Deep Sea One (3 page)

"I did. We did. It was secure, so how the hell did it come loose?" he asked in astonishment, more to himself in contemplation.

"It could have been the undercurrents. The drift is monstrous today," Liam tried to sound logical and also calm his colleagues while inside he panicked about telling the boss about it.

The three men stood quietly in the din of the raging waves thrashing the booth, each trying to make sense of the mystery and each worrying about reporting it to the owner. Finally Darwin stepped up and decided that sooner was better than later.

"Give me the satellite phone. I'll tell Mr. Purdue."

☼

Chapter 3

"How to get tenure," Nina dramatized the term, as if she was about to break into song. She stood in her office in the pale morning sun, dressed impeccably in her usual suit fetish, pinstriped grey for today, but her heels were cast aside carelessly. Between her teeth she had her pen horizontally lodged as she stared at the whiteboard she had been scribbling on since seven o'clock. After Professor Matlock screwed her out of credit for the Wolfenstein Ice Station discovery, of which he had no knowledge until she begged for emergency funding to explore the possibility, she had been setting aside her petty papers. Publishing was important, yes, but doing the work and not being more than a footnote in a hastily published book of stolen research rubbed sandpaper up her ass.

Wolfenstein—Secrets of the Lost Nazi Ice Station
was a joke, a slap in the face of serious exploration of the so-called conspiracy theories surrounding the lost treasures of Hitler's Third Reich. That was meant to be
her
book,
her
victory. The expedition was going to be her passport to tenure, for sure, and Matlock wasted no time to nab it from her grasp using long talons grown by money she did not have. He was nothing more than a callous glory whore and she was done playing games. Nina had made up her mind the day she found Sam Cleave in Matlock's office to do an editorial feature for the
Edinburgh Post,
yet another feather in the department head's cap.
Well done,
she had thought,
you even stole my friend, you self-righteous prick.
She was not going to tell anyone anything anymore. Whatever research she found herself pursuing was going to be her own. They would know about it only when the papers were published and she had her own PR working the media.

No one could be trusted.

And here she stood, hung over and exhausted after a night of looking for subjects trending in the underworld of contemporary history. Even just one would do. One solid lead was all she needed on something so profound that in no time it would rocket her name onto every notable list of desirable tenure applicants. Then she would leave Braxfield Tower and its ridiculous mock functionality in her wake and not only match Matlock's position, but surpass his grandeur and fame.

"Okay, maybe I am getting ahead of myself here," she slurred over the pen as she regarded the whiteboard and its myriad research subjects. "But a girl has to see the big picture first and boy, once I get the right freaky thing to chase, you will all beg me for scraps, you bastards." Alas Nina had to admit that nothing on her board jumped out at her as a plausible pursuit to get grants for and her patience was running low.

Every now and then she relived the frozen hell she spent with Matlock, Purdue, Sam and the others in Antarctica. In her dreams she could still hear the gunshots in the dire enclosed spaces of the subterranean structure they were held in, the sobbing of her friend, Fatima, when she failed to save the sick soldiers they found at the station. Above all she relived the sound of her own heartbeat when she thought she was going to die in a confined space under the ice—the black hole of the submarine they escaped into open waters with and the way it invited her like the beckoning of a coffin.

Her skin crawled at the memory of the claustrophobic adventure and the bad company it came with. "Not again. Not this time. No, this time I am going to do it all by myself. I don't care how," she nodded. "God, I could use a cigarette now."

But she did not give in. It had been a month since she quit smoking. Subliminally she might have done so because of Sam's betrayal in helping Matlock to further his fame by writing that article about him. "Yeah, your editor sent you to do it. The devil made you do it. Your precious Patricia made you do it," she snarled in the reflection of the window as she looked over Salisbury Crags, lamenting her lost friendship with the journalist. It was outside this very building where they met, sharing a smoke break, and perhaps she thought that she could rid herself of Sam Cleave along with the killing sticks. After all, they were both carcinogens to her and she needed a fresh start.

It had been months since Matlock published his precious book and still everyone from faculty to journalists, bloggers and filmmakers asked her opinion of it, dismissing entirely the fact that she was, in fact, part of the undertaking. Maybe Matlock knew what torment it would be for her to be questioned about his bestseller while she knew the truth of it.

Nina sighed and pulled the pen from her mouth. Hopelessly she wiped the whiteboard clean as if it would give her some clarity, but it did not. She slipped on her high heels, fixed her bop-styled hair and pulled on her tapered blazer. It was time to teach her first class for the day and she thought it best to set aside for now the blazing trail she envisioned until she could get more information—until she could ensnare some fool to fund her exploits.

With a deep sigh Dr. Nina Gould gathered her papers and zipped her bag, hoping that she would get the chance to redeem her attempts or watch Frank Matlock choke on his tongue, whichever came first.

☼

Chapter 4

Purdue rushed to his waiting helicopter. News of his ROV gone missing disturbed him immensely and he had to get to Deep Sea One as soon as possible. The circumstances under which the minisub vanished were not particularly unusual, but never before had it been dislodged during routine inspections or repairs, not even while the North Sea brought its most violent power to the oil rig. Gary, his pilot, was already waiting for him as Purdue jerked open the round door and quickly fixed his headphones to his ears and then fastened his seatbelt. On his private plane he did not care much for belts, but in the small Robinson it was a must.

"Go, go, go, Gary!" he shouted. Gary had never seen his employer like this. Sure it was a very costly loss, but he reckoned Purdue was overreacting and although he wanted to ask why the urgency was so great he knew that this was not what he was paid for. Purdue was quiet for most of the way as the jagged borders of land below gave way to the blanket of shifting blue majesty. It seemed endless, with a glimmer running over it as the sheeted squalls rolled over the rising tide.

"Do you have a mint?" Purdue asked his pilot.

"Uh, yeah, in the satchel behind your seat, sir," Gary gestured with his head.

"Thanks, I like to chew when I'm nervous," Purdue admitted as his fingers struggled clumsily with the wrapper before he managed to pop the foil and toss the white sweet into his mouth.

"May I ask . . .?" Gary started slowly, hoping his boss would catch on to his question before he was forced to utter it and sound inappropriate. Fortunately for him Purdue was a sharp, no-bullshit man and he replied immediately without looking at Gary.

"It is just that I have been dealing with some rather serious discrepancies on the ocean floor under the platform and I have to send it down for inspection at least twice a day or we might face a catastrophe," Purdue explained. "You see, without that minisub there is no way to avert any problems that might arise. I'm sure you appreciate the gravity of that."

Gary did appreciate the importance of it and he affirmed so with a serious nod of his head without showing Purdue that he was still confused by it all.

Within an hour they had reached the platform and Gary carefully set the Robbie down, his piloting prowess formidable. It took great skill to land the helicopter in conditions such as these and before the left skid even touched the slippery deck Purdue leapt out into the onslaught of the saline patter. He cowered into the second building from Drill 1 and disappeared, leaving Gary to the peril of the weather.

"The weather is terrible! Tell Gary to take the heli back. I'll be here for the next few hours," Purdue told Liam, even before the nervous crewmen could properly greet their employer.

"Will do, sir," Liam replied, and shot a quick concerned glance to his colleagues in the booth before exiting.

"I don't know how this happened, sir. There was no alarm for the detachment of cords or umbilicals and the camera was functioning perfectly the last time I checked the screen," Tommy reported with a shivering voice. The men did not know why their boss considered inspections so crucial, but he had made it clear to all of them that the minisub was a pivotal part of the functioning of Deep Sea One. Purdue shook off the excess water from his coat and hair and appeared so engrossed in what he could make of the monitors that he did not even respond to Tommy.

"Do you have the feed ready?" he asked.

"The feed?"

"The footage from the camera. You were recording the inspection, were you not?" Purdue asked smoothly, his eyes pinning Tommy and Darwin as he spoke. They did not know what to make of his demeanor. His expression was neutral and his voice calm.

"We did, sir, of course," Tommy said, relieved that he had something to offer that he had not fouled up.

"Run it, please. You have not had a look yet?" Purdue asked, with his eyes nailed to the blank monitor in anticipation.

"Yes, sir, I had a look, but it is very murky down there. All I could see on the footage was some contours of the landscape deeper down from where we last got a reading of 800 meters below surface," Tommy reported, with his hand on his hip as he waited for the minisub footage to roll.

Purdue grabbed a chair and slid it in under him. He leaned on the dashboard edge with his elbows and watched intently, hoping to ascertain the location of his rogue machine while the storm escalated by the minute. His right hand reached for the control, ready to hit pause as soon as he noticed something that could point out the vicinity of the submersible. Liam came in quietly, joining the other three to watch the monitor. The camera, as instructed, had recorded the descent and the subsequent movement along the north post of Deep Sea One. It was virtually impossible to discern one thing from another down there, occasionally there was a glimpse of marine life and drift kelp. During a succession of small mounds the camera fell forward as the minisub dipped into a deeper ditch, moving past the other steel posts in the ocean bed.

It appeared to be disturbed for a moment, shaking once or twice, before continuing. A few meters on the screen hazed and displayed some electrical disturbance. White and grey horizontal lines of static crossed briefly over the screen before the minisub capsized. All four men held their breath, but the footage remained unchanged as the machine glided toward the edge of a reef, sliding gradually as if pushed a little farther every time the current swept it.

"Thank you, gentlemen, I'll take it from here. Take a break," Purdue said. He loathed people peering over his shoulder, especially when he tried to concentrate. Almost disappointed, the three crewmen left for the kitchen, not entirely impartial to a proper break from duty. It had been a long day full of toils and the storm did nothing for their morale either.

Purdue watched the opaque ocean bed on the screen as the minisub appeared to tilt slightly. Then it stopped moving, merely turning its front as it was rotated by the water. In the near distance Purdue could distinguish an object of considerable size. He squinted and leaned forward.

"No fucking way," he whispered, his heart jumping in his chest. No more was his attention merely on the location of his missing submersible, but now he could see something truly astonishing on its footage. Eagerly he pressed
Pause
and zoomed in on the image of the object. He had no idea what it was, but it certainly was not natural, nor was it part of the smooth ocean floor. Curiosity flooded his common sense, as it always did, and he leaned so far forward that the tip of his nose almost brushed the screen.

"What are you?" he marveled at the strange long structure stretching across the sand bank, half-submerged in the sand. His finger sat on the
Play/ Pause
button. He jabbed it quickly once and then once more, to shift it a split second on. Purdue's face lit up, but he said nothing. Fire ignited behind his eyes when he saw the detail that the closer frame provided.

"It cannot be! Could it be?" he gasped as he saw the narrow hull come into view, atop which the elongated hatch sat, emerging into sight from the obscurity of the dark depths. "My God! A sunken Elektroboot? Here?"

The Type XXI submarine was well-known to Purdue. He had learned about these submarines produced in the latter part of the Second World War while he was searching in the Strait of Gibraltar for a rare Roman artifact a few years before. Aboard a questionable trawler, which dealt in more than fisheries, he had heard tell of the 118 U-boats of superior design that were used by several countries in the Second World War.

By the shape of the hull he recognized the rusted wreck in the sand as one of these unique vessels, there was no doubt about it. Because of their streamlined design and improved output power, they could operate efficiently underwater without having to surface to sprint during attacks. It also aided them in being elusive in radar searches and their thin bodies made for exceptionally fast diving time. These U-boats, he was told, were superior to their predecessors on every level.

Most of them were accounted for, in fact, he was certain of it. After decommissioning some were scrapped, others dismantled or turned into museums.

"Darwin! Tommy!" Purdue shouted on the radio, "I need you in the booth immediately, lads!"