Martin put his hands on the soles of her feet and pushed, ramming her inside the narrow tube.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “The sound has nowhere to go. Even from here, they might hear you in the conference room.
She held up a hand, just visible in the small space above her head, to acknowledge she had heard.
“We’ll give you ninety seconds, then the fans have to go back on. I’m starting the clock…now.”
Lucya heard his footsteps as he retreated, and the clicking of the huge wall-door closing behind. In the total blackness, she began to wriggle and squirm her way forwards.
• • •
Jake couldn’t help but glance at his watch every few minutes as he made his way to deck two.
“It’s two minutes since the last time you checked,” the sailor by his side said, adding at the last minute: “Sir. Relax, it’ll be fine.”
“You’re right, Daniel. Sorry. It’s just…”
“Yeah, I know. It’s the kids. Really gets to you.”
“Do you have children?” Jake looked surprised; the man looked like he was barely out of school.
“None of my own. Two nieces though, and a little brother…” His voice tailed off.
Jake knew why, and he knew better than to press the subject.
They arrived at the starboard passenger hatch to find a welcoming committee. Four more sailors that Jake knew vaguely were waiting for them. In the time he had negotiated an extension with the Koreans, they had successfully re-established a walkway to the Lance.
“The engine is running. We’re ready to go when you are,” the man nearest the exit announced.
“Thank you, er…”
“Cummings, sir. Billy Cummings.”
The other three introduced themselves in turn. Jake made no particular effort to remember the names. He doubted they would spend enough time together for it to matter.
“So, we’re just waiting for one more.” Jake looked around, checking his watch again. Another minute gone by. Another minute closer to the Koreans’ deadline. He fought the urge to walk the short distance to the classroom standoff. He knew there was nothing to be gained by returning there, but the desire to see Erica, to check she hadn’t been harmed, was powerful.
“I think this is them, sir,” Cummings said.
“Looks like it. And please, all of you, just call me Jake, okay? We all know I’m in charge. Beyond that, who cares about rank?”
Coming towards them, a nurse pushed a wheelchair in which was sat a thin and frail-looking woman.
Jake held out a hand. “Captain Jake Noah. You must be…Mrs Kolstad?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I’m not Ove’s wife. I haven’t seen her. My name is Bodil Solem.”
“You’re a science officer?”
“Yes, specialising in deep-sea research.” She spoke perfect English with only a hint of an accent.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“It is not physical work, Captain. My legs might be weakened, but my mind remains intact.”
“Of course.” He turned to the nurse. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.” A nod to Cummings, and the sailor took the chair in hand, wheeling it out through the exit and over the new temporary walkway. Jake and the others followed.
Jake had never thought of the bridge of the Spirit of Arcadia as being particularly plush. Indeed, its rows of dull consoles were a world away from the more opulent passenger areas of the ship. Compared to the Lance, though, the Arcadia was the height of luxury. The research ship’s bridge could best be described as functional. Everything that was required to navigate safely through the polar waters was present and correct. No more, and no less. If the Norwegian Polar Institute that operated her had spent money anywhere, it must have been in the labs, Jake thought. It certainly wasn’t on the bridge.
Daniel Barrett immediately took up the helm. The others looked expectantly at Jake. There was no captain’s chair to speak of, no pedestal where he could issue orders from on high. It was a simple room, with all the controls laid out along the front. He stood in the middle of the console, and gave the order. “Helm, take us out when ready. Due north, fifteen knots.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Jake looked at the man, opened his mouth to speak, but saw Daniel grinning and changed his mind.
Twenty-Seven
THE NOISE, WHEN it started, was so loud it made Lucya’s head spin. She was too close to the pipe’s entrance; she should have made better progress before they restarted the giant fans. The whirring sound reverberated around her, and for a short while she became completely disoriented in the blackness of the tunnel. A thought flashed through her mind: this was what being buried alive must feel like. Except it wouldn’t have felt like that, because an instant later a jet of cold air hit her like a tornado, rolling over her body, under her legs, wrapping itself around her, clutching her tight. Before she could stop herself, Lucya gave a shriek. She shaped her mouth shut and swallowed the rest of the sound that had tried to escape. She hoped beyond hope that her involuntary gasp would be lost in the swirling air.
The fan regulated itself to a steady speed, and the air flow settled accordingly. Even the noise level dropped off, just a touch.
Lucya realised she had her eyes closed tight. She opened them again, but it made no difference. No light ventured into the tube.
With her hands outstretched in front of her, she placed her palms flat against the curved interior and pulled herself forwards. At the same time, she bent her legs as far as the confined space would allow, and pushed with the toes of her rubber gym shoes. They gave good grip against the slippery surface, but the limited amount of room meant she could move no more than a couple of inches at a time. While she wriggled along on her belly, painfully slowly, her mind recalled the technical drawings. Not To Scale, they had said. Martin had estimated the distance nonetheless. It was at least a hundred metres, and a section of that was ‘uphill’, as the pipeline went up a deck. At her current pace, she realised with horror, she had no chance of even reaching the conference room before the deadline, let alone giving the virus time to work.
• • •
“How do we know the mystery submarine won’t torpedo us?” Daniel asked. “What if they think we’re the Ambush and try and take us out? Or worse, what if the Ambush thinks we’re the unfriendly sub, and they sink us?”
“I’ve been on board the Ambush. I’ve seen their sonar at work. They’ll see us, certainly, and they’ll know we’re the Lance. They knew the Lance was the Lance even before we knew about the Lance…if that makes sense?” Jake scratched his head.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I would imagine the other submarine is similarly equipped.”
“So that begs the question” — Daniel wasn’t done yet — “how come they can’t spot each other? The Ambush is a damn sight bigger than this boat.”
It was Bodil who answered. “Modern nuclear submarines are virtually undetectable. They use a range of stealth technologies. Anechoic tiles covering the hull, highly advanced propeller designs that don’t boil the water around them and therefore don’t make noises, even the shape of the hull itself is designed to reduce its radar and sonar signature. If a submarine doesn’t want to be found, it won’t be found.”
“So how are we going to find them?” Daniel looked confused.
“We have an advantage. We can use active sonar.”
“Wait, they must have sonar too, right? If their military sonar can’t find a whacking great big submerged vessel…”