“Where’s Marsh?” she asked with a biting edge to her voice. The sound of the wind almost whipped her words away.
“We had to leave him” Khan answered levelly, without a trace of emotion in his voice. “The weather was too bad for recovery.”
His voice rattled suddenly in his chest and he coughed as Helen stepped into the cabin.
“I don’t believe you,” she screamed at him. “You’ve murdered him!”
Her eyes were blazing with an intensity that made them sparkle like precious stones. Khan thought it looked like controlled insanity. Although Helen had not closed the door there a great deal of warmth of the cabin and her cheeks began to glow fiery red. Khan found the whole effect quite disarming.
He got up from his desk and walked past her to the cabin door which he closed. The noise of the wind abated and a semblance of peace descended.
“Challenger was unable to surface because of the storm,” he told her tritely.
Helen’s teeth flashed as she spat out her words.
“You’re lying, Khan. Marsh has sat through worse storms than this. He is a very skilful pilot. He would know what to do.”
Khan shrugged. “We did all we could, but Marsh understands. We have marked the area. Recovery will begin as soon as the weather conditions permit.”
Khan’s manner was so offhand it was offensive. Helen swung her hand out and slapped him with a tremendous blow to the head. Khan rocked back immediately as blood began to seep from the marks left by Helen’s slashing fingernails.
“Then why are we underway?” she shouted at him. “We should be keeping station over the Challenger until the weather calms down.”
He put a hand to his face and pulled it away. He looked at the blood on his hand and then at Helen.
“You bitch,” he snapped back at her, ignoring her question. “You will pay for that.”
His breathing began to sound quite laboured.
“You’ve murdered Marsh,” she screamed at him. “You’re nothing but an evil, murdering bastard.” She flung herself at him and started punching him about the head.
For a moment, Khan was too surprised to react to the torrent of blows that Helen rained down on him. Then suddenly he thrust his arms upwards and brought a single, punishing blow with the back of his hand that caught her on the jaw bone.
Helen rocked back and staggered towards his desk, falling against it. The blow jarred her spine and the pain seemed to rocket through her body. She cried out and clung to the desk for support as her legs weakened and threatened to buckle beneath her.
The fight was gone from her; drained in that one awful blow from Khan. She knew that she would be no match for his man’s strength and would achieve nothing but pain if she tried to attack him again.
Khan walked past her and slumped in the chair. He looked up at her and suddenly smiled.
“I admire you for your pluck, but it serves no purpose. Marsh is not here and you now have to think of your own safety.”
“I can think of nothing but Marsh,” she cried. “Why did you have to kill him? He did what you asked.”
“No,” Khan said sternly. “Marsh did what I told him to do. If he had agreed to do what I had asked, you would not have been involved and you would have both been free to live your lives as you both saw fit. Marsh has brought this upon himself.”
She studied him for a while. There was an eerie silence, intruded upon only by the sound of the winds outside. He looked expressionless; absolved by his own warped ethics of complicity in Marsh’s death.
“What are you planning to do that is so important that you quite willingly took the life of a perfectly innocent man? She asked quietly.
Instead of answering immediately, Khan got up from the desk and walked over to a control console from where he could listen to, and if necessary, supervise the dives. Above the console was a small door set into the bulkhead. He unlocked it with a key from his pocket and swung the door open. He turned then and looked at Helen like man who was about to reveal a masterpiece: a hidden treasure.
Helen could see a series of illuminated digits on a screen. Below these was a combination wheel, similar to those found on safes. Beside the wheel was a red button.
“The bombs that Marsh placed beneath the sea for us are the frontline of our war against the unbelievers, the Great Satan of America and the heretics who persecute Islam and the prophet, Mohamed.”
His eyes glazed over and Helen realised he was switching mentally from his Western, democratised character to that of his terrorist masters in their Middle East hideouts. It was a sudden metamorphosis that Helen found both intriguing and appalling.
“When I key in the correct figures,” he went on, pointing to the panel, “a lock is released. This will allow me to arm the bombs and commence a countdown to their firing. But to arm them, a satellite has to be in position above us. The computer behind this panel transmits a command to the satellite which will then arm all three bombs simultaneously by digital signal. It is vitally important that the bombs are all armed at precisely the same moment. Once the arming has been completed, I can then begin the countdown sequence by pressing this red button.” He reached up and touched the red button.
Suddenly he felt a pain ring itself around his heart and he fell forward, clutching his chest. Helen instinctively made a move towards him, but stopped herself. Khan straightened and turned away from the console.
“Once that button had been pressed,” he muttered breathlessly, “there is nothing on this earth that can stop the countdown. Victory will be ours.”
Helen felt herself weaken and she began to shake uncontrollably. She was in the company of one of the most evil men on earth and she felt powerless to stop him. She leaned against the desk for support before she collapsed and felt something bulky press against her side. She glanced down at it and saw it was a heavy, paperweight cast in bronze.
It was the Challenger.
In that moment an uncountable number of things tumbled through Helen’s mind with such speed that she was unable to find time for cogent argument. She picked up the paperweight and hurled it with all her might towards the screen
Khan ducked instinctively and put his hands up, crying out as he did so. The paperweight flew past his head and impacted on the glass. The screen immediately disintegrated with an implosive ‘plop’, and a fine, grey dust billowed out from the scarred and jagged gap.
Khan’s face fell apart. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He kept looking at the smashed monitor and then at Helen, his uncomprehending expression not changing.
Suddenly, Helen felt very afraid, expecting him to hurl himself at her and beat her savagely in his blind fury. But unexpectedly, Khan’s expression changed. He seemed to relax and stood up straight. He reached up to the door, pushed it shut and locked it.
“You know, my dear. We men still have a lot to learn.” He walked toward her. “I’m afraid my ego got the better of me. But not to worry, it’s only a monitor. It can be replaced.”
He saw the look of dismay on Helen’s face. “And we also have a back-up,” he said. “It would be insane not to.”
He took her arm and led her towards the cabin door. Pulling open the door he looked at her.
“Now, go back to your cabin and stay there. If you become too much of a trial, I will have Malik deal with you. Do you understand?”
He pushed her out and closed the door. Then he leaned back against it as the pain began to assail his chest. He staggered towards the desk where his tablets were and prayed to Allah that he would live to complete his glorious intifada against the great Satan, America.