by Greig Beck
“Go on.” Yusoff leaned closer.
“There is someone, a commando who was a submariner. He is awaiting execution for murder. He could be adapted to our needs. He would be the perfect assassin,” Stroyev assured.
“I want Mironov brought to me. I want to look him in the eye, and then blow his brains all over the wall, personally.” Yusoff glared.
“You wish to do it yourself?” Stroyev’s brows knitted.
“Yes. I have waited decades for this opportunity. This man we send, he must be prepared to do anything, everything, for this mission. Will he?”
“He could be made to kill for us,” Stroyev said evenly.
“Not enough.” Yusoff leant so close that Stroyev could smell beer and onions on the man’s breath. “He must be prepared to go to hell and back, and bring that pig to me, alive. We need to ensure we have the right levers to pull to make this submariner dance to our tune.”
Stroyev nodded, and rubbed his chin. “He has a family… poor. Perhaps we could tell him that when he has completed his mission, his record will be wiped clean, and his family will be well looked after – a new house, medical care?”
“If he thought there’d be a happy ending, then anything is possible.” Yusoff sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled on his stomach. “But of course, once he has given us Mironov, then he is a risk. No one can be left alive – no loose ends.”
Stroyev held his hands open. “Of course.”
Yusoff grinned. “I don’t care what it costs – make it happen.”
* * *
Uli Stroyev typed his plans on his computer. He made lists: what skills he would need, from where, and how much it would cost to procure his assets. He also had to factor in which government officials and other bureaucrats he would need to bribe… or threaten. Yusoff had said he didn’t care what it cost. That made success the only factor to consider.
He sat back, thinking through the logistics. One difficulty was getting his man inserted onto Mironov’s crew list without being detected. But once that was achieved, then he could take control and steer the vessel to wherever was required. The other challenge was extracting Valery Mironov from a submersible in an underground sea.
Stroyev knew people could be transferred safely from a submersible even at extreme depths. They had docking tubes, and the larger models even had facilities built in to jettison a lifeboat pod.
But how would you extract someone from below the water that was also below the earth? He rubbed his chin, his mind whirring furiously now.
Yusoff owned a petroleum company that had a small fleet of oil exploration ships. They needed to bore into the seabed all the time, and then extract oil from the depths. The technology was already there; it just needed to be adapted.
He would call an emergency meeting with the mining engineers. It might be possible – no – it would be. If Mironov could be extracted alive, then good. And if he died, well, Yusoff would be pissed but at least he would have the pleasure of knowing his old foe died while being crushed in a pipe miles below the ocean.
Stroyev reached for the phone; it was time these overpaid technocrats pushed some technological boundaries.
CHAPTER 4
Two Months Later
“All right, I’ll bite, so, other than me, who made the cut for the Fantastic Voyage team?” Greg asked.
Cate stopped entering data on her screen, and sat back. “Sure, you’re on the list, but it’s going to be dangerous, so this is a voluntary gig. Could be a one-way trip.”
“Pfft. Is that some sort of pre-mission pep talk? Sign me up.” He grinned. “And think of all that overtime.”
“I’m serious Greg.” She swung around, staring into his face.
He held her gaze. “I am serious. As an evolutionary biologist, this is probably the biggest opportunity that will ever come my way. I’m definitely in.”
“Good.” Cate smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm.
“So, who else?” Greg tilted his head, brows raised.
“There will be a crew of seven. There’ll be me, of course, and now you. And seeing it’s a subterranean mission, we’ll need a geologist, so Abby Burke is available to come. Valery Mironov is coming as a passenger, and he’s already selected one other – a specialist.”
Greg silently counted. “Okay, that’s five; you said seven.”
Cate swung back to her screen. “Valery obtained a new Russian Priz Class submersible – apparently the biggest, toughest Deep Sea Vehicle going around. He even managed to get a two-man engineering crew as part of the deal. So that makes seven.”
Greg whistled. “Okay, I am now officially impressed.” He leaned over her shoulder. “So, this new Russian boyfriend of yours; he’s single?”
Cate laughed softly, but had wondered what it would be like to date a billionaire. “Don’t be ridiculous, Professor Jamison; we’re just friends.” But who knows what the future holds.
“And the expert?” Greig straightened.
She turned to face him again. “Mironov suggested someone he knows, maybe a fellow Russian, with a unique skill set; a marine biologist who specializes in Selachimorpha – sharks.”
CHAPTER 5
Kodiak Island, Kodiak Archipelago, former Russian Settlement
The submarine engineer downed another glass of vodka and checked his watch. He had plenty of time. Early next morning he was to board a helicopter that would drop him on Baranof Island to meet with his crewmembers, and another Russian submariner.
He snorted; he’d never worked with Americans before. He heard they were brash and loud, but soft. A little like children who had eaten too much sugar at a birthday party. He chuckled, and downed his vodka. Checking his watch again; he’d have another, and then get some sleep.
The Russian engineer’s cabin was on the outskirts of a small settlement that was little more than a few dozen houses, a landing strip, and miles of jagged coast. He groaned and stood – he needed to piss first. He headed to the outhouse, unbuttoning his fly as he went. In the single toilet room, he pulled open his pants and was about to let a stream of urine go when the loop of wire slipped around his neck. It pulled tight in an instant, and his breath, blood flow and thinking was immediately cut off.
The last thing he knew was a pounding in his temples that was like monstrous drumbeats, and then someone whispering in Russian for him to be quiet, to relax, and let go.
He did.
* * *
The agent opened the door a crack; seeing no one outside, he quickly dragged the body back to the submariner’s cabin. He sorted through the man’s travel documents and identification, substituting his own for those that needed new facial photographs.
He then quickly sent a confirmation back to his controller – mission was go.
He grinned as he saw the small glass of vodka already poured, waiting. He lifted it, saluting, and downing it in one. He wiped his mouth, and then set to prising up the wooden floorboards. He’d bury the body under the cabin. With the coming winter, it would be months before the ground was warm enough to give up its stinking secrets.
He had hours before the helicopter to Baranof Island. He poured another vodka.
CHAPTER 6
The Bering Sea, ten miles west of the Baker-Shevardnadze Line
– 168 deg 58’ 37’
Captain Boris Gorkin flicked the thick, unfiltered cigarette over the railing, where the freezing, iron-gray sea quickly swallowed it in its cap of froth and foam. The Russian drill ship, the Viktor Dubynin, was attached to the ocean floor by six sea anchors each weighing thirty thousand pounds and connected to the ship by steel cables two inches in diameter.
They were designed to hold it in place even in the roughest of conditions. But still the vessel bucked and pulled like a stallion refusing to be broken. The Dubynin was in an area of the Bering Sea that was just ten miles from the Russian-USA Maritime boundary, and in water that was shallow at only five hundred feet. Twelve thousand years ago this area was a land bridge
between what is now Russian and Alaska, and had been honeycombed with caves.
Captain Gorkin looked westward, out over the freezing chop. Below the water, he would normally have feeder pipes already laid down and ready for them. The pipeline would be thirty inches in diameter and allow millions of gallons of under-pressure liquid to be extracted and then transported per minute. But that was for a standard petroleum extraction project.
The job their masters had told them to execute would be one of retrieval, and the pipes they used would be stouter, wider – fifty inches overall – and the pumping would be of a single object. It sounded to be more like sucking a tablet through a drinking straw; he grinned at the madness of it.
About two thousand feet below the sea bottom, they had been told to seek out a huge liquid bed the size of Lake Baikal. And now, the specialised ship was already penetrating the sea floor, its tungsten-tipped drill pushing through the hundreds of feet of ancient mud that had been laid down many millions of years before, and then on into the super-hard matrix that lay below it.
Blowout collars and numerous seals protected the drill shaft, as the liquid they expected to encounter would be under extreme pressure, and the risk of leakage was high. So far, the presence of the Viktor Dubynin raised no eyebrows, even so close to the Baker-Shevardnadze Line, as these roving ships either explored, sampled, or drilled on the shelf of their own continent every month of the year.
Gorkin pulled open the door, entering the warmth of the cabin. The subterranean liquid bed would soon be breached. The drill ship’s crew of fifty men and women were confident they would be ready to accept the object within the next few days – provided it was in the right place. The entire operation would eventually cost many, many millions, but the promised bonuses would be huge.
Gorkin smiled; everything was going to plan, and the only thing left to consider was how to spend his money.
CHAPTER 7
Baranof Island, Granger Base Camp
Cate finally felt that her ass was coming back into shape after several hours on the unforgiving seat of the helicopter. She stretched her back again and looked out over the swarms of people, tents, and furiously-working machinery. It was hard to believe this was the site of the conversation they’d had with Freddie only a few months back. Now it more resembled a circus, complete with its own big-top – a gigantic, hundred foot tent-like structure erected over the hole that was being cut, drilled, and excavated down to the huge cavern she knew existed below them.
Getting approval to excavate, let alone be here, was something Cate hadn’t even thought about. And when she did, she assumed it would be impossible to achieve. But Valery Mironov had contacts, and his assistant, Sonya Borashev, had the ideas. It turned out that getting an exploration license for geothermals was relatively easy – you tell the Alaskan government you’re looking for oil, they’ll tell you to go to hell. You tell them you’re looking for a cheap, renewable energy resource, and they’ll invite you to dinner.
She smiled as she watched the workers move about quickly and efficiently, all in bright red high-visibility coveralls, looking like some sort of gigantic swarm of army ants crawling over their nest.
Cate was the last of the team in. Valery Mironov, his specialist, Sonya, Greg and Abby, plus the two submersible engineers were already onsite… somewhere.
She grimaced at the sound of grinding that could be felt as well as heard, as diamond-tipped cutters made short work of the diorite and granite layers. She nodded, satisfied, and turned to flip back the door flap of their tent. Greg and Abby turned to nod to her, and Sonya continued to stare at a small screen.
“Excellent work.” Jack Monroe turned to her. “You’ve managed to take a shot of something using the same camera they must use to snap pictures of Bigfoot and Nessie.” He gave her that grin she both hated and loved.
She stared, feeling like a bolt of electricity ran right through her. Her mouth hung open, and she had to consciously snap it shut.
“What… the hell… are you doing here?”
“He’s my specialist, of course.” Valery Mironov entered the tent. He was whip-thin, but looked fit and elegant in his coverall uniform. “I’m sure I told you I’d be bringing one.”
Cate rounded on Mironov, jerking a thumb back at Jack. “But not that one.”
“Thanks, and no offence taken.” Jack still grinned.
“I wanted the best, and Mr Monroe is the best.” He looked from Cate to Jack, and then back to Cate, a single eyebrow raised. “I hope you two professionals won’t find working together a problem?”
Jack held up his hands. “I’m fine with it.”
I’ll bet you are, she thought and steamed, feeling her heart race. The damned thing was she couldn’t yet tell if it was from anger at being ambushed, or from excitement. She decided to play it cool, and worked at relaxing her features. She smiled. “No, no problem at all.” She held out her hand to Jack. “I was just a little surprised is all. Good to see you again.”
“Same.” Jack grabbed her hand, and shook it.
His hand felt hot, and her heart rate went up another few beats.
“Excellent.” Mironov clapped, and then turned. He spoke quietly in Russian to Sonya who nodded and laughed softly. He then crossed to the others. “Greg Jamison and Abigail Burke, I believe.” Mironov shook hands with each and then returned to Cate, taking her by the arm and leading her away a few paces. He bent and lowered his voice.
“It is good to see you again, Cate. I hope I didn’t embarrass you, but time was short, and I needed the best. There simply is no time to worry about emotional politics.”
She waved it away. “Forget it; when did you get here?”
“Hours ago; I’ve been checking on a few things, making sure that our submersible was shipshape. As you know, this investment is expensive, and I’m sure we all want to get the maximum benefit from it.” He checked his watch. “And I still have a few things to coordinate. So I’ll leave you to it.” He saluted her, and his mouth just curved into a smile as his eyes slid to Jack. Mironov nodded to the rest of team and then left. Sonya followed him out.
“So, that was the boss, huh?” Greg said as the tent flap closed.
“No,” Cate said, turning to him, and then Jack. “On this trip, I’m the boss.”
Jack also saluted. “Sir, yes sir.” He pointed back to the computer screen. “Now, about that drunken picture of yours.” Seeing her scowl, he waved her down. “Just pulling your pigtails, Cate. It’s an exciting image, especially given it’s from some sort of troglodytic species.” He straightened coming to his full six feet two inches. “There’s a lot of motion blurring, but if, as you said, this camera took the footage at fifty frames per second, then whatever that is, must have been coming at you at significant speed. Definitely a tooth though, and from the shape, I’d swear it was a Great White.”
“I knew it was a tooth.” Cate made a fist.
“Oh yeah.” Jack nodded. “Triangular shape, serrated edge, definitely an upper tooth of the Carcharodon species. This thing is used for cutting up large prey. We’ve got no perspective to judge proportions, so it could be any size.”
“Sharks don’t live in caves. So what else could it be?” Greg’s brows were drawn together.
Jack shrugged. “Something I’ve never seen, maybe. Can’t tell all that much from a few blurred frames. But, just to walk you back there, Mr Jamison, nurse, epaulette, horn, to name just a few sharks, can all live in caves, and many shark species only hunt in the dark. These things are amazing creatures. They’re very ancient, and been around for hundreds of millions of years. They can adapt quickly to changing environments – light versus dark, salt versus fresh, warm versus cold.” Jack folded his arms across his chest. “In fact, the bigger guys who hunt at great depths have to quickly adjust to changing cold, light, salt, pressure, almost instantly.”
Greg shrugged. “So do whales.”
Jack nodded. “But the sharks have an advantage – they don’t need t
o surface. Big ol’ whale dives deep looking for squid, instead finds a hungry Great White already down there.”
“I always wondered about that.” Abby came closer. “In the depths it’s always permanent darkness, so how exactly do they see what they’re going after? Sense of smell?” Abby tilted her head; her eyes glistened as they fixed on the tall and handsome marine biologist.
Abby’s attention irritated Cate. But she also saw that Greg’s eyes narrowed, and he eased forward before Jack could respond. “Super senses.” He smiled confidently. “Sure, they have eyes but don’t need them to hunt. They can sorta feel electrical impulses and vibrations in the water. Right, Jack?”
Jack nodded. “Very good, Mr Jamison; the shark’s snout is a veritable factory of sensory organs, many of them we are only just now working out what they do and how they do it.”
“It’s Greg; just call me Greg.” He gave a slight bow, his eyes on Abby.
Jack grinned. “Greg it is then.”
“And Abby.” She gave him a wide grin and stuck out her hand.
Jack shook it, and the young geologist hung on for a few seconds longer than Cate liked. Suddenly everyone seemed gathered around Jack, while she, the mission leader, was standing by herself.
“Okay, when you three have finished bonding,” Cate glared momentarily at Greg and Abby, and then looked down at the image on her screen. “Bottom line, which no one here is disputing, is it’s probably a unique species, living in a remote and untouched environment. We need to ensure it stays that way.”
“Works for me,” Jack said.
“If we can find the creature again and document it, then we can seek a protection order over the entire subterranean body of water – have it set aside as a no-go zone like we’ve done with some of the last pristine reefs and estuaries. Then as the primary discoverers, we can apply for a solitary research license – it’ll be all ours for years.”