“Stay down, Cap,” a voice shouted above him and McCally came into the doorway. “I’ve got this one.”
“This is for Briggs, ya bastard,” he shouted and let off a volley, blowing the beast’s face into flying scraps of carapace and soft parts. Banks had to shift to almost between McCally’s legs to avoid being splattered in green. The blue shimmer on the underbelly faded and the beast let out an almost comical fart, then fell heavily on the deck with a thud before the weight of its now lifeless body pulled it back and off the gallery walkway out of their view. A loud splash echoed around them as it fell to the engine room floor.
A voice called out from somewhere above; Hynd had come down to the foot of the control room stairwell.
“You lads need any help down there?”
McCally called back up.
“Nah, the wanker’s dead. It’s sorted.”
“Then get your arses up here, pronto,” Hynd shouted back. “There’s something you need to see.”
Banks looked out the view window as soon as he got back to the control room; the forward deck was completely clear, the beasts gone as silently as they had come; even the top of the drill rig was clear of the large isopod they’d seen sitting there.
I hope it was you we got, you bastard.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” McCally said, but there was something else in Hynd’s voice when he replied.
“The fact the beasties are gone? Aye, fucking great. But it’s not what I wanted you to see.”
He pointed north. A gray wall, an approaching storm front with paler cloud tops towering impossibly high above loomed over the horizon, getting visibly closer.
“Well, that’s fucking marvelous, that is,” McCally said.
“How long before it hits hard do you think?” Banks asked.
The Russian woman spoke first.
“An hour at most. We had one come through last week and things got a bit rough but she rode it out okay.”
“Aye,” Banks replied, “maybe. But I’m guessing she wasn’t holed at the water line and shipping water back then.”
“We could make for the kayaks?” Hynd said. “Head for shore?”
“We’d be sitting ducks if the beasts came for us,” Banks replied. “Much as I hate to admit it, we might be better off here waiting for the chopper.”
The rest of the words were unspoken but everyone knew they were there.
Unless we sink first.
Nobody spoke for a while, watching the storm front edge ever closer. McCally left and went over to join Mac, making up a brew of tea on the stove and sharing smokes in silence. After a while, Banks checked his watch.
“Keep an eye out the window,” he said. “I need to check in.”
He took out the satellite phone, switched it on and punched the number.
“Check one,” he said when it was answered and the voice at the other end replied in kind, “Check one.” The line was immediately dropped but Banks was done speaking in any case. He knew there was no sense in giving any more update; none would be heard and the chopper was already on its way. He wasn’t going to be able to get it here any faster.
He switched the phone off and looked to Hynd.
“Anything?”
“A big bugger poked its head up over by the drill rig but as soon as you switched the phone off, it fucked off again. We’re still all clear.”
“Well, it’s something, anyway,” Banks said, then looked out the window for himself. Several drops of sleety rain spattered like hard pellets against the glass.
The boat’s hull creaked loudly and the vessel rolled several feet to port, then righted itself again. The storm clouds loomed to the north, a black wall getting ready to fall on them from a great height. The weather had already begun to ramp up.
Three more hours. That’s all I ask. Just three more hours.
He wasn’t sure they were going to get it.
- 12 -
Svetlanova had all of the men’s names clear in her mind now. Her head too was clear, the ringing having faded into the far distance, her hearing almost back to normal, although she made a mental note not to stand so close to them if there was going to be more shooting.
She had also come to a decision on her immediate future; she’d thrown her lot in with these men, even when every fiber of her being was telling her to get back to the pantry and hide. She knew it was unrealistic; this team was her only chance of getting out of here. If it meant being taken to London for questioning, then so be it; Banks had already heard her recording and there really wasn’t a lot more she could tell them they hadn’t already heard or seen for themselves. In their vernacular, the Russians came, they drilled, they fucked up, story over. It made for a succinct, if short, report.
Over the last hour, she’d even developed a bond with the wounded Glaswegian man, Mac. She watched his wounds for any sign of green, all clear so far, and he gave her cigarettes and chat. They both thought they were getting a good deal.
He’d listened while she retold her story, having asked to hear it.
“Did you not hear when the captain played it back?” she asked.
“I’m Glaswegian, lass,” he said. “We have enough trouble with English, never mind Russian.”
It took a while in the telling, over strong sweet tea and more of Mac’s cigarettes. He studied her with more respect after he heard the tale.
“How long were you in yon wee room?”
“Two days, I think.”
“Then you’re a braver man than me, lass. I’d have gone mental.”
“I’m not sure I didn’t, for a while,” she replied. She took another of his cigarettes. She was developing a taste for this British tobacco; and it kept her mind off what was going on outside the window.
The storm had already ramped up; beyond the glass was now a sheet of running water but she didn’t have to see out to know it was bad. The rock and sway of the boat told her that, along with the now incessant creak and squeal of the hull sounding up from somewhere far below them.
Mac saw her apprehension and laughed.
“Don’t worry, lass,” he said. “These old boats can take a pounding. My auld dad built buggers like this on the Clyde and took me along to see them when I was a bairn; I know what their bones look like and they’re hardy. And besides, this isn’t even the worst scrape the cap’s got us into and out of.”
He started into a long involved story, of a brothel in Cairo, a girl who was really a boy, a misunderstanding about payment, and an epic bar fight followed by a hasty retreat involving half the Egyptian police force. The details of every twist and turn of the tale had them both laughing long before the end.
She was surprised to look up to see Banks take out the satellite phone for his next check-in.
“Is it worth the risk, Cap,” McCally said. “You said yourself, the chopper’s on its way already.”
The captain motioned toward the window.
“If anything wants to come out in this weather to get at us, it’s welcome to try,” he said. He switched the phone on, checked in as before, and signed off again. If any of the isopods had taken note, it was impossible to tell. Hynd was by the door watching the stairwell and gave the thumbs up as Banks put the phone away.
“Two hours,” he said. “All we have to do is sit tight.”
“Can they land in this weather?” Svetlanova asked, for she knew from experience that nothing Russian would attempt to fly, never mind land, in the middle of an Arctic Circle storm like this. Russian pilots were brave but they were also realists.