“The moment the hatch is shut there’s no safety net. Our lives depend on our equipment and each other.”
Slowly, methodically, he double-checked the self-contained life support equipment they had donned in the DSRV. After calibrating the decompression computer on his left wrist he inspected the sealings on Katya’s E-suit.
“The Kevlar mesh has good resistance to rock and metal,” he said. “The rubber sealings divide the suit into a number of compartments, so a leak doesn’t mean you’ll get completely flooded. Even so we’re going to have to be careful. At almost one hundred metres we’re below the deepest thermocline and the temperature will only be a couple of degrees Celsius, as cold as the Atlantic.”
After getting Jack to cast an eye over his equipment Costas disengaged a small console from his left shoulder. It had a digital LCD display and was connected to the manifold on his backpack.
“When that chamber floods we’ll be subject to the pressure of the surrounding seawater, almost ten atmospheres,” he explained. “That happens to be the same depth as the Minoan wreck, so we’re using our tried and tested trimix formula. Any deeper will stretch the envelope for oxygen toxicity. We badly need that passageway to go up and not down.”
“What about decompression sickness?” Katya asked.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Costas snapped the console back on its retainer. “At this depth the trimix is mainly helium and oxygen. The nitrogen increases as we ascend, the regulator automatically adjusting the mixture as the pressure decreases. Unless we linger too long we should only need a few brief decompression stops to let the excess gas dissipate from our bloodstreams as we go up.”
“We’ll be going up,” Jack asserted. “My guess is this will lead to some kind of peak sanctuary.”
“That makes sense geologically,” Costas said. “It would have been a Herculean task to bore horizontally through layers of compacted basalt. They would have run into vents and even the magma chimney. It would have been easier to tunnel upwards along the line of the lava flow, at about the angle of the stairway.”
“Well, we already know these people were brilliant engineers.” Katya spoke as she fine-tuned her two-way VHF receiver to the same frequency as the other two. “They could quarry an area the size of a football pitch, build pyramids more impressive than anything in ancient Egypt. I don’t think tunnelling would have posed any great obstacle for them.” She reinstalled the communications console on her helmet. “We should expect the unexpected.”
The only noise was the low hum of the generator as the laser worked past the halfway point. Unlike the ragged cut of an oxyacetylene torch the edge was as smooth as if it had been tooled by high-precision machinery. The steady advance of the manipulator arm seemed to count down the final minutes before they would step into the unknown.
Just as the laser was entering the final quadrant, there was a sudden vibration. It was as if an earth tremor had shaken the entire submarine. It was followed by a dull thump and a muffled clanging noise, then an ominous silence.
“Engage reserve battery!” Costas ordered.
“Already done. No break detected in the current.”
The electrical hum resumed as Andy yanked out the cord leading back to the DSRV and scanned the screen for faults.
“What the hell was that?” Jack demanded.
“It came through the hull casing,” Andy replied. “I can’t source it.”
“Not forward,” Ben asserted. “We’re only a few metres from the bow cowling and would know about any impact there. It must be aft, maybe just this side of the bulkhead sealing the reactor chamber.”
Costas looked grimly at Jack. “We have to assume the DSRV has been compromised.”
“What do you mean, compromised?” Katya demanded.
“I mean we’ve got visitors.”
Jack pulled back the slide on his Beretta and checked that a round had been chambered. After satisfying himself, he let the slide spring forward to close the receiver and gently flicked the catch to the safety position. He would be able to empty the fifteen 9 millimetre Parabellum rounds within seconds should the need arise.
“I don’t understand,” Katya said. “Is it our people?”
“Impossible,” Costas said. “The storm will be raging until dawn tomorrow, another twelve hours from now. Seaquest is at least ten nautical miles north. That’s too far for an Aquapod insertion, and in this weather there’s no way the helicopter could get low enough to drop divers close to the site.”
“If they were IMU divers they’d have made contact by now, even just tapping Morse on the casing,” Ben said.
Katya still seemed mystified. “How could Seaquest have missed them? They must have arrived before the storm began, yet the monitors showed no surface craft within a fifteen-mile radius.”
“In these conditions satellite surveillance is next to useless, but Seaquest’s radar should have picked up any surface anomaly in this sector.” Costas paused, his fingers drumming against the railing. “There is one possibility.” He looked at Jack. “A vessel could already have been in position on the far side of the volcano, hove in too close for its radar signature to be distinguishable. A submersible launched from there could have found Kazbek and mated with the DSRV, allowing an assault team to enter the escape trunk.”
“That would account for the noise,” Ben ventured.
“Already in position?” Katya wasn’t convinced. “How could they already be in position behind the island? No one else has the Atlantis text, no one else has the expertise to translate and interpret the directions.” She looked at the men. “I fear for the safety of Seaquest.”
Jack held Katya’s gaze a moment longer than the others. In that split second he sensed something was amiss, that she was withholding more than just the apprehension they were all trying to suppress. Just as he was about to question her, another jolt rattled the submarine and ended all room for speculation. He thrust the Beretta into the holster on his chest.
“Costas, you’re here with Andy. That hatch may be our only escape route. Ben, you’re with me.”
“I’m coming too.” Katya spoke matter-of-factly. “We’ll need all the firepower we can muster. Akula submarines carry a reserve armoury in the wardroom on the deck above us. I know the location.”
There was no time for argument. They quickly stripped off their SCLS backpacks and propped them against the casing.
Jack spoke as they crouched together on the walkway. “These people haven’t come to dig up ancient relics. They’ll assume we’ve found their prize and are cut off from surface communication. Eliminate us and they can complete the transaction that went so badly wrong all those years ago. This is no longer just about Atlantis. Five metres away are enough nukes to end western civilization.”
As Katya stepped onto the first rung of the ladder leading to the deck above, she leaned aside to avoid the flurry of white precipitate dislodged by Jack’s ascent. After cautiously climbing a dozen rungs she tapped his leg, at the same time signalling to Ben, who was following behind.
“This is it,” she whispered.
They had reached the level above the torpedo room where they had seen the crew’s quarters on their way down less than an hour before. Katya stepped through the hatch and pushed aside the debris scattered around the entrance. Jack followed close behind and Ben a moment later. As they huddled together in the gloom, Jack reached over and switched on Katya’s headlamp.
“It’s on the lowest setting,” he whispered. “It should be OK as long as you don’t shine into the chute where it might reflect into the alleyway above us.”
Katya traversed the narrow beam across to the far side of the room. Beyond a pair of mess tables a hatch was ajar. She gestured for them to remain put and made her way across the floor, taking care to avoid any noise and keeping the beam fixed ahead. As she crouched through the hatch, Ben leaned back into the chute to listen for any sound above.