Once on her back, Lucya managed to squeeze her tightly folded arms over her face. The relief was immense; she could feel the arteries and veins open up and the blood flow freely into her muscles.
That was when she had the idea. Instead of pulling herself through the tube, she could push herself using just the lower half of her body. By raising her knees as high as the tunnel-like shaft would allow, she could then push off with her feet. Not only did this method of propulsion require far less effort than she had previously been expending, it was also a lot quieter. The rubber of the wetsuit around her back did catch a bit, but it only took a little shimmying of her shoulders to overcome that problem.
With her new method, and renewed optimism, Lucya slid up the pipe, and ever closer to the conference room, and her beloved Erica.
• • •
The sonar control room on the Lance was the opposite in every way of the bridge. Where the bridge was stark, uncomfortable, and bathed in light from the huge amounts of glass, the sonar room was well appointed and dark, lit as it was by subtle spots set into the black ceiling. The walls and floor were black, too, reminding Jake of a cinema, although a very tiny one. Two walls were fitted with an L-shaped console, inset with screens, keyboards, and dials.
“This looks like the inside of the Ambush,” Jake said as he walked in.
“I bet the Ambush doesn’t have carpet,” Bodil replied.
“Actually, it does. Coote told me it was to deaden the noise inside. It helps make them even less detectable.”
The scientist nodded gently. “Makes sense.” She tapped some commands into a keyboard, and watched the screen directly in front of her for a response.
Jake came and sat down next to her. Two of the sailors were outside, managing a complex winch system that had lowered the sonar pod into the water. The other two were in the sonar control room, wheeling Bodil from screen to screen as she required.
“Is the sonar on? Sending out noise?”
“I’m just about to light it up now. One more test to run and then we’re off to the races, as you English like to say, yes?”
“Your grasp of our language is impressive.”
“My husband is from Yorkshire.”
“God’s own county.”
“So he tells me.”
“Were there many Solems in Yorkshire?”
“Funny.” She gave an exaggerated, obviously false laugh. “I kept my name. There.” She tapped another button. “Tests complete. Now, we go for it.”
Jake moved to the edge of his seat. “This is where we find out if they want to sink us, as well as the Ambush.”
Bodil’s fingers worked at the keyboard. Two of the screens on the console, previously blank, suddenly filled with colour. Against a deep blue backdrop, a swirling circle of reds, greens and yellows traced its way around the monitors. To Jake, it was indecipherable, but the woman appeared satisfied.
“See this blob of colour here?” A slender and unsteady finger pointed to an area on the screen nearest to Jake. “That’s the Spirit of Arcadia.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Bodil. I don’t think any of us would recognise a submarine on that thing if it started blinking at us.”
“It’s not that difficult. Just a question of experience is all.”
“So? Any sign?”
“Nothing so far. I hope you are a patient man, Captain Noah. We have a vast area to cover. Those submarines could have travelled many kilometres. My sonar is capable, but they are more capable. Searching this ocean is like…it’s like searching the floor of this room for a dropped earring whilst looking down a straw. We could get lucky, or we could pass right over, if it’s buried in the pile. Either way, it will take time.”
“That’s just it. We don’t have much time.” He checked his watch again. “Thirty-eight minutes left. We have to find the Ambush in less than thirty eight minutes.”
• • •
Max strolled up to the door of cabin 1124, his head buried in a glossy magazine, his face hidden from the spy hole he knew they would be watching from.
It hadn’t occurred to him to find anyone to come as backup. He was used to working alone. He’d done it all on this ship: busted drug dealers, broken up drunken brawls, fought off jealous husbands laying into their cheating wives’ lovers, fought off angry wives laying into cheating husbands’ lovers, and on one occasion had even fought off a pirate attack, for which he had been awarded an insultingly small bonus. Not that the money mattered to Max.
He reached around and felt the gun tucked into the back of his trousers. The security chief was more of a hands-on operator, but the weapon gave him added confidence.
He squared up to the door, standing close, too close for his face to be clearly visible. With a beefy, hairy hand, he tapped lightly.
“Who is it?” The voice was just the other side, close by.
“Customer. Fags.” He waved the magazine airily, as if chatting to an old friend in the street.
There was the unmistakable sound of a chain being undone, then the door handle twisted downwards.
Max’s timing was perfect. As the door opened the tiniest amount, he threw all of his considerable weight against it. Whoever was on the other side must have been at least as big as he was, but they were caught off guard and off balance. Their own weight sent them tumbling to the floor with a loud thump. Max pushed the door hard, sweeping aside the bulky body behind it, and marched inside. The gun remained in his trousers, his hands by his sides.
In front of him were two white armchairs, but the rest of the furniture had been stacked at the side of the room. To his left, the door to the bedroom clicked shut and he heard a key turn in the lock. He moved towards it, fully intending to break it down, when a voice to his right stopped him.
“Mister security man? Put your hands on your head.”
Max did as he was told, and swivelled slowly on the spot. He hadn’t noticed the badly dressed youth in the corner of the room, so skinny was he: a stubbly-faced man clad in a heavy-metal t-shirt that looked quite ridiculous on his bony frame. His face was strangely out of proportion, his eyes and nose too big to go with his other features. Max had to fight the urge to laugh, such was the oddity before him, but he did have one threatening feature, one attribute that made him dangerous. Max knew it was never a good idea to laugh at dangerous men. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the gun in the skinny man’s hands.
“Come on, son. Don’t do anything daft. Shoot me and you’re as good as dead. There’s nowhere to run.”
“I don’t want to shoot you, old man. It would make a terrible mess on the carpet, and that wouldn’t be good for business. I am going to have to dispose of you though.”
“Like you disposed of Grace?” Max took a step forwards.
“Hmm. Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t need her?”
“Honestly? You did me a favour. Couldn’t stand the woman. All ‘detective this’ and ‘detective that’, you know?” Another half step towards the skinny man.
“Well, she was American. I don’t like Americans.”
“I’ve nothing against them, just that one. I’m replacing her with a guy from Grimsby.” Half a step.
“That’s enough.” The skinny man waggled the weapon. “No closer, Granddad.”