Lou glanced back at the crack in the ocean bed. The nano-carbon ladder was dangling from its anchor point on the far side. The end that had been perched on their side of the ravine had fallen away, lost in the blackness of the terrifying opening. A remaining few pieces lay scattered over the sand.
‘We’re still a long way from the hold,’ Milford said. She flicked a look at her monitor as she strode on. ‘356 feet to be precise.’
They marched on, adrenalin pumping through them. As they covered the uneven surface, they began to let go of the fear of seismic activity. With less than twenty minutes of life left in their suits they had to take the chance.
‘The time limit was measured under lab conditions,’ Kate said breathlessly as she hurried along. ‘It could be inaccurate.’
Neither Lou nor Jane Milford replied. They each knew the obvious… the lab results could indeed be inaccurate… but either way.
The commander checked her monitor. Eighteen minutes, twenty seconds left. ‘Come on, gotta move faster,’ she snapped, gasping for breath.
‘Armstrong, Armstrong… Come in, please. Armstrong… Is anyone there?’ she called through the comms link to the surface. ‘This is a Code Red… I repeat… a Code Red. We need immediate help. Do you read?’
Static.
‘Armstrong…’ Milford was on the point of exhaustion.
Then they saw the hold. It appeared suddenly in their torch beams sitting on the hardened sand, a silhouette of sharp edges and ragged, rusted sides.
Lou checked his screen. Thirty-two yards to go and seven minutes, sixteen seconds left for the suits.
The metal box looked more dilapidated than the images had made it out to be. Close up, they could see how the sides were covered in a thick layer of rust, and strange deep-ocean crustaceans. Chemicals had leached out of the alloy of the container’s walls and run down the rutted sides in potently coloured streaks. It creaked, a sound similar to the one they’d heard as they approached the Titanic three days ago. This was quieter, weaker, but it was the sound of containment under strain, bolts slipping inexorably from nuts, rivets moving a tiny fraction of an inch. It was the sound of imminent collapse.
Milford dashed to the door in the front of the cargo hold. It was covered with rust, but the oblong outline could just be seen in the beams of their torches. To one side at waist height was the opening mechanism, a large wheel that sent a bolt into a plate on the wall. It was tempting to imagine they could simply break the mechanism with a crowbar or some special gizmo designed by the DARPA eggheads, but that wasn’t an option because if they got it open they had to reseal the door, so they could operate the air lock inside, pump out the water and enter the hold itself.
Milford leaned on the wheel. It didn’t move even a fraction of an inch, as though it had been welded into place. ‘Lou, Kate. Come on.’
It was difficult for them to find a position in which they could all exert force on the wheel to open the door; their suits kept getting in the way. But finally they managed it. Lou positioned himself behind Milford and stretched over to the wheel. Kate slipped into a space beside the commander and just got her hands to it.
Lou saw the numbers on his sleeve display: ‘3 minutes 2 seconds.’
‘On three… One, two, three… PUSH!’ Milford bellowed through the comms.
They bore down on the wheel, but it was obvious from the feel of it that they hadn’t even come close to loosening the mechanism.
They stood back, knowing there was no chance they could move the wheel this way. Lou unclasped the straps of the plastic container he’d been carrying on his back. Milford crouched down and opened it up.
‘We need to cut around the wheel without damaging it,’ she said and reached for a small pistol-sized device nestled in a foam tray inside Lou’s pack. Not wasting a second, she spun round and lifted it to the rusted area around the wheel mechanism. ‘It’s a type of laser,’ she explained and brought it close to the disfigured metal.
Lou checked his watch. ‘1 minute 24 seconds.’ He swallowed hard and refused to let the panic take over.
Milford fired the laser. It produced an intense blue light that sliced through the metal around the wheel. Moving it with precise sweeps, she seared away the chemicals and the fused remains of dead sea creatures jamming the mechanism. Slivers of jagged metal scattered and tumbled through the water to the ocean floor.
Kate saw the time on her screen: ‘54 seconds.’
‘All right,’ the commander said, snapping off the laser and letting it float down to the sand. ‘Again. Take up positions… as before.’
‘One… two… three… push.’
Nothing happened.
‘Again. Push.’
The three of them heaved forward in unison, bearing down with all the strength they could muster. None of them needed to look at their screens now.
The wheel would not budge.
‘Again!’ Milford screamed. And finally… some movement. It was slight, but enough to fill them with hope and renewed energy.
‘Step back,’ Milford commanded. ‘Take a deep breath. And push… PUSH!.. PUSH!’
The wheel freed and they stumbled forward as it rotated half a turn. Milford moved the wheel round; it was stiff, but she was charged up, filled with a primal power, a drive to survive. The wheel began to move faster. It reached the end of its run and they all pulled on it, stepping back as the door began to ease outwards.
‘Yes!’ Lou exclaimed. ‘Yes!’
When the sound came through the comms, Kate and Lou had no idea what it was. It was a sound like no other they had ever heard in their lives. But then they felt a vibration through the water and subconsciously they knew what that meant.
Spinning in unison, they saw that Commander Jane Milford had turned to a solid block of carbon.
38
Fortescue had ordered a second breakfast, this one for himself When the steward arrived with it, the scientist made a big fuss about how insatiably hungry he was feeling The man, who had also brought the first tray to the room half an hour earlier, gave him a puzzled look that quickly transformed into a polite smile and he retreated with the remains of the first breakfast, the one Billy had consumed.
It was over his third slice of toast that Fortescue decided he would not wait until he reached New York to talk to Billy’s relatives. Satiated with a pair of kippers, fine pastries and a pot of tea, he pulled on his jacket and headed out of his room en route to the barber’s one deck up on B. He had just reached the end of his corridor and was emerging onto the main reception area close to the Grand Staircase when he was almost thrown off his feet by a fast young body charging straight into him. He looked down to see the petrified face of Billy O’Donnell.
‘What the devil?’ Fortescue exclaimed.
‘Mr Wick…’
Fortescue saw a steward in a badly stained white uniform pick himself up and dust himself down. Then turning, he watched as a maintenance worker arrived breathing heavily. ‘You little ’orror!’ he exclaimed and made a grab for Billy.
Fortescue stepped forward, gently manoeuvring the boy to one side. ‘It’s quite all right,’ he began.
At that moment, a man in an officer’s uniform arrived. It was Herbert Pitman, the ship’s Third Officer. He stood a few feet away from the tableau, hands on hips, a pained expression beginning to spread across his face. He took a step towards Fortescue. The stricken young steward who had been carrying the breakfast tray was clearing up the mess.