Santorini

by Alistair MacLean

  'It doesn't appeal at all, sir.' Carrington was imperturbable. 'Neither Bill Grant nor I is cast in the heroic mould. We'll walk very softly down there. You shouldn't be worrying about us, you should be worrying about what your crew is thinking. If we slip up they'll all join us in the wide blue yonder or whatever. I know you want to come down, sir, but is it really necessary? We're pretty experienced in moving around inside wrecks without banging into things and we're both Torpedo Gunner Mates and explosives, you might say, are our business. Not, I admit, the kind of explosives you have down there but we know enough not to trigger a bomb by accident.'

  'And we might?' Talbot smiled. 'You're very tactful, Chief. What you mean is that we might bang into things or kick a detonator on the nose or something of the kind. When you say "necessary", do you mean "wise"? I refer to our diving experience or lack of it.'

  'We know about your diving experience, sir. You will understand that when we knew what we were coming into we made some discreet enquiries. We know that you have commanded a submarine and the Lieutenant-Commander was your first lieutenant. We know you've both been through the HMS Dolphin Submarine Escape Tower and that you've done more than a fair bit of free diving. No, we don't think you'll be getting in our way or banging things around.' Carrington turned up palms in acceptance. 'What's your battery capacity, sir?'

  'For essential and non-mechanical purposes, ample. Several days.'

  'We'll put down three weighted floodlights and suspend them about twenty feet above the bottom. That should illuminate the plane nicely. We'll have a powerful hand-flash each.

  We have a small bag of tools for cutting, sawing and snipping. We also have an oxyacetylene torch, which is rather more difficult to use under water than most people imagine, but as this is just a reconnaissance trip we won't be taking it along. The closed-circuit breathing is of the type we prefer, fifty-fifty oxygen and nitrogen with a carbon dioxide scrubber. At the depth of a hundred feet, which is what we will be at, we could easily remain underwater for an hour without any risk of either oxygen poisoning or decompression illness. That's academic, of course. Provided there's access to the plane and the fuselage is not crushed a few minutes should tell us all we want to know.

  'Two points about the helmet. There's a rotary chin switch which you depress to activate an amplifier that lets us talk, visor to visor. A second press cuts it off. It also has a couple of sockets over the ears where you can plug in what is to all effects a stethoscope.'

  'That's all?'

  'All.'

  'We can go now?'

  'A last check, sir?' Carrington didn't have to specify what check.

  Talbot lifted a phone, spoke briefly and replaced it.

  'Our friend is still at work.'

  The water was warm and still and so very clear that they could see the lights of the suspended arc-lamps even before they dipped below the surface of the darkened Aegean. With Carrington in the lead and using the marker buoy anchor rope as a guide they slid down fifty feet and stopped.

  The three arc-lamps had come to rest athwart the sunken bomber, sharply illuminating the fuselage and the two wings. The left wing, though still attached to the fuselage, had been almost completely sheared off between the inner engine and the fuselage and was angled back about thirty degrees from normal. The tail unit had been almost completely destroyed. The fuselage, or that part of it that could be seen from above, appeared to be relatively intact. The nose cone of the plane was shrouded in shadow.

  They continued their descent until their feet touched the top of the fuselage, half-walked, half-swam until they reached the front of the plane, switched on their flash-lights and looked through the completely shattered windows of the cockpit. The pilot and the co-pilot were still trapped in their seats. They were no longer men, just the vestigial remains of what had once been human beings. Death must have been instantaneous. Carrington looked at Talbot and shook his head, then dropped down to the sea-bed in front of the nose cone.

  The hole that had been blasted there was roughly circular with buckled and jagged edges projecting outwards, conclusive proof that the blast had been internal: the diameter of the whole was approximately five feet. Moving slowly and cautiously so as not to rip any of the rubber components of their diving suits, they passed in file into a compartment not more than four feet in height but almost twenty feet in length, extending from the nose cone, under the flight deck and then several feet beyond. Both sides of the compartment were lined with machinery and metal boxes so crushed and mangled that their original function was incomprehensible.

  Two-thirds of the way along the compartment a hatch had been blasted upwards. The opening led to a space directly behind the seats of the two pilots. Aft of this was what was left of a small radio-room with a man who appeared to be peacefully sleeping leaning forward on folded arms, the fingers of one hand still on a transmitting key. Beyond this, four short steps led down to an oval door let into a solid steel bulkhead. The door was secured by eight clamps, some of which had been jammed into position by the impact of the blast. A hammer carried by Carrington in his canvas bag of tools soon tapped them into a loosened position.

  Beyond the door lay the cargo compartment, bare, bleak, functional and obviously designed for one purpose only, the transport of missiles. These were secured by heavy steel clamps which were in turn bolted to longitudinal reinforced steel beams let into the floor and sides of the fuselage. There was oil mixed with the water in the compartment but even in the weird, swirling, yellowish light they looked neither particularly menacing nor sinister. Slender, graceful, with either end encased in a rectangular metal box they looked perfectly innocuous. Each contained fifteen megatons of high explosive.

  There were six of those in the first section of the compartment. As a formality, and not because of any expectations, Talbot and Carrington applied their stethoscopes to each cylinder in turn. The results were negative as they had known they would be: Dr Wickram had been positive that they contained no timing devices.

  There were also six missiles in the central compartment. Three of these were of the same size as those in the front compartment: the other three were no more than five feet in length. Those had to be the atom bombs. It was when he was testing the third of those with his stethoscope that Carrington beckoned to Talbot, who came and listened in turn. He didn't have to listen long. The two and a half second ticking sequence sounded exactly as it had done in the sonar room.

  In the aft compartment they went through the routine exercise of listening to the remaining six missiles and found what they had expected, nothing. Carrington put his visor close to Talbot's.

  'Enough?'

  'Enough.'

  'That didn't take you long,' Hawkins said.

  'Long enough to find out what we needed. Missiles are there, all present and correct as listed by the Pentagon. Only one bomb has been activated. Three dead men. That's all, except for the most important fact of all. The bomber crashed because of an internal explosion. Some kindly soul had concealed a bomb under the flight deck. The Pentagon must be glad that .they added the faint possibility that there was one chance in ten thousand that security might be breached. The faint possibility came true. Raises some fascinating questions, doesn't it, sir? Who? What? Why? When? We don't have to ask "where" because we already know that.'

  'I don't want to sound grim or vindictive,' Hawkins said, 'because I'm not. Well, maybe a little. Should cut the gentlemen on Foggy Bottom, or wherever, down to size and make them a mite more civil and co-operative in future. Not only is it an American plane that is responsible for the dreadful situation in which we find ourselves, but it was someone in America who was ultimately responsible. If they ever do discover who was responsible, and it's not without the bounds of possibility, it's going to cause an awful lot of red faces and I'm not just referring to the villain himself. I'd lay odds that the person responsible is an insider, a pretty high-up insider with free access to secret information, such as closely guarded secrets
as to the composition of the cargo, the destination and the time of take-off and arrival. Wouldn't you agree, Commander?'

  'I don't see how it can be otherwise. Not a problem I'd care to have on my hands. However, that's their problem. We have an even bigger problem on our hands.'

  'True, true.' Hawkins sighed. 'What's the next step, then? In recovering this damn bomb, I mean?'

  'I think you should ask Chief Petty Officer Carrington, sir, not me. He and Petty Officer Grant are the experts.'

  'It's a tricky one, sir,' Carrington said. 'Cutting away a fuselage section large enough to lift the bomb through is straight forward enough. But before we could lift the bomb out we would have to free it from its clamps and this is where the great difficulty lies. Those clamps are made of high-tensile steel fitted with a locking device. For that we need a key and we don't know where the key is.'

  'It could be,' Hawkins said, 'that the key is held at the missile base where the bombs were due to be delivered.'

  'With respect, sir, I think that unlikely. Those clamps had to be locked at the Air Force base where they were loaded. So they would have to have a key there. I think it would be much easier and more logical if they just took the key with them. Trouble is, a key is a very small thing and that's a very big bomber indeed.

  'If there's no key there are two ways we can remove that clamp. One is chemical, using either a metal softener or corrosive. The metal softener is used by stage magicians who go in for spoon-bending and such-like.'

  'Magicians?' Hawkins said. 'Charlatans, you mean.'

  'Whatever. The principle is the same. They use a colourless paste which has no effect on the skin but has the peculiar property of altering the molecular structure of a metal and making it malleable. A corrosive is simply a powerful acid that eats through steel. Lots of them on the market. But in this case, both softeners and corrosives have one impossible drawback: you can't use them underwater.'

  Hawkins said: 'You mentioned two ways of removing the clamp. What's the other?'

  'Oxyacetylene torch, sir. Make short work of any clamp. It would also, I imagine, make even shorter work of the operator. Those torches generate tremendous heat and I should also imagine that anyone who even contemplates using an oxyacetylene torch on an atom bomb is an obvious candidate for the loony-bin.'

  Hawkins looked at Wickram. 'Comment?'

  'No comment. Not on the unthinkable.'

  'I speak in no spirit of complaint, Carrington,' Hawkins said, 'but you're not very encouraging. What you are about to suggest, of course, is that we wait for the Kilcharran to come along and hoist the damn thing to the surface.'

  'Yes, sir.' Carrington hesitated. 'But there's a snag even to that.'

  'A snag?' Talbot said. 'You are referring, of course, to the distinct and unpleasant possibility that the ticking might stop while the Kilcharran's winch engine is working overtime at hauling the bomber to the surface?'

  'I mean just that, sir.'

  'A trifle. There are no trifles that the combined brain-power aboard the Ariadne can't solve.' He turned to Denholm. 'You can fix that, Lieutenant?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'How, sir?' There was a pardonable note of doubt if not outright disbelief in Carrington's voice: Lieutenant Denholm didn't look like the type of person who could fix anything.

  Talbot smiled. 'If I may say this gently, Chief, one does not question Lieutenant Denholm on those matters. He knows more about electric's and electronics than any man in the Mediterranean.'

  'It's quite simple, Chief,' Denholm said. 'We just couple up the combined battery powers of the Ariadne and the Kilcharran. The Kilcharran's winches are probably diesel-powered. We may or may not be able to convert them to electrical use. If we can't, it doesn't matter. We have excellent electric anchor windlasses on the Ariadne.'

  'Yes, but -- well, with one of your two anchors out of commission you'd start drifting, wouldn't you?'

  'We wouldn't drift. A diving ship normally carries four splayed anchors to moor it precisely over any given spot on the ocean floor. We just tie up to the Kilcharran, that's all.'

  'I'm not doing too well, am I? One last objection, sir.

  Probably a feeble one. An anchor is only an anchor. This bomber and its cargo probably weighs over a hundred tons. I mean, it's quite a lift.'

  'Diving ships also carry flotation bags. We strap them to the plane's fuselage and pump them full of compressed air until we achieve neutral buoyancy.'

  'I give up,' Carrington said. 'From now on, I stick to diving.'

  'So we twiddle our thumbs until the Kilcharran arrives,' Hawkins said. 'But not you, I take it, Commander?'

  'I think we'll have a look at the Delos, sir.'

  Chapter 5

  They had rowed about a mile when Talbot called up the Ariadne. He spoke briefly, listened briefly, then turned to McKenzie who was at the tiller.

  'Ship oars. The timing device is still at it so I think we'll start the engine. Gently, at first. At this distance I hardly think we'd trigger anything even if the bomb was activated, but no chances. Course 095.'

  There were nine of them in the whaler - Talbot, Van Gelder, the two divers, McKenzie and the four seamen who had rowed them so far. Those last would not be required again until they reached the last mile of the return trip.

  After about forty minutes Van Gelder moved up into the bows with a portable six-inch searchlight which, on such a clear night, had an effective range of over a mile. The searchlight was probably superfluous for there was a three-quarter moon and Talbot, with his night-glasses, had a clear bearing on the monastery and the radar station on Mount Elias. Van Gelder returned within minutes and handed the searchlight to McKenzie.

  'Fine off the port bow, Chief.'

  'I have it,' McKenzie said. The yellow buoy, in the light of both the moon and the searchlight, was clearly visible. 'Do I anchor?'

  'Not necessary,' Talbot said. 'No current that's worth speaking of, no wind, a heavy anchor weight and a stout anchor rope. Just make fast to the buoy.'

  In course of time McKenzie did just that and the four divers slipped over the side, touching down on the deck of the Delos just over an hour after leaving the Ariadne. Carrington and Grant disappeared down the for'ard companionway while Talbot and Van Gelder took the after one.

  Talbot didn't bother entering the after stateroom. The two girls had stayed there and he knew it would hold nothing of interest for him. He looked at the dead engineer, or the man whom Van Gelder had taken to be the engineer because of his blue overalls, and examined the back of his head carefully. The occiput had not been crushed and there were no signs of either bruising or blood in the vicinity of the deep gash in the skin of the skull. He rejoined Van Gelder who had already moved into the engine-room.

  There was, of course, no smoke there now and very little traces of oil. In the light of their two powerful flashlights visibility was all that could be wished for and it took them only two minutes to carry out their examination: unless one is looking for some obscure mechanical fault there is very little to look for in an engine-room. On their way out they opened up a tool-box and took out a long slender chisel apiece.

  They found the bridge, when they arrived there, to be all that they would have expected a bridge on such a yacht to be, with a plethora of expensive and largely unnecessary navigational aids, but in all respects perfectly innocuous. Only one thing took Talbot's attention, a wooden cupboard on the after bulkhead. It was locked, but on the understandable assumption that Andropulos wouldn't be having any further use for it Talbot wrenched it open with a chisel. It contained the ship's papers and ship's log, nothing more.

  A door on the port side of the same bulkhead led to a combined radio-room and chart-room. The chart-room section held nothing that a chart-room should not have had,

  including a locked cupboard which Talbot opened in the same cavalier fashion he had used on the bridge: it held only pilot books and sailing directions. Andropulos, it seemed, just liked locking cupboards
. The radio was a standard RCA. They left.

  They found Carrington and Grant waiting for them in the saloon. Carrington was carrying what appeared to be a portable radio: Grant had a black metallic box slightly larger than a sheet of foolscap paper and less than three inches thick. Carrington put his visor close to Talbot's.

  'All we could find. Of interest, I mean.'

  'We have enough.'

  'Dispatch would appear to be the keynote of your investigations, Commander,' Hawkins said. Glass in hand, he was seated across the wardroom table from Talbot. 'I mean, you seem to spend singularly little time on your -- um -- aquatic investigation.'

  'You can find out interesting things in a very short space of time, sir. Too much, for some people.'