Undersea Prison

by Duncan Falconer

  Two interrogation officers were in the elevated room, going over several files and making notes. ‘You getting hot?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ his colleague replied, loosening his collar as he looked through the thick glass at the tech reaching for the phone.

  The tech picked up the receiver. ‘C cell.’

  ‘You guys working that room today?’ the assistant controller asked.

  ‘Just some routine wiring. No one’s touching the pressure.’

  ‘Well, someone’s screwing around with it.’

  ‘I can feel it. The air’s getting pretty thick in here.’

  The assistant controller scrutinised the gauges. ‘Holy cow! You’re down more’n a hundred feet below ambient.’

  The interrogation room was filled with a loud crunching sound from above.The technician looked up as dust sprinkled down onto him. ‘There’s something happening with the ceiling,’ he said, his expression deepening with concern.

  ‘Harry, we got a problem,’ the assistant controller said to his boss as he pushed a couple of switches to check several other read-outs. ‘You’d better get outta there,’ he said into the phone. ‘The pressure’s dropping and the oxygen level isn’t compensating.’

  The technician was overcome by dizziness as his face reddened. Another loud crunching sound and this time a large crack was visible around the ceiling hatch. The technician dropped the phone and headed for the pressure door, which was closed.

  The agent in the booth watched the technician stagger to the door and pull on the handle. ‘What’s up with Marty?’ he said, getting to his feet.

  The pressure door would not respond to the open button and the technician dropped to his knees as he fought to breathe. A third loud crunch was accompanied by high-pressure water shooting through the cracks. A second later the ceiling collapsed ahead of a wall of water and the technician disappeared under the tremendous force of it all.

  The agents in the booth stepped back from the glass as the room beyond it filled with water. The technician’s severed head rolled across the glass and both men went for the door. It did not respond to the control lever and they pulled on the handle with all their might. Cracks suddenly streaked across the thick glass and as the two men fought the door the centre of the window gave way and the water burst into the room.

  ‘Hello!’ the assistant controller shouted into the phone. All he could hear was static and he looked over at his boss. ‘I think we’ve got a problem.’

  Hamlin finished cutting a hole in the thick rubber door seal large enough to poke a couple of fingers into, withdrew the saw bit and inspected his work, using a small flashlight. ‘Does that look like it to you?’ he said, stepping back so that Stratton could take a look.

  Stratton scrutinised inside the hole. ‘That’s it,’ he agreed.

  He handed Hamlin a small bottle cap with a heavily greased rim. Hamlin pushed it in through the hole and positioned it over the sensor.

  ‘It’s in place,’ Hamlin said as he felt around inside the hole, making sure he was right.

  Stratton handed him a flat piece of rubber with a sealing-compound coating one side. Hamlin placed it over the hole he had cut, ensuring it made a tight seal. ‘Perfect . . . I got a good feelin’ about you, ferryman. I think you’re lucky.’

  Stratton was bemused by Hamlin’s upbeat attitude and was burning to know what was fuelling his confidence.

  ‘Let’s help things along a ways, why don’t we?’ Hamlin said as he walked over to the rack of emergency air bottles and, using a wrench, tried to unscrew one of the ends. ‘Gimme a hand here,’ he asked as he strained.

  Stratton joined him and, with their combined strength applied to the nut, it began to loosen. Hamlin repositioned the wrench and they pushed again. As the thread unscrewed, gas began to hiss from the joint until it became almost deafening.

  ‘That should do it,’ Hamlin shouted. ‘You ready?’

  Stratton gave him a thumbs-up.

  Hamlin made his way up the steps and into the transformer room. He collected several prepared cables with crocodile clips on the ends and began connecting them to an assortment of cable hubs, leaving the final couple of clips disconnected. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and, using a large pair of pliers with rubber tubing over the handles, gripped one of the remaining crocodile clips and connected it to a terminal. A couple of sparks flew and he picked up the last clip with the pliers, leaned out of the doorway and looked down at Stratton. ‘How’s it lookin’?’ he shouted.

  Stratton was checking the seals. He looked up at Hamlin and shook his head. ‘Can’t see a change yet!’

  ‘Give it a minute!’ Hamlin remained confident as he stared up at a large square air duct hanging down from the centre of the rock-and-girder ceiling. The fins that ran across its face opened wider, indicating a sudden flow of air coming out of it. ‘Here she comes!’ Hamlin shouted.

  Stratton followed his gaze to see evidence that the pressure compensator had tripped.

  The door seals began to flatten slowly and the door itself moved perceptibly. Stratton gripped the handle and pulled with all his might. The door moved more freely and as it opened he grabbed the inner edge.

  When the gap was wide enough he moved his head to look through into the corridor. A large fist slammed into his face and sent him flying back into the room and onto the floor.

  Stratton lay on his back, reeling from the punch and with blood trickling from his nose. Through watering eyes he watched Gann step into the room.

  Gann picked up a heavy wrench, tested its weight and held it like a baseball bat. ‘Not as smart as you think you are, Mister Charon or whoever you are.’

  Stratton wriggled backwards, quickly wiping his eyes and searching for anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing close to hand.

  ‘Just left a friend of yours in the hospital.Your Afghan pal - didn’t think I knew about him, did you? And it was me who found you out, not the CIA or the big guys who run this place. And guess what else? We found something inside his gut.’

  Stratton was appalled by what Gann was saying but he had more important matters to deal with right at that moment.

  Gann moved over him, the wrench held high. ‘Your next stop is the morgue.’ He grimaced as he made ready to bring the heavy tool back down. At that precise moment Hamlin connected the remaining crocodile clip, causing a massive short circuit that sparked wildly. All the lights immediately went out, plunging the room into total darkness.

  Gann brought the wrench down with all his might and the end slammed home.

  The emergency lights flickered on as the auxiliary power kicked in, dimmer than before but enough for Gann to see the end of his wrench sitting in a chipped indentation that it had made in the concrete. At first he could see no sign of Stratton. Then he looked up to see him getting to his feet from where he had rolled when the lights had gone out.

  Stratton found an iron bar and held it up, ready to do combat. Gann straightened himself as he adjusted the wrench in his hands and smiled thinly. ‘This could be more fun than I’d expected,’ he growled. He took a step towards Stratton who backed up to the metal stairs between the scrubbers.

  Gann came at him, swinging the wrench in a wide arc. Stratton held up his bar to block the blow. Gann smashed it out of his hand and it went clattering across the floor.

  As Gann came in for a speedy follow-up Stratton’s heels struck the bottom step and he stumbled backwards. Gann brought the wrench down with all his might, Stratton only barely managing to roll aside again as the end of the tool dented the metal step with a thunderous clang. Stratton instantly threw out a kick that connected with Gann’s groin. The big man was halted in his tracks and he gave out a moan as the pain shot through his crotch.

  Stratton scurried backwards up the stairs, not prepared to tackle Gann man-to-man just yet. The brute had twice his strength and, like a bull in the ring, needed weakening considerably before the power gap between them could be closed. />
  Gann brought his pain under control, held the wrench ready to resume the conflict and made his way up the steps, his expression a twisted grimace of malicious determination. The only thing in Stratton’s reach was a wooden board which he picked up, holding it like a shield in front of himself. Gann reached the gantry and launched a side blow. Stratton brought the shield across to block it but the force knocked him off the gantry and several feet down onto the top of one of the scrubbing machines, which he landed on back first. Gann jumped over the rail and down onto the machine into the cloud of dust that Stratton’s impact had kicked up. He loomed above his winded prey, savouring the moment.

  Stratton had nowhere to go in the narrow space. There was a long drop either side to the floor. Gann raised the wrench for a deadly blow but a chunk of metal, a machine part of some kind, flew through the air and struck him on the side of his head, knocking him off balance. Stratton took immediate advantage and kicked the side of Gann’s knee, causing it to bend, and followed that up with a thrust from his other leg. Gann lost his balance and struggled to grab the gantry rail, missing it and falling off the machine onto an exhaust pipe several feet below before rolling off that and hitting the floor.

  Stratton got to his feet and looked down to see Gann lying with his face against the concrete. He was stirring slowly, the wind knocked out of him.

  Hamlin hurried along the gantry towards Stratton.

  ‘Get out of here!’ Stratton shouted.

  Hamlin needed no further encouragement and headed down the stairs. Stratton jumped over the gantry rail and followed hard on his heels.

  Hamlin reached the bottom step, lost his footing and fell sprawling on the floor. Stratton hurried to pick him up and as the older man staggered to his feet a dart struck Stratton in the side of his neck. He let out a scream as two hundred kilovolts shot through his body from a Taser in Gann’s hand. Stratton dropped to the floor, his limbs shaking as Hamlin ran for the door. Gann dropped the Taser and threw his wrench at Hamlin, catching him around the legs. Hamlin went sprawling once again.

  For the moment Gann ignored Stratton who lay on the floor twitching like an epileptic. He went for Hamlin instead. He picked the older man up by his neck, grabbed his head as if he was going to rip it off and jerked it around into an unnatural position to face him. ‘Looks like it’s time for you to say goodbye too,’ Gann snarled as he slammed Hamlin’s head into the metal door, spun him around and used him like a punching bag, pounding his hammer fists into the other man’s ribs, smashing them one by one. Hamlin went limp and Gann looked around to see Stratton roll onto his knees, the Taser dart out of his neck.

  Gann let Hamlin drop to the floor and marched over to Stratton.

  Stratton fought to focus his eyes, saw a shackle on the floor within arm’s reach and reached for it. Gann grabbed him mercilessly by the back of the neck, picked him up like a rag doll, and spun him round as he raised a fist, his face twisted in effort. But as his knuckles ploughed through the air towards Stratton’s head the shackle struck Gann in the jaw, shattering several of his teeth.

  Gann staggered back, releasing Stratton who came in quickly for another blow. But Gann was not finished by a long shot and blocked the attack, following it up with a vicious punch to Stratton’s sternum that sent him flying back.

  Gann stood upright, taking a moment to gather himself and spit out his broken teeth. He felt his jaw as he stared at Stratton, blood trickling from his mouth. The brute was utterly incensed. ‘I am going to tear you apart,’ he shouted, his voice rising to a crescendo as he lunged forward.

  Stratton ducked a haymaker and countered with a blow to Gann’s body that seemed to have no effect. Gann swung again as he ploughed on, Stratton managing to dodge blow after blow although it did not look as if he would remain lucky for long. He didn’t. A blow connected with the side of his head, sending him reeling back into one of the scrubbers.The machine was running noisily, a powerful electric motor turning a large shaft that was exposed for a metre where it went into the housing, a large knuckle joint in its centre. Gann grabbed Stratton by the neck and hauled him towards the fiercely spinning shaft. Stratton splayed out his hands, grabbing the sides of the machine, desperation taking hold of him as he felt helpless in Gann’s powerful grip.

  Gann gritted his teeth as he pushed Stratton’s head ever closer to the spinning knuckle joint. Blood and sweat poured from Stratton’s grimy face as he fought back with every vestige of his remaining strength. But he could not match Gann’s power. He blinked at the joint spinning inches from his face, knowing that Gann was intent on seeing his features sheared away. He suddenly saw two large buttons, one red, the other green, just beyond the shaft. He had no idea what they operated but he was out of options. He released his weakening grip on the edge of the machine, twisted his body round, his face passing millimetres from the joint, reached out and hit the red button. The machine immediately slowed to a stop as Stratton fell onto the smooth section of the shaft just beside the joint.

  Gann twisted Stratton back over and held him down onto the shaft. ‘You wriggle like a worm,’ he snarled as he brought his fist down onto the side of Stratton’s face.

  Stratton was trapped under Gann’s weight and strength and one more blow like the last would finish him. Gann raised his fist again, gritting his teeth, his aim clearly to bury it deep into Stratton’s bloody face and end the fight. Stratton made a supreme effort and twisted his head to one side just enough to avoid the main impact of the blow that glanced off his cheek. Gann’s weight followed him through and his hand slammed down into the knuckle joint. Stratton did not waste a second - he reached out and struck the green button. Before Gann could pull his hand free the shaft turned. He let out a howl that could have been heard throughout the prison as the knuckle joint turned, trapping his hand. As his arm wrapped around the turning joint the bones in the entire limb broke all the way up to his shoulder as they were twisted around it. The machine jammed and Stratton pushed himself out from under Gann’s bulk.

  Gann screamed like a banshee, sparks flying from the machine as the motor short-circuited. Flames shot from the housing and ignited Gann’s uniform as he fought like a wild man to extract his mangled arm. But his efforts were in vain - the arm was jammed fast. The pain was too much for him and he went limp as the fire engulfed his head. His legs gave way beneath him.

  Stratton stepped back towards the door, turning to look for Hamlin. But there was no sign of the older man. He hurried outside into the corridor but Hamlin had gone.

  Doctor Mani helped Christine through the door into the hospital and sat her down on the edge of the operating table. She was aware of her surroundings and focused all her efforts on pulling herself back together.

  ‘He did you over pretty good,’ Mani said, holding a swab and a bottle of antiseptic liquid. ‘Let me have a look.’ He gently lifted up her chin.The blood had dried around her swollen nose and lips and there was a large bruise on the side of her jaw. She winced as the doctor dabbed a cut. ‘Can you clench your jaw?’

  Christine clamped her teeth together and moved her jaw from side to side.

  ‘Any loose teeth?’ he asked as he felt her cheekbones and nose.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, moving his hands away.

  ‘What about the rest of you? Any broken bones, you think? I should check.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she insisted as she slid off the edge of the table to stand, a little wobbly at first.

  Mani looked down at the table, suddenly remembering that there had been someone on it when he had left earlier.

  At the same instant Christine looked past him and froze.

  ‘Where’s the Afghan prisoner . . . ?’

  ‘Behind you,’ she said softly.

  Mani turned to see the Afghan standing on the other side of the room, holding his gut with one hand, a long, slender surgical blade in the other. ‘Oh, dear,’ Mani muttered.

  Durrani took a couple of steps towards them, holding himself erect with som
e difficulty.

  ‘Why don’t you let me fix you up?’ Mani said nervously, his gaze flicking between the silver blade in the Afghan’s hand and his dark eyes focused on him.

  Durrani tottered slightly, fighting to control his limbs. His head throbbed and his lungs ached with every breath. He could barely see - everything was a blur - but he could distinguish the human forms in front of him. He stopped in front of Mani.

  ‘Please put the knife down,’ Mani’s voice quivered.

  Durrani did not understand a word the doctor was saying. He had met him twice since his arrival, both for cursory medical examinations, and knew he could speak some Farsi. Durrani muttered a few words, his voice weak.

  Mani was not sure what the Afghan had said at first and then realised he was asking for something to be given back to him.

  ‘I don’t have it,’ Mani replied in English, suddenly unsure how to say it in Farsi. ‘It’s not here. I promise you.’

  Durrani assumed the man had not understood him. He also knew it was a waste of time and that he would never see the implanted object he had been entrusted with again. It had belonged to the enemy and they now had it back in their hands.

  Durrani removed his hand from his wound, exposing it.

  Mani glanced down at the open cut, then back to Durrani’s eyes that were filled with menace. Beads of sweat formed at the doctor’s temples. ‘I don’t have it, I tell you,’ he stammered in Farsi. ‘I can stitch up your wound. Shall I do that?’ Mani’s voice quivered as he gestured towards his instrument trolley.

  Durrani held a hand out to stop him. He had come to terms with his failure. He had never had any illusions about escaping but there had always been the possibility of release one day. Now that his secret had been discovered, hoping for anything else was pointless. They would soon take him back into that room and interrogate him further. Durrani would rather die. This was the only opportunity he would ever have to control his destiny and he was going to take it. And like a good soldier he would take as many of the enemy with him as he could.