Noah's Ark: Encounters (24 page)

The words took Jake by surprise.

“Sorry?”

“How long to get
Lance
?”

“My men tell me it will be two and a half to three hours. You can see the current has carried her some way out. When they reach her, they will have to work out how to start the engine. An unfamiliar ship, strong currents; this is a big job.”

“Current carry ship, current carry raft. You have one more hour.”

“Impossible.” Jake kept his voice flat. Calm. Showed he wasn’t afraid. Demonstrated that he wasn’t going to be pushed around. “We cannot get the
Lance
here in an hour. You might as well start shooting children now if you’re not prepared to give us enough time. That will give my chief of security here the justification he so desperately wants to come in and kill you all.” He looked sideways at Max, who moved to make sure the Koreans could see him, and more importantly, the large automatic rifle he was carrying. “Max really likes shooting people. He doesn’t need much of an excuse.”

The man holding the young boy looked worried. It wasn’t clear to Jake if he understood English, and he even chanced a glance at his leader, who shouted something at him, bringing him back to attention.

“One hour half. One hour half then I kill boy. No, I kill girl.” He mumbled some words at the other men. They scurried around like mice, until one of them emerged from the pack, dragging Erica by her ear. “This one, yes?”

“You’re hurting me!” Erica protested, but she didn’t cry, or scream.

Jake felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he saw her. “Erica, be brave, darling. You’re going to be fine, okay? We’re going to get the ship for these men, and everything will be fine.”

“Don’t make me go with them!”

“It’ll be alright. Trust me. We’re going to help these men, just like we helped your father. We’ll look after them just like we looked after him. Do you understand me, Erica?”

She looked at him, the question written across her face.
 

“Like your father, like your mother. We’ll take care of them, okay?”

“But…” A moment of confusion, then comprehension dawned. “Okay,” she said, and Jake knew that she had understood the message.

“Clever girl. You clever, clever girl,” he said to himself as he turned away, leaving the security men to take up close positions at the door once more.

• • •

The situation on deck two was, as far as Max could see, under control for now. His men had the room covered. Any hint of action and he’d hear about it. The rescue plan, which as far as he was concerned was completely deranged and bound for certain failure, was out of his hands. He had an hour and a half to kill before the others realised it, kids started getting shot, and chaos would ensue. He wouldn’t miss that for the world — what was left of it — but in the meantime, he decided to make himself useful.

Deck ten wasn’t somewhere the security chief spent much time. His visits there were generally confined to the short walk from the lift to the bridge. Going in the other direction, there was nothing of interest to be found, just endless passageways filled with doors to staterooms. They weren’t even the nicest rooms.

Number 1084 wasn’t such a long walk. Max knocked once, more out of habit than anything else, then slid his master key card into the lock. A click, a tiny green light, and he was inside.

Grace’s uniform was laid out on the bed. It was the only item that was out of place. The rest of the room was immaculate. Spotlessly clean drawers held neatly folded clothes. He wondered how she managed that, with the access to the laundry so tightly rationed. When he checked the bathroom, he found the answer. She washed her own garments in the shower; a towel rail covered in drying underwear and a couple of blouses bore testament to that.

Her notebook was neatly stowed in the single cabinet by the bed, along with her ration card, her passport, and a photo of a man that Max took to be her fiancé. He was a clean-cut blond-haired guy, all muscles and uniform. “The all-American hero,” he said to himself.

Max eased himself into the one armchair in the room, opened up the book, flipped through the pages until he found the most recent entries, and began to read.

• • •

“Ready?” Martin’s voice trembled, just the tiniest bit.

Lucya pretended not to notice. She nodded.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you look amazing in that wetsuit.” He chuckled nervously.

“I think the shower cap and gym shoes might be ruining the effect,” she said, smirking.

“Not for me!”

Vardy was there too. “Remember. No cuts. No noise. Take a minute before you release the virus. The shallower your breathing, the longer you’ll be able to hold your breath.”

“Yes, I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me. Can we get on with it? We’re wasting time.”

Vardy nodded to Martin. “Do it,” he said.

Martin turned to the control panel on the side of the blue-and-yellow box that was the size of a small room. He twisted a key, already in the lock. An indicator light changed from green to yellow. After a second’s hesitation, he hit the round red stop button with the palm of his hand.

A klaxon sounded locally, and almost immediately the giant fans inside started to spin down, their droning noise dropping in both pitch and volume.

“Right. Um, good luck.” Martin stood awkwardly, waiting. “Listen… I’m sorry if, in the past, I’ve been…you know…”

“Shut up, Martin.” Lucya punched him playfully in the shoulder. “You make it sound like I’m not coming back. I’m coming back. Okay?”

Before he could say anything, a second klaxon sounded.

“Saved by the bell,” Vardy said. “Good luck, Lucya.”

Martin, relieved the moment had passed, gripped a long black handle and pulled it towards him. The whole side of the massive box swung open, revealing a stack of yellow fans, like a jet engine laid on its end. Around it, in the walls, row after row of round openings. He stepped inside, and counted the rows of holes.

“This is the one,” he said, stopping and sticking a bright marker on a dark circle halfway up the far wall.

“It would have to be one of the smallest ones,” Lucya said.

“I did warn you.”

She followed him in, then, using other openings as a ladder, she clambered up the wall, stuck her hands and head in the pipe, and pulled herself in. Her legs kicked in the air as she struggled for traction. “Er, a hand please, guys?”

Martin put his hands on the soles of her feet and pushed, ramming her inside the narrow tube.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “The sound has nowhere to go. Even from here, they might hear you in the conference room.

She held up a hand, just visible in the small space above her head, to acknowledge she had heard.

“We’ll give you ninety seconds, then the fans have to go back on. I’m starting the clock…now.”

Lucya heard his footsteps as he retreated, and the clicking of the huge wall-door closing behind. In the total blackness, she began to wriggle and squirm her way forwards.

• • •

Jake couldn’t help but glance at his watch every few minutes as he made his way to deck two.

“It’s two minutes since the last time you checked,” the sailor by his side said, adding at the last minute: “Sir. Relax, it’ll be fine.”

“You’re right, Daniel. Sorry. It’s just…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the kids. Really gets to you.”

“Do you have children?” Jake looked surprised; the man looked like he was barely out of school.

“None of my own. Two nieces though, and a little brother…” His voice tailed off.

Jake knew why, and he knew better than to press the subject.

They arrived at the starboard passenger hatch to find a welcoming committee. Four more sailors that Jake knew vaguely were waiting for them. In the time he had negotiated an extension with the Koreans, they had successfully re-established a walkway to the
Lance
.

“The engine is running. We’re ready to go when you are,” the man nearest the exit announced.

“Thank you, er…”

“Cummings, sir. Billy Cummings.”

The other three introduced themselves in turn. Jake made no particular effort to remember the names. He doubted they would spend enough time together for it to matter.
 

“So, we’re just waiting for one more.” Jake looked around, checking his watch again. Another minute gone by. Another minute closer to the Koreans’ deadline. He fought the urge to walk the short distance to the classroom standoff. He knew there was nothing to be gained by returning there, but the desire to see Erica, to check she hadn’t been harmed, was powerful.

“I think this is them, sir,” Cummings said.

“Looks like it. And please, all of you, just call me Jake, okay? We all know I’m in charge. Beyond that, who cares about rank?”

Coming towards them, a nurse pushed a wheelchair in which was sat a thin and frail-looking woman.

Jake held out a hand. “Captain Jake Noah. You must be…Mrs Kolstad?”

The woman shook her head. “No, I’m not Ove’s wife. I haven’t seen her. My name is Bodil Solem.”

“You’re a science officer?”

“Yes, specialising in deep-sea research.” She spoke perfect English with only a hint of an accent.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“It is not physical work, Captain. My legs might be weakened, but my mind remains intact.”

“Of course.” He turned to the nurse. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.” A nod to Cummings, and the sailor took the chair in hand, wheeling it out through the exit and over the new temporary walkway. Jake and the others followed.

Jake had never thought of the bridge of the
Spirit of Arcadia
as being particularly plush. Indeed, its rows of dull consoles were a world away from the more opulent passenger areas of the ship. Compared to the
Lance
, though, the
Arcadia
was the height of luxury. The research ship’s bridge could best be described as functional. Everything that was required to navigate safely through the polar waters was present and correct. No more, and no less. If the Norwegian Polar Institute that operated her had spent money anywhere, it must have been in the labs, Jake thought. It certainly wasn’t on the bridge.

Daniel Barrett immediately took up the helm. The others looked expectantly at Jake. There was no captain’s chair to speak of, no pedestal where he could issue orders from on high. It was a simple room, with all the controls laid out along the front. He stood in the middle of the console, and gave the order. “Helm, take us out when ready. Due north, fifteen knots.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jake looked at the man, opened his mouth to speak, but saw Daniel grinning and changed his mind.

Twenty-Seven

T
HE
NOISE
,
WHEN
it started, was so loud it made Lucya’s head spin. She was too close to the pipe’s entrance; she should have made better progress before they restarted the giant fans. The whirring sound reverberated around her, and for a short while she became completely disoriented in the blackness of the tunnel. A thought flashed through her mind: this was what being buried alive must feel like. Except it wouldn’t have felt like that, because an instant later a jet of cold air hit her like a tornado, rolling over her body, under her legs, wrapping itself around her, clutching her tight. Before she could stop herself, Lucya gave a shriek. She shaped her mouth shut and swallowed the rest of the sound that had tried to escape. She hoped beyond hope that her involuntary gasp would be lost in the swirling air.

The fan regulated itself to a steady speed, and the air flow settled accordingly. Even the noise level dropped off, just a touch.

Lucya realised she had her eyes closed tight. She opened them again, but it made no difference. No light ventured into the tube.

With her hands outstretched in front of her, she placed her palms flat against the curved interior and pulled herself forwards. At the same time, she bent her legs as far as the confined space would allow, and pushed with the toes of her rubber gym shoes. They gave good grip against the slippery surface, but the limited amount of room meant she could move no more than a couple of inches at a time. While she wriggled along on her belly, painfully slowly, her mind recalled the technical drawings.
Not To Scale
, they had said. Martin had estimated the distance nonetheless. It was at least a hundred metres, and a section of that was ‘uphill’, as the pipeline went up a deck. At her current pace, she realised with horror, she had no chance of even reaching the conference room before the deadline, let alone giving the virus time to work.

• • •

“How do we know the mystery submarine won’t torpedo us?” Daniel asked. “What if they think we’re the
Ambush
and try and take us out? Or worse, what if the
Ambush
thinks we’re the unfriendly sub, and
they
sink us?”

“I’ve been on board the
Ambush
. I’ve seen their sonar at work. They’ll see us, certainly, and they’ll know we’re the
Lance
. They knew the
Lance
was the
Lance
even before we knew about the
Lance
…if that makes sense?” Jake scratched his head.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I would imagine the other submarine is similarly equipped.”

“So that begs the question” — Daniel wasn’t done yet — “how come they can’t spot each other? The
Ambush
is a damn sight bigger than this boat.”

It was Bodil who answered. “Modern nuclear submarines are virtually undetectable. They use a range of stealth technologies. Anechoic tiles covering the hull, highly advanced propeller designs that don’t boil the water around them and therefore don’t make noises, even the shape of the hull itself is designed to reduce its radar and sonar signature. If a submarine doesn’t want to be found, it won’t be found.”

“So how are we going to find them?” Daniel looked confused.

“We have an advantage. We can use active sonar.”

“Wait, they must have sonar too, right? If their military sonar can’t find a whacking great big submerged vessel…”

Bodil smiled. She was in her element, talking about her specialist subject to someone interested in listening. Indeed, all four sailors and Jake were watching her intently, hanging on her every word. “There are two kinds of sonar: active and passive. Active sonar works like radar, but uses sound waves instead of radio waves.”