Secker merely nodded.
‘And NATO is basing the operation in Norfolk, Virginia? Do we have anyone there?’
‘We do.’
‘Good. Contact him right away.’
‘No need. He has already called us. The navy has enlisted specialists. He’s not sure what they are planning, but they are very keen to get to the root of what this is all about.’
‘Of course they are. Give your contact free rein. I want updates as they come in, Hans. Got that? Also, get Sterling Van Lee onto it. He’s our best…’
‘I took the liberty…’
Buckingham nodded. ‘Good.’ She looked back down to the photograph of the Titanic lying broken in two on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean and drew on the fat cigar. ‘Who could have imagined such a thing?’ She handed the papers to Secker then strode across the room, through the hall and out onto the gravel driveway towards the waiting chopper.
5
NATO had deployed four surface warships to patrol the perimeter of the Exclusion Zone — two destroyers, the USS Brooklyn and USS Toledo, along with the Australian ship HMAS Darwin and a British aircraft carrier, HMS Ipswich. An AWACS Boeing E-3 Sentry patrolled the skies over the region and was in constant communication with HQs on both sides of the Atlantic. The Exclusion Zone itself was an area of twenty-seven square miles centred on the point above the wreck of the Titanic.
All vessels were operating under Extreme Radiation Risk status, which meant that no crew were allowed on deck unless they were wearing full radiation suits. The ocean was strewn with dead and decaying marine life ranging from a host of tiny minnows to larger fish, octopuses and plants. The stench was ferocious.
Only twenty-four hours had passed since Captain Derham had walked into Kate and Lou’s lab, and now they were inside the Exclusion Zone aboard USS Armstrong, the mother ship for the JV1 and JV2 deep-ocean subs. The ship was a small, purpose-built vessel, with a crew of just twelve. Heavily shielded to protect it against high radiation levels, it was only lightly armed with two 5-inch/54 calibre mark 45 guns.
‘These are the latest probe images just in,’ Jerry Derham said. He, Kate and Lou were alone in the ready room of the Armstrong. There was a knock on the door and a woman wearing a naval commander’s uniform stepped in. She had short auburn hair and a hard face. Kate and Lou had met her briefly at Norfolk Naval Base. Commander Jane Milford was the navy’s number one Jules Verne submarine pilot and had put in over five hundred submersed hours in JV1 and JV2. She had been in the Exclusion Zone for twenty-four hours before Derham, Lou and Kate had arrived, and she had already made a surveillance dive to the Titanic wreck in a conventional deep-ocean submersible.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, ‘last-minute checks on JV1.’
Derham looked up. ‘Commander. Please, sit down. I was just showing these guys the latest probe images. The wreck looks kinda eerie, don’t you think?’
‘It does,’ Kate said and flicked a glance at her colleague. ‘I know Lou is a pretty hard-nosed pragmatist about it. I guess you’re used to it too, commander.’
‘I don’t think you ever get used to it, doctor, especially seeing it in the flesh.’
Lou looked up from the large colour prints. ‘The Titanic is different,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask me why. It’s not just the scale of it.’
‘It’s because the ship was meant to be unsinkable. It was a symbol of man’s technological prowess and it was brought down by a chunk of ice,’ Kate said. ‘I mean, just look here.’ She pointed to an opened book close to the prints. It was an annotated collection of photographs of the interior of the gigantic liner all taken by a photographer from the Illustrations Bureau a few days before the launch. The photo on the left-hand page showed one of the First Class lounges. It was so incredibly opulent — gorgeous cornicing, ornate brass lamps, sumptuous chesterfields. Then she sifted the prints from the probe and found the one she was after. ‘If I’m not mistaken, this is the same room now.’
The image showed a shattered mockery of the first picture: the cornicing had crumbled, the beautiful hardwood floorboards were entirely gone, the furniture was now no more than a pile of nails and a collection of corroded steel truss rods. A piece of brass lamp lay in the centre of the room.
‘Something like 6,000 artefacts have been removed from the wreck since its location was discovered in 1985, all retrieved by robot probes,’ Derham said, unrolling a schematic of the ship’s interior. ‘The ocean floor is strewn with wreckage, but the source of the radiation is not there. It’s definitely inside the ship. Commander Milford has been concentrating on narrowing down the precise location.’
‘We now think the epicentre of the radiation source is situated towards the bow of the ship beyond the forward Grand Staircase, two floors down from the boat deck.’ She pointed it out on the diagram. ‘Our best bet is here — a First Class cabin, C16. We’ve tried, but we haven’t been able to get a remote probe that far into the ship.’
‘Isn’t that a little worrying?’ Kate said, still looking at the schematic.
‘Why? You mean, if a probe can’t get in there, how can we?’ Milford asked.
‘Precisely.’
‘I appreciate your concerns,’ Derham responded. ‘But no probe is that manoeuvrable. Also, the radiation down there interferes with the signal we use to control them.’
‘Most importantly, though,’ Milford interrupted, ‘there’s no substitute for human eyes and ears. This is the whole reason we need you both. You are world authorities in the study of marine wrecks.’
Derham pointed to the print on the table. ‘The latest images we have show the best way to get into the wreck is close to the port anchor… here.’ He then found another close-up and a computer-enhanced image of the exterior. They could make out every dent and rivet. ‘You can see here the displaced sediment rises up either side of the hull almost reaching the anchor. It’ll be perilous, but we should be able to reach the boat deck using some of the holes and protrusions in the hull above the anchor. It’s then a question of finding an entranceway into the ship and locating cabin C16. I can’t reiterate too many times just how dangerous this trip is going to be. The ocean floor nearly two and a half miles beneath the surface is as inhospitable as deep space.’
‘I don’t think either of us is expecting it to be a walk in the park,’ Kate remarked.
‘You’re certainly right there,’ Milford said quietly, and she glanced round at the three of them with a very serious expression. ‘And, there is one more thing you probably should know. The suits. We’ve just had the final tests conducted on three sets at Norfolk. The technicians have emailed over the results.’
‘When was this?’ Derham asked, suddenly concerned.
‘Just five minutes ago, sir.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘No,’ Milford replied emphatically. ‘No problem, but the final tests show that suit integrity can only be guaranteed for up to sixty-two minutes forty-four seconds.’
Kate looked grave. ‘And what happens then?’
Milford shrugged. ‘Maybe nothing. The suit might be fine for a long time after that.’