66 Metres

by J. F. Kirwan

  He went through everything twice with Nadia while Pete helped him kit up, adding a smaller three-litre pony cylinder with a spare regulator on it. Spray drenched all of them every five seconds. He was pushing her, but she took it well. Because she’s been trained. Occasionally she gave him a look, but he ignored it. He checked her gear, all the straps tight.

  ‘Check mine,’ he shouted.

  Ben yelled above the engines and the spray. ‘I see ‘em. Two minutes.’

  Pete came back towards them and leaned close to Jake. ‘I’ll drop a full cylinder with two regulators on a ten-metre line. I want you hanging off that line or back aboard the boat within thirty minutes, or else we’ll consider you’re in trouble, too.’ He attached a reel and line to Jake’s stab jacket, and handed them each a torch with a securing lanyard.

  ‘Get ready!’ Ben shouted, Pete joining him at the console.

  The RIB slowed down, but not by much. Jake stared forward, and saw the small marker buoy bobbing up and down amongst the swells. The people on the other boat were waving, but it looked as if Ben was going to ram them. Never mind. He trusted Ben.

  He sat on the edge of the boat’s rubber tube facing Nadia, put his regulator in his mouth, and crossed his arms over his chest. The fingers of his left hand held his mask and regulator in place. The other hand kept the torch out of the way and held his inflate control. Nadia mirrored him.

  ‘Three,’ Ben said, cutting the engines.

  He made a show of taking a breath, and Nadia followed suit. A thought struck him. What if something happened to him down there?

  ‘Two!’

  Lorne would figure it out.

  ‘One!’ He looked deep into her eyes, the first time since this morning. She looked back. That openness again.

  ‘Go!’

  The water hit hard and the sounds changed to dull churning noises and the rushing of water around his head. Jake spun once in the water as he sank, equalised the air in his mask and Eustachian tubes, and re-oriented himself. Nadia was below him, next to the line, almost as if she’d been waiting. This girl was good, no doubt about it. He couldn’t do this and be second-guessing her all the time, he had to get into the zone, or the rescue would fail. Besides, the Rose wasn’t going anywhere. So, while they were underwater, she was his buddy. Back on the surface, things would change. For the first time since leaving Old Smithy’s, he felt centred again.

  He glanced upwards. The two boats pitched up and down in the swells, the line alternately hanging loose then snapping taut. The skipper of Dolphin One might have to cut it loose. That was a problem for later, not now. He checked Nadia over, then gave the thumbs-down descent signal, which she returned. They descended headfirst, staying next to the line that jerked like a whip every few seconds, not touching it. The wreck of the destroyer Excalibur materialised out of the grey, its radio mast first, followed by the bridge and then the deck. A single hatch on the foredeck lay open. Small bubbles rose from it, drifting up to the surface like a reverse waterfall. The intact WWII ship was on a minor incline, the prow up a few metres higher than the stern forty metres aft. So the bubbles would travel through it. The divers could be anywhere. Inside the hatch was black: inviting and deadly. It beckoned to him. But a destroyer was always tight, full of sharp edges and pipes that cut, snagged and hooked. He and Nadia would have to proceed in single file down its narrow corridors.

  They descended to the hatch. He shone his torch inside, then looked at Nadia’s eyes, gauging how she was doing, looking for signs of fear or narcosis. None. He attached the end of the line to the hatch using a karabiner, and handed the reel to Nadia. He held out two forefingers, one in front of each other, pointing with the lead one to himself, the second to her. She nodded, signalled OK with her right hand. He paused a moment. It wasn’t possible to say what he felt for her right now. But a thought occurred. Sean would have liked her. He’d have liked to dive with her. And Sean, even at fourteen years of age, the age he’d always be, had been very fussy about who he’d dive with.

  On land you could speak. Underwater, just a few dumb signals and your eyes, nothing more. Maybe she’d played him, maybe it had been real. Down here things were less complicated, even feelings. Trouble, lies, deception – it all belonged to the surface world. He reached out and touched Nadia’s shoulder. He saw by a slight flattening of her eyes that she smiled. She nodded towards the hatch. Jake stared into it – fully aware it could be the entrance to their grave – aimed his torch inside, switched on his strobe, kicked once with his fins and dove through headfirst.

  The strobe flashed every second, creating a pale twilight, reminding him where the ceiling walls and floor were. It was omnidirectional, so it should be seen first by the lost divers. If they were still conscious. The narrow torch beam allowed him to navigate the twists and turns of the corridor, and avoid the jagged protrusions that would slice through his wetsuit and rip his flesh before pain had a chance to warn him.

  He knew this wreck, having dived it a couple of times two years earlier – three decks, two main corridors, and sleeping quarters. Where would they have gone? Where would I have gone? Captain’s quarters? Or the engine room, hunting for a souvenir? Both were up ahead. The bubbles still flowed, though there were less of them. Finning slowly, he resisted the urge to pull himself along inside the badly corroded ship, hoping Nadia would do the same.

  Nadia’s torch beam played just behind him, so he knew she was following. His strobe continued to flash, and up ahead the corridor descended down a flight of broken steps into a mess of mangled metal and rusted pipes, large boiler tanks and machinery. The engine room. Still the bubble-trail beckoned. Idiots. It looked as if part of the roof had caved in. They probably pulled on rusted metal pipes and struts, using them as handholds, and the ceiling collapsed on or after them. The way through no longer looked big enough for a fully-kitted diver, certainly not him. Maybe Nadia… No, that wasn’t going to happen.

  He glanced at his watch, noting the depth on his Suunto. The lost divers could still be alive, barely, if they hadn’t gone into panic and consumed all their air. But this was risky, he was in danger of doubling a two-diver fatality. Still, he couldn’t turn back. He flashed his torch left and right, up and down, into the depths of the engine room, then switched off his torch and waited. Nadia obscured hers as well. After the third strobe-flash, he saw it, the glint of a dim torch beam on the other side.

  Turning around with some difficulty, he held up a vertical palm, telling Nadia to stay put. She shook her head vehemently. He closed his eyes for two seconds, opened them, and held up his palm again. She glared, then gave him the OK signal, but with only the middle finger sticking up. It made him smile. Sean would have liked her a lot. He undid the straps of his stab jacket, keeping his regulator in place, and released the smaller back-up pony cylinder from the main harness, while Nadia watched. He switched regulators, using the pony bottle. No pressure gauge on it. He wouldn’t know how full it was until, without warning, it was empty. Completely deflating the stab jacket, he wrapped it around the main tank and held it in front of him, and launched himself through mangled pipework.

  Without any buoyancy it was difficult, lurching forward and then sinking. He hit his head twice on metal and something sharp pricked his abdomen as he fell to the cluttered floor. It hadn’t punctured his wetsuit, so he ignored it. Then he saw the two divers, one male, and one female as far as he could tell, her long hair flowing from underneath her neoprene diving hood. They were buddy breathing off one tank – hers – taking it in turns. He got closer to them, but two steel girders criss-crossed his way. The two divers approached from the other side. He pushed the main tank with its two regulators through the gap. The two divers grabbed one each, and began sucking air heavily, their eyes wide.

  Jake let them breathe a while, then made the OK signal, lighting it up with his torch without shining the beam in their eyes. He knew they were anything but okay, but he had to get them to act like divers, to feel as if they had some
semblance of control. They responded, returning the signal, though for both of them it was pretty shaky. He noticed the female staring at him, presumably realising he had no stab jacket on, and was breathing off a pony tank. These weren’t experienced divers. It was going to be difficult to persuade them to do the same. They were agitated, eyes scared, her hand closed tight around her partner’s, both of them shifting nervously, making unnecessary movements. Burning air.

  He turned around, and moved his torch in a circle; he hoped Nadia knew this form of OK signal. She did the same, and he inspected the web of fallen metal, keeping an eye on the two divers, their mouths welded to their regulators. The metal struts above looked precarious, ready to fall at a moment’s notice. If only he had a lifting bag… But of course he did, in a way. He took his deflated, disconnected stab jacket and filled it full of air, using his small emergency bottle, knowing he would regret this later if they got stuck. The jacket ballooned and rose fast to the ceiling. He heard metal creak and strain, but the ceiling held. He hoped they wouldn’t pull on anything when he got them out. If he could get them out.

  He sized them up. The male diver was larger and wider than the female. Looking each diver in the eye in turn, he considered the psychology of the situation, then pointed to the male diver, and did an impression of taking off his stab jacket. The diver shook his head wildly, while his companion looked from him to Jake as if watching a fast tennis match. Jake closed his eyes for two seconds then opened them. He repeated the gesture. The male diver didn’t shake his head this time, but didn’t comply either. The female diver pointed to herself, her hands moving to the release straps. Her companion seized her hands, held them, then turned back to Jake, and nodded, unclipping his stab jacket, his companion helping him. He was smart enough to know what Jake wanted, and released the empty tank onto the floor.

  Jake pointed to the ceiling above them, the other side of the two girders. The man took a few breaths and then breathed out into the deflate hose of the stab jacket. He did this routine several times until the jacket was full, and lay it against the metal above them, using the stab jacket as a lifting bag. He then returned to face Jake.

  Jake took a moment. Sean had once said ‘always acknowledge bravery’. A kid way wiser than his meagre age. Jake moved his two hands as if clapping, and bowed his head to the diver.

  But now it was his turn. He took off his fins, knelt beneath the stab jacket, and began heaving upwards with his shoulders, holding the pony bottle with his left hand while his right shoved against one of the two girders, a grating noise in his ears mixed with the sound of his laboured breathing. He pushed harder. Suddenly the girders shifted. One of them came loose, opening up an exit. The girl wasted no time. She let the regulator fall from her mouth and finned furiously, darting through the gap. The male clambered after her awkwardly, lugging the tank along with him. Something snapped above Jake and he felt more weight on him. A lot more. The two were free, heading towards Nadia. But if Jake moved, a pile of metal was going to pin him down, facing the wrong direction.

  The weight increased and pressed on him. He was on his hands and knees, elbows locked, straining to hold up the metal above him, his pony bottle lying on the floor, regulator still in his mouth. His arms shook, threatening to give way. He tried to think of a way out. If he released and tried to back out, it would collapse on him, bury him. Breathing hard and straining, the weight building, he guessed this was it. One life for two. Simple maths, all that mattered down here. And it was fitting that he would drown, just as Sean had. Because Sean’s death had been his fault. The creaking grew louder, metal straining, ready to snap. He prepared himself.

  I’m coming, son. Sorry it’s taken so long.

  Someone grabbed his ankles and pulled. He resisted at first, then took a breath and let go with one hand, snatching up the pony with the other. Whoever it was tugged hard, and the stab jacket above cushioned him just enough that he could squirm backwards. He pushed off hard with his free hand as the roof crashed down in front of him, silt exploding in a sudden fog that engulfed everything in grey soup.

  When it cleared a little, he saw who had grabbed him. Nadia. She’d saved him. She continued to tow him back out and up the steps, out of the cloud, as he no longer had his fins. Twisting around awkwardly, he saw that the other two were waiting there. He was impressed. Most would have bolted along the line and gotten out of the wreck. He signalled them forward, pointing to the line, then turned to Nadia. Before he could give her an instruction, she pointed for him to go next. She was right; he could run out of air at any moment.

  Nearing the hatch, he saw lights outside. As he exited the Excalibur, he met Elise and Fi, Claus and Gary, the latter three carrying a spare tank each. Claus and Gary took care of the two divers. Elise looked him over. At that moment he ran out of air, and let the cylinder fall slowly onto the deck. Fi was closest, and swam to him and rammed her octopus regulator in his mouth.

  Nadia left the wreck, and Jake watched as Elise looked at her, and nodded once. They all headed to the deco stop ten metres below the surface as a group, Elise in charge. Jake watched the wreck disappear into the haze as they ascended. Thirty-four men had drowned on it. Almost thirty-five. He imagined Sean down there, staring up out of the hatch.

  Next time.

  The rescue helicopter was hovering above the two boats when they surfaced. The skipper of Dolphin One called the shots, as the couple were his divers. In the end, after discussion with Pete, the chopper took the couple back to treat them for shock and debrief them properly. Jake and the rest of them returned to shore, he and Nadia back in Pete’s boat, Elise’s ahead. Very little was said – partly but not wholly due to the rough sea conditions.

  At one point, as they were nearing shore, he leaned across to Nadia. ‘You saved me back there. I owe you one.’

  ‘Did you practise that little manoeuvre somewhere?’

  He sat next to her, holding the guide-rope tight so as not to be bounced into the drink.

  ‘Once, with my favourite buddy. His name was Sean.’

  She studied him, her eyebrows dipping, no doubt curious about his use of the past tense. ‘Now we’re even.’ She gave him a crooked smile. An infectious one.

  And then, right at the same moment as he recalled what he needed to do, which was to turn in the young woman who had just saved his life, he heard a ringtone, a classic based on the old TV detective series Inspector Morse. Lorne. Nadia was closer to the console than he was, Ben was driving and Pete was clearing up kit at the back of the boat. She fished out his waterproof case, and held it out to him.

  Inside the case, Lorne’s phone continued to ring, pulsing the SOS code in Morse beeps. Jake stared at it, and the harbour getting closer, and wondered what to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nadia watched Jake’s eyes, then stared at the phone through the translucent plastic case. She almost dropped it there and then. Her instinct was to toss it over the side. Kadinsky sent updates every month on various equipment and gadgets used by intelligence and undercover law enforcement agencies such as the CIA and MI6. Anything from the latest SUV and van models used for stake-outs and major arrests, to guns and sniper rifles, to… mobile phones. She stared at the latest MI6 high encryption model, then into Jake’s eyes. He knows. He fucking knows! She felt as if Slick had just punched her in the stomach again. And there was nothing she could do. The harbour was close. The coastguard would be there to debrief them, as was standard procedure following any diving incident, especially one requiring a helicopter. All he had to do was say a few words.

  Game over.

  But he wasn’t answering the call. She continued to hold the case towards him in her outstretched arm, which was shaking. Even Ben cast a glance back at them. Jake met her eyes, and there was that recognition, that indefinable, mutual ‘I know you know’ look between them. He took the mobile, leaned forward and put it back where it had come from. It stopped ringing.

  Nadia couldn’t disguise her relief. ‘T
hank you,’ she said, her voice sounding small. She closed her arms around herself.

  He said nothing for a while, then two words, quietly, so only she could hear.

  ‘The Rose?’

  Her training screamed at her to lie, but her instincts told her she had no option but the truth right now. Her life, and Katya’s, were in Jake’s hands. She nodded.

  Again, he was quiet. Seagulls began to flap above the boat, the harbour welcoming committee. Her mind raced around, seeking options, but landed nowhere.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  Why? Seriously? She felt as if she was back in her cell in Lubyanka prison, but with Jake instead of Kadinsky asking an impossible question, her entire future hanging in the balance, along with Katya’s. But the harbour wall was nearing, cars parked there, one of them the coastguard, another a police sedan. Why? She thought about the whole story, from Viktor to Kadinsky to the rape to the training camp to nine ops including one where she’d shot two men… Not the best brochure. Besides, that wasn’t why she was here. It was really simple. And she had to reach him on an emotional level, right this second. She recalled seeing him on the rooftop earlier, and played a hunch.

  ‘Did you ever lose somebody you really cared about, Jake?’

  His steel blue eyes chiselled into hers. Clearly he had. Probably this Sean, whoever he was.

  She continued. ‘What would you do to bring them back?’

  His eyes flared, then he looked away. The engine whine diminished. She glanced at the shore, people staring their way, Elise’s boat already sliding into position against the harbour wall.

  She’d run out of time. She gripped his hand, spoke urgently but quietly. ‘My sister. They’ll kill her. They’ll… bury her alive.’ Her voice cracked. She stared at the corrugated aluminium floor.