From the Deep (23 page)

CHAPTER 48

“This is crazy, you know that, right?” Rainwater said as he waited with Mackay. “This guy’s a killer.”

“I know what he is,” Mackay said, watching as Morrison walked down the corridor towards him. “That doesn’t change a damn thing.”

“Don’t you think you’re out of your depth here? You can’t beat this guy.”

“We’ll see.”

Morrison stopped in the narrow corridor, looking Mackay up and down.

“I’m told you want to fight with me.” He said, flicking his eyes to Russo. “And it seems our host has no problem with it.”

“I don’t,” Russo said. “If he wants to get himself beaten to a pulp that’s up to him.”

“You hear that, Mac? This is the last chance you’ll get to pull out.” Morrison said, offering a warm smile.

“No, I want this.”

Even though he was trying to hide it, Rainwater could see the uncertainty in Mackay’s eyes. Morrison however looked supremely confident as he removed his glasses and handed them to Clara.

“Hold on to these for me would you?” he said, his eyes never leaving Mackay. “I’m not sure if you’re brave or stupid, Mac, so I’m going to go easy on you.” He said, pulling his sweater off and exposing his slim torso.

Although Mackay was physically superior of the two, there was a danger about Morrison that everybody could sense.

“Don’t,” Mackay said, pulling off his sweater and handing it to Rainwater. “I won’t be going easy on you, that you can count on.”

“Don’t worry,” Russo said, leaning close to Mackay’s ear. “I told him he isn’t allowed to kill you. I still need you to drive this boat.”

“What if I kill him?”

“If I thought that was even a remote possibility, this wouldn’t be happening.” Russo replied, flashing a cruel smile as he stood and addressed the group.

“Here’s how this will go down. The two of you will go into the storeroom. You have five minutes to beat the shit out of each other, after which, this is over and we get back to work. Understood?”

Mackay nodded, Morrison bounced from one foot to the other, his eyes never leaving his opponent.

“In that case, let’s do this before our creature gets too far ahead of us.”

Russo nodded to one of the armed guards by the door, who pushed it open, exposing the bare steel walled room. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Morrison said, striding into the room and waiting for Mackay.

“Hey, you don’t need to do this. It won’t bring Ox back. Let it go.” Rainwater said quietly.

“I can’t, lad. I need to do this.”

Without another word, he strode into the room.

“Okay, the five minutes begins when the door is closed. Try not to make a mess.” Russo said, and nodded to Mito, who closed and locked the door.

With the workforce clear of the aquarium, Trautman and Royston stood by the controls for the water pumps. Connected by a series of underwater pipes, the pumps were located in six separate locations around the edge of the holding tank. When activated, they would open, sucking in thousands of gallons of seawater per second. A complex filtration system would ensure nothing other than pure seawater would be pulled into the bowl. A secondary system, much like those found in water parks, would manipulate the water once in the bowl, creating currents and waves, in essence turning the aquarium into a miniature indoor ocean.

“I hope you and your guys put this together right, Trautman.”

“Don’t worry about that, just activate the pumps and we can all go home and get some shuteye.”

Royston Nodded and both men started flicking on the master switches. A dull hum filled the air as the console illuminated in sequence.

“Okay,” Trautman said, glancing at Royston, “let’s fill her up.”

Almost immediately, gallons of seawater began to spew into the massive holding tank, the sound echoing around the cavernous walls with a mighty roar.

“Pressures look good,” Trautman bellowed over the noise. “All pumps are functioning. I told you my boys wouldn’t let me down.”

Royston nodded as he watched the water level slowly begin to rise.

“Anyhow, I better go tell our insistent owners we’ve started to fill this son of a bitch,” Trautman said, clapping Royston on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on those gauges, I’ll be back in five.”

“Okay that’s it. Time’s up.” Russo said, motioning to Mito to open the door.

Mito did as he was instructed. Morrison walked out, sweat beading on his brow. His knuckles were bloody, and apart from a cut lip, his narrow face was unmarked. He grinned at Clara, and held out his hand for his glasses.

“Thanks,” he said as he slipped them on, making his way down the corridor towards his quarters. Rainwater and Clara pushed past into the room, ignoring the stench of blood and sweat.

Mackay was on the floor, curled against the wall. Despite the size and weight advantage, it was obvious he had been no match for Morrison. His breathing was wet and ragged, and as he looked at Rainwater and Clara through puffy, half-closed eyes, he even managed a bloody smile.

“Well, that didn’t go how I expected,” he wheezed, spitting blood onto the floor.

“Jesus, Mac,” Rainwater blurted, helping his friend to his feet. “Someone get him a doctor,” he yelled to those gathered outside, who were watching with indifference.

“He’s a slippery little bastard,” Mackay gasped as Clara got under his other arm and supported him as he tried to walk. “He really knows where to hit too.”

“You were lucky,” Russo said from the doorway. “He could have easily killed you.”

“He needs help, we need to get him to a doctor.” Rainwater said as MacKay’s legs buckled.

“No doctors. No more distractions. We had a deal. I held up my end, now it’s his turn to do the same.”

“He could have broken ribs, internal bleeding,” Clara said. “Please, help him.”

“I’ll have our physician on board look him over as soon as we’re on the way. Here.” He handed Clara a half bottle of scotch and a first aid kit.  “Give him some of that. It should stop his shakes and bring him round a little –”

“You son of a bitch,” She hissed as Russo grinned in response, not missing a beat.

“– then clean him up. I don’t want him bleeding all over the wheelhouse. I want him ready to get underway in fifteen minutes.”

“He’s in no fit state to do anything, look at him!” Rainwater screamed.

“I see,” Russo shot back, and strode across the room, smoothly pulling his pistol from inside his jacket and pressing it to Mackay’s head.

“In that case, maybe we should put him out of his misery?”

“Itsokayitsokay…” Mackay mumbled. “I’ll be ready, I’ll do it…”

Russo smiled, and rather than remove his weapon, pushed it harder into Mackay’s forehead.

“I could crush you right now, all of you,” Russo hissed. “Despite that, I’m still trying to do the right thing. You should all remember that if you want to get out of here alive.”

He stepped back and slipped the gun back into its holster, and took a deep breath.

“Fifteen minutes. Don’t make me come and find you.”

Russo made his leave, prompting the watching crowd to disperse and go back to their duties.

“We need to get off this boat,” Rainwater whispered as he helped to sit Mackay on the floor.

Clara didn’t reply, but the look in her eye told him she felt exactly the same way.

CHAPTER 49

Dexter lay in his bunk, staring at the roof of his cabin. Even though he had tried to pull himself together, he couldn’t rid the image of Russo pointing the gun at his face, from his mind, or the deep, numbing fear it instilled. He had never known fear before, not real fear anyway. The closest thing to it was when he got lost in the Amazon during an expedition to study howler monkey populations, and spent three days without food or water trying to find the rest of his team. As frightening as that was, it didn’t remotely compare to the outright horror as he looked at the sightless eye of the gun that had been trained on him. All he could think about was how close he had come to the end of his life.  Game over. No second chances.

He hadn’t been to church since he was a boy, but as he looked down the void of the gun barrel, he prayed anyway, mumbling to a god who he had long ago stopped believing in for the pursuit of science. As he stood waiting to die, he thought about all of the things he never did, or would never get to do. He would never finish his book on Darwinian evolutionary theories. He would never reconcile with his drunk of a father who had, on more than one occasion held out the olive branch. He would never ride a rollercoaster or have children of his own.

He looked around the windowless room and tried to ignore the unease that crept through his guts. These were bad people, that much was obvious, and whatever was going on was way above his and Clara’s heads. They were biologists, not soldiers or pawns in some elaborate game. Part of him – the repressed Dexter who was full of confidence and swagger – wanted to fight and find out what the hell was going on. The other Dexter, the one who was shy and timid and afraid he might find himself looking down the business end of another gun, was refusing to cooperate. That side of him was saying he was best to keep out of it, to let these people do whatever it is they wanted to do as long as he got to go on living. It was a selfish outlook, and one that the confident inner Dexter didn’t yet have the fight to overcome, and so he remained in place on his bunk, thinking of a million reasons to do something proactive and just as many to stay where he was.  As he lay fighting with his conscience, the engines rumbled to life, and they were underway again, the room swaying and rocking as the boat rolled through the water.  Confident inner Dexter told him to get out of bed and see what the hell was going on, but he was quickly silenced by his cowardly counterpart, who told him whilst he was out of sight he was out of mind, and as a result, out of trouble.  As before, there was no real fight. He stayed where he was, unaware that the
Victorious
was heading straight down the throat of a storm.

CHAPTER 50

The
Victorious
sliced through the giant swells of the storm that tried to capsize the boat. As they neared the centre, the rain had transformed into snow, which flurried against the wheelhouse windows making visibility next to impossible. Inside, the tension was palpable as they sat in the darkness. Mackay peered out of the window, making minor adjustments to the controls as he tried to second guess the direction of the waves. He had barely spoken during the six hours he had been in control of the vessel, apart from demanding that the lights be extinguished so he could better see the landscape. Rainwater had no idea how anyone could possibly navigate in such conditions. The visibility was so poor that he could barely see the bow of the boat as it crested each wave. Each roll of the boat took his stomach with it, and with every one, he was sure they would go over. Somehow, the vessel stayed upright.

Even in the gloom, Mackay’s wounds were clearly visible, and the entire right side of his face now had an ugly blue-purple bruise. He seemed smaller somehow, as if whatever happened in the room with Morrison, had broken him on the inside as well as the outside. The tension even seemed to be getting to Russo, who was watching Mackay between intermittent glances at the radar screen.

Clara was listening to the radio, noting the weather updates as they came in. As unlikely as it seemed, an uneasy alliance had been built centred around survival.

“We’re coming up on the ice pack,” Clara said, her voice sharp and loud in the otherwise silent wheelhouse.

“Did anyone hear what I said, I said we-”

“We heard you,” Russo said, giving her a quick glance. “It’s under control.”

“You need to abort, you can’t go through the ice field. It will tear this boat apart. Mackay, tell him.”

“His boat. His problem.” Mackay grunted, his eyes never leaving the window.

“Just make sure you keep on that signal. No matter what it takes.”

A huge wave broadsided the boat, rocking it violently as it forged ahead. For a sick, horrifying moment, Rainwater was sure they were about to capsize. The vessel creaked and vibrated, sending Clara’s charts sliding across the floor, even Russo looked afraid, gritting his teeth as he watched the cold, black Antarctic ocean threaten to swallow the boat.  Somehow, the
Victorious
managed to stabilise itself, and the rollercoaster ride continued.

“Got a portside list,” Mackay said, still not taking his eyes from the window.

“What does that mean?” Russo shot back. Mackay didn’t reply.

“It means the boat is leaning to one side rather than going straight,” Rainwater said, bracing as the vessel rode another sickening wave and smashed back into the ocean.

“Why would it do that?”

“Ice most likely clinging to the superstructure. You need to get some men outside to break it up. If we get hit broadside again, we could go over, and then this mission of yours is finished.”

“We can’t send anyone out there. We need to carry on and take our chances. We’ve already lost too much time.”

Rainwater was about to respond, when the sound of something clattering against the hull stopped him.

“What the hell was that?” Russo said to nobody in particular.

“Ice,” Mackay replied as another small iceberg clipped off the hull.

“Already?” He said, snatching the binoculars and trying to see through the blizzard.

“This is what we’ve been trying to tell you. This storm is going to be throwing these things at us at speed, it won’t take much to put a hole in the boat, and then we’re all screwed.” Rainwater said as he snatched the binoculars from Russo and peered out into the storm.

The ocean was still an undulating mass, like a rippling, living creature as its froth tipped waves continued to barrage the vessel. As if that wasn’t reason enough to worry, the water was now littered with icebergs, which, much like the
Victorious
, were at the mercy of the elements.

“The main ice pack is just ahead, you see it, Mackay?”

Rainwater looked to his friend, who didn’t answer, nor did he acknowledge the intermittent thuds and scrapes as the boat was hit by the chunks of floating ice.

“Mackay?” Rainwater repeated.

“It’s all ice here. Antarctic waters.” He mumbled in return, still staring straight ahead.

“You think it’s going back to the shelf don’t you?” Clara asked Russo.

“The shelf?” Rainwater said, looking at Clara.

“The Ross Ice Shelf.  It would be a perfect habitat for a creature like this. Maybe in some underwater cave or hollow or something.”

“See, Dr Thompson? When you strip away the moralistic pettiness, it really is exciting isn’t it?” Russo said, grinning at her.

“It won’t matter anyway,” Rainwater said, glancing out of the window. “Because if we don’t fix that list, we won’t make it long enough to find out.”

“And I say again, who would you have me send out there in these conditions?”

“What about him?” Rainwater said, nodding towards Mito. “Or do you need to keep your little pet close at hand?”

Mito sneered as Russo considered the situation. “No,” he said eventually, “I’ll take the chance our captain can pilot us safely through the storm.”

“You really don’t know what you’re up against here do you?” Rainwater said as another chunk of ice slammed into the hull of the boat. “This isn’t a game. We’re all at risk, every single one of us. You have a responsibility to—”

“My responsibility is to capture this creature.”

“No, your responsibility is to making sure the crew of this vessel is safe. You either need to fix this problem, or get out of this storm.”

“And I say again, who will you have go out to do it? My crew are soldiers, not fishermen.”

“I’ll do it.”

Russo and Rainwater turned towards Andrews, who was already shrugging into his jacket.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Russo asked.

“Because he’s right. You’ve lost sight of your responsibilities. This mission was never supposed to be about capture or using this fish as the basis for the next great military weapon. This was meant to be about discovery.”

“Come on, surely you aren’t still bitter about me treading on your toes? You’ll get ample opportunity to study our fish once it’s safely captured. That is, as long as you remember which side you’re on.”

“This isn’t about sides. It’s about survival. Frankly, I couldn’t give a shit about the mission or this fish. Not anymore. You’re a cancer, and all I want to do is survive long enough to get off this fucking boat.”

“Don’t put this on me,” Russo said, pointing a finger at Andrews. “You knew what we were getting into. Don’t pretend you’re some innocent victim caught up in this.”

“I knew what you were planning, I just didn’t know how far you’d go. You outrank me, and I’ve been around long enough to know I have a job to do. Don’t begin to think you can butter me up and play nice. I see through you, Russo. I know how you operate.”

“Then you know what the consequences are for getting in my way.”

“Drop the threats. They won’t wash, not anymore, and you don’t need them.” Andrews said as he zipped his jacket.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I know you won’t rest until you complete this mission, so the best thing I can do is make it as smooth as possible, starting with de-icing this boat. I can’t do it alone though. I need help.”

“I’ll do it.” Rainwater said, stepping forward.

Andrews nodded. “We need more hands. Two at least. What about him?” Andrews said, nodding towards the towering Mito. “We could use his muscle.”

“Done.” Russo said. “You can also take Miss Thompson’s assistant if you can get him out of his room. The earlier incident has shaken him badly I’m afraid.”

“Okay, that’s four. How long until we hit the worst of the storm?”

“Three hours or so.” Clara said. “You need to be done by then no matter what. It’s going to be bad.”

“We better get a move on.” Rainwater cut in as the boat was rocked by another wave crashing broadside into the hull.