“We could use a brew. Over.”
Jack hammered out his final sequence.
“Full English breakfast on its way. Await return. Out.”
Twenty minutes later the ADSA had rounded the eastern promontory of the island and risen to thirty metres below sea level. Jack knew he had to find a route over the volcano to the audience chamber, but first he had a visit to pay. In Aslan’s headquarters Jack had memorized the GPS co-ordinates from the SATSURV image of Vultura, and he had programmed them into the ADSA’s navigation tracking system. The radar terrain-mapper had amply proved its worth, the 3-D virtual-reality display providing detailed bathymetry for hundreds of metres on either side as well as surface contacts which were impossible to see in the Stygian gloom.
The unmistakable image of a large surface vessel appeared bang on target two hundred metres ahead. Jack felt like the driver of a midget submarine infiltrating an enemy harbour, one whose occupants had no reason to suspect an intrusion. As far as they were concerned, he was long gone, a nuisance disposed of forever when the ravaged hulk of Seaquest entombed him in the abyss.
The terrain-mapper showed he was approaching the stern of the vessel, the twin screws and rudder assembly clearly visible on the screen. Twenty metres below, Jack began his final ascent, slowly injecting air into the buoyancy chamber and corkscrewing upwards using the lateral thrusters. At fifteen metres the dark outline of the hull became visible to the naked eye and he could see the sun shining off the waves on either side. As he came closer he could make out scars where the valiant efforts of York and Howe had left their mark, and he could hear the muffled clanging of repair work on the turbojet tubes directly above.
He nestled the ADSA against the rudder assembly and repeated the procedure he had carried out on the submersible less than an hour before. He extracted the second bubble-mine mesh and wrapped it round the rudder pintle, this time securing the ends with an additional strand beneath the screw. As he clicked on the detonator he glanced up and saw the wavering forms of two figures leaning against the starboard gunwale. Fortunately the oxygen rebreather produced none of the telltale exhaust of scuba gear, and he would not be seen against the inky depths.
He knew there was a chance that Katya and Costas were in the vessel above him. The explosive would cause massive damage to the screw and rudder but should be deflected by the armour plating of the hull. It was a risk he had to take. Yet again he mouthed a silent prayer.
He had gambled that the crew would be preoccupied with topside damage from the gun battle the day before and would already have carried out an inspection below the waterline. To minimize the risk of detection he opted to descend using the lateral thrusters rather than the buoyancy chamber, even though it meant draining the battery reserve.
A mere ten minutes after first sighting the hull, the ADSA disappeared as silently as it had come, dropping into the murky depths and stealing off without being seen or heard by any of the crew on Vultura.
Using the terrain-mapper to navigate, Jack jetted half a kilometre towards the western shore of the island and found a cove out of sight of Vultura. As the rocky seabed rose up to meet him, all power suddenly ceased. The battery was dead. He reduced his buoyancy and dropped down to complete the final leg on foot, striding upwards over the billowing folds of lava towards the surf line.
He found a flat rock in two metres of water and cautiously broke surface. He locked the limbs of the ADSA and decoupled the neck ring. As he pushed open the helmet, he blinked furiously in the sunlight and gasped repeatedly, his lungs filling with fresh air for the first time since he had tumbled into the command module on Seaquest more than three hours previously.
He hauled himself out and squatted on the rocky ledge. It was a brilliant summer afternoon, the sun glinting off the waves that lapped at his feet. Over the barren shore the precipitous slopes of the island rose ahead of him. Above the uppermost ridge he could see a plume of white framed against the sky.
He had no time to savour the relief of survival. The pain from his wound was searing his side and he knew he had no time to lose.
After quickly looking around to make sure he was alone, he removed the items he had brought from the weapons locker. He was still wearing the helicopter flight suit and shoved the detonator transceiver into one thigh pocket and the two Semtex charges into the other. He took out the Beretta, pulled the slide back to cock it and replaced it in his chest holster. He then extracted the SA80 and the three magazines, pushing one in place and sliding the other two into his waist pockets. After checking the sound suppressor, he pulled the bolt and slung it over his back.
He closed the helmet and gently toppled the ADSA back beneath the waves. It had been his lifesaver, his reminder that Costas had been with him in spirit. But now no amount of technology would guarantee his safe passage. It was up to him alone, to his physical stamina and strength of will.
He swivelled round to contemplate the rocky slope ahead.
“Payback time,” he muttered under his breath.
The jagged wall of rock loomed above Jack as he made his way inland. Between him and a plateau some eighty metres above were three terraces, each culminating in a razor-edged row of pinnacles and punctuated by fracture lines and gullies. The basalt was hard and coarse and gave an excellent grip. He had no alternative but to climb it.
He slung the SA80 more tightly and began to ascend a vertical chimney that rose the entire height of the first pitch. About halfway up, it narrowed and he inched higher with his legs braced on either side, eventually heaving himself onto a narrow platform some thirty metres above his start point. The second pitch was precipitous but straightforward, Jack’s ample reach proving advantageous as he worked his way up a series of finger-holds and ledges. He continued past the second row of pinnacles onto the third pitch until he reached a point just below the summit where an overhang jutted out almost a metre along the entire length of the cliff.
As he balanced spread-eagled against the rock face, he knew that any hesitation would only weaken his resolve. With his mind blank to the consequences of failure, he threw his right arm outwards and curled his fingers round the edge. Once he was certain of his hold he released his other hand and snapped it beside the first. He was hanging over eighty metres of vertiginous rock that would tear him to shreds if he fell. He began to swing his legs, slowly at first and then with increased momentum. On the second attempt he hooked his right leg over the top and scrambled to safety.
The scene that confronted him was breathtaking. He crouched down to recover his strength and looked out over a wilderness of solidified lava. Some two hundred metres to his right lay the cone of the volcano, its chimney spewing out a voluminous cloud of vapour that rose in a swirling column high into the sky. Partway down the cone he could see an unassuming low entrance above a rock-cut stairway that meandered down the saddle towards him and disappeared out of sight to the left. It was evidently an ancient route up the volcano on the outside, the one taken by Aslan and his men when they first reached the island.
The lesser peak some thirty metres ahead was a massive upwelling of jet-black lava. The top was level like a landing pad, an impression reinforced by the Kamov Ka-28 Helix parked in the middle. Round the perimeter Jack counted four black-clad figures, all armed with AK or Heckler & Koch submachine guns.
The most astonishing sight was the structure surrounding the helicopter. Encircling the platform was a ring of giant megaliths, upright stones at least three times the height of a man and two metres in girth. The stones were weathered from millennia of exposure but had once been finely finished. They were capped by massive flat slabs that formed a continuous circular lintel. Inside were five free-standing trilithons, each pair of stones with its lintel arranged in a horseshoe pattern that opened west towards the volcanic cone.