“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman, then repeated the order.
K449 responded immediately and began to descend on the course change.
Two minutes later the helmsman called, “Seabed rising. One hundred… Seventy-five… Fifty.”
“Level off!” Kamani ordered urgently.
They were now so close to the shoreline the seabed was rapidly rising to meet it.
“Captain – sonar. Contact course two-two-five. Speed unchanged. Range 1,000 yards and closing.”
“Captain, aye,” acknowledged Kamani, now seriously concerned that the liner had changed course to come closer to the shoreline that he was running parallel with. If the liner kept on coming, it would effectively squeeze him up against the shore. He calculated there would be less than 500 feet between them if the liner remained on its present course, and he could get no closer to the shore at the time that they were passing.
“Come to periscope depth – all haste. Rise with the seabed. Keep your depth ten feet clear. Maintain periscope depth.”
One minute later, “Up periscope.”
“Captain – sonar. Contact course unchanged. Speed unchanged. Range 500 yards.”
The periscope hissed into position; Kamani grabbed at the cross grips and hurriedly looked through the viewer, heart leaping upon seeing the big liner fill the lens; it was almost upon them. They were now so close into the shoreline with no more room to manoeuvre in the 1,500 feet that separated the two vessels. If he did not react immediately to the danger, K449 would effectively be crushed against the steeply rising channel bed.
“Flank speed!” he all but screamed, praying the seabed rose evenly and had no uncharted obstacles along its course.
K449 surged forward at full speed like a startled fish, her hull scraping the seabed in the frantic effort to escape the fast narrowing confines, wobbling sharply as the underwater turbulence of both ships met when the liner passed only 200 feet away to starboard.
They made it to safety, but only by the smallest of margins.
“Reduce speed to ten knots,” ordered a relieved Captain Kamani once out of the narrow channel and into De Lomas Bay. “All sections check and report on damage.”
Those on the bridge of the cruise liner had noticed the sudden surge of water forming a bow wave to starboard for no apparent reason. The duty officer duly logged it and continued his watch, wondering if perhaps that could have been a sub, but immediately discounted it on the grounds that it was unlikely for one to be here in the Strait and so close to the shore.
Soon reports came back to Captain Kamani that no damage had occurred to K449 and all was intact, apart from superficial damage to the hull, which in no way weakened its structural integrity according to the monitoring equipment. The captain was again relieved and thanked Allah for their good fortune. However, he would have preferred a visual check of the hull, but there was no time for that. He worried too that someone on the liner may have seen the swell caused by the sudden burst of underwater speed so close to the surface.
De Lomas Bay was the last stretch of water before entering the Atlantic forty miles eastwards through the seventeen mile wide mouth between Point Catalina on the south side and Point Dungeness on the north. According to the charts, water depth there ranged from between 150 to 200 feet. If the mouth was patrolled, and Kamani had no reason to believe otherwise based on what they had experienced at the other end, they could expect a passage fraught with danger and this time there would be no alternative route to take.
“We will go in as close as we can to the northern shore and creep around this head at no more than five knots,” said the captain to his XO, running his finger over the chart and placing it down on Dungeness Point. “And pray to Allah we get lost in shore noise to anyone listening.”
Four hours later, K449 arrived without mishap at Dungeness Point and edged slowly around the headland, two miles offshore, heading north into the Atlantic and keeping as close as she dared to the coastline. Once well away from the mouth, a sense of profound relief overcame Captain Kamani and his crew, knowing that they had come through the Magellan Strait and into the Atlantic Ocean unscathed. They gave thanks to Allah for deliverance and the heightened opportunity now to strike at the very heart of the infidel for the glory of Islam.
21
From a well-concealed vantage point overlooking gulag Camp 19, Ryder focused his binoculars on the oblong-shaped camp below, enclosed by a double line of five-yard high mesh fencing topped with barbed-wire. From what he could make out, the compound covered a very large area surrounded by dense forest. The smell of sewage and wood smoke hung heavily in the air. Lines of single-storey rectangular army-style barracks were laid out in a regular pattern for as far as the eye could see. To the left, on the shorter western end immediately below them stood the main gate, the administration buildings and what Ryder assumed to be a large hall. In the early evening light, from their elevated position, they could clearly make out inmates milling around the timber huts, guards at the entrance and a group of fifteen to twenty inmates being herded into the hall. One of them had been set upon by several guards and was being beaten mercilessly.
“Jesus!” spat Chol. “Those fuckers are animals.”
The others murmured in agreement, except Grace, who could not bring herself to watch.
“Could that group be going out tonight?” Bom questioned.
“Maybe,” Ryder answered. “If they do, we’ll follow. In the meantime, we wait.”
“Risky – could be hours, even days,” said Chol.
“We have no choice. We must stay close and hope that group leaves tonight.”
“Greg’s right, boss, we can’t afford to hang around,” pressed Song.
“We wait,” Ryder snapped, hoping like hell it would be short-lived. Food was low and it would present a high risk of discovery to wait too long.
As light began to fade, they watched the camp inmates settle in for the night. They had a clear view of the entrance and the detention centre, and could observe all movements in that particular area, especially the side of the centre where the inmates entered and left. Dusk soon settled over the gulag, bathed by a near-full moon and pools of yellow light from flood lamps. It was warm with a gentle breeze ruffling the trees. Ryder stood first watch whilst the others tried to get what rest they could.
One hour into the watch the doors to the centre suddenly opened, spilling out yellow light and a group of thirty inmates. They were made to line up in two columns not far from the entrance. Relief washed over Ryder. He awoke the others and they quickly gathered up their belongings and followed him down the slope.
Once at the bottom, concealed in the bush near the gulag entrance, they silently waited to see what would happen next. The two lines of inmates had not moved since coming out of the detention centre; they just stood obediently to attention under the lights and watchful eyes of the guards. Could this be a punishment of some kind? Or maybe an exercise for the sadistic pleasure of the guards? Ryder hoped and prayed it was to move them out of the compound to a lab somewhere in the surrounding hills.
A frail woman collapsed in the front line. The man behind bent down to help and was brutally beaten for his compassion. The woman, too, suffered the boot severely as she lay on the ground. Ryder and the others winced at the severity of the beatings. It ended when an officer emerged from the nearby administration building, barked orders and the two lines marched out through the gates. The woman was left where she lay.
Could they be heading for some subterranean laboratory? The location at least was in the right area, according to the briefing. The odds of two bio-labs, separately established in the same vicinity, seemed unlikely. Was their luck holding?