
"The feed?"
"The footage from the camera. You were recording the inspection, were you not?" Purdue asked smoothly, his eyes pinning Tommy and Darwin as he spoke. They did not know what to make of his demeanor. His expression was neutral and his voice calm.
"We did, sir, of course," Tommy said, relieved that he had something to offer that he had not fouled up.
Deep Sea One Page 2
