"I appreciate your words, Dr. al-Fayed," Admiral Whitsun was saying. "You are a sweet young woman, and your future husband is a lucky man. But you must understand, this is how men like me do things. It is the only honorable course left to me." He reached down and wiped the tears from Fatima's cheeks. "No need for that," he said. "I have done what I came here to do. There is nothing to be sad about. Chin up, eh?" He smiled at her, waiting for her to smile back. Weakly, she fought back her tears and complied.
The old man rose stiffly from his chair and stepped into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a glass bottle in his hand. Sam recognized it at once. God only knew where the admiral had concealed it, because Sam would certainly have spotted it if it had been out in the open in the kitchen. It was a very old bottle of Dewar's White Label—eight years old at the time of bottling, sometime in the 1930s. That was probably a fairly cheap whisky when it was brought here, Sam realized.
It was not until Admiral Whitsun's fingers closed around the gun on the table that Sam realized what he was planning to do. Instinctively he reached forward to protest, but halfway through the gesture he checked himself. Beside him, Nina did the same. Admiral Whitsun's mind was clearly made up. It's his choice, Sam thought. He's a grown man, and if that's how he wants to deal with his grief and guilt, it's not for us to stop him. Let him make his exit with dignity.
The last they saw of Admiral Whitsun was the old man framed by the door lintel, a gun in one hand and a bottle in the other, retiring to his private quarters.
"Hand me the wrench!" Alexandr yelled. Nina obliged, while Sam busied himself trying to help Jefferson Daniels appease Professor Matlock.
"This is lunacy," Matlock was ranting. "Look at it!" He gesticulated wildly at the U-boat. "Look! It's been sitting here since who knows when, 1945 at least, and you people think we're just going to get it working and sail out of here!"
Jefferson followed him as he strode up and down the dock, making all the right noises about how they had to try. But Sam could see that Matlock was afraid, and he was sure that this anger was his way of attempting to cope with it. He could also see that it was starting to wear Jefferson down and was upsetting Fatima. Unfortunately, Sam had spent too much of the expedition winding Matlock up to be much help when it came to calming him down. In reality, all he was doing was trying to convince himself that he was being helpful and useful. Anything to prevent himself from thinking about the gunshots, and the blood, and anything that connected the day's events to that day in his past.
"These vessels are intended for a forty-five-man crew!" Matlock was blustering. "A crew which, I might add, would have been properly trained! You can't sail a U-boat on a wing and a prayer, it's preposterous."
"We don't have to get far." Purdue was leaning against a wall, watching Alexandr's comings and goings with interest. "Or navigate, really. No one is proposing that we sail home in this. All we need to do is get as far as the surface. I have a charter boat stationed at Deception Island that was to take us back to Ushuaia when we were ready, but once we reach the surface I should be able to summon it."
"Oh?" Professor Matlock's tones were icier than the water lapping in the empty pens. "How?"
"You wouldn't ask a magician to reveal his techniques." In any other person's voice it might have been a question, but in Purdue's flat monotone it was a simple statement of fact.
"Oh, well that settles everything, doesn't it?" Matlock rounded on Purdue, his mouth open for a barrage of sarcastic insults, when suddenly Jefferson's fist connected with Matlock's jaw. The academic reeled and fell to his knees.
"Shut up, will you?" Jefferson yelled. "Just shut the fuck up! I can't listen to you for a second longer!" He lurched forward. His foot swung back. Sam, never usually the physical type, threw his arms around Jefferson and tackled him to the ground. Jefferson recovered in an instant and rolled, coming up on top of Sam. His hand balled into a fist. Sam screwed his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow.
It never came. Instead he felt Jefferson's weight being lifted off of him as Ziv Blomstein stepped in. As they scrambled to their feet Sam, Matlock, and Daniels glared at one another, then silently scattered to different parts of the room. Only Purdue was unperturbed—at least, until he heard the sound of the U-boat's diesel engine sputtering to life.
"Alexandr! You genius!" Purdue shouted above the engine's roar. Moments later Alexandr's head appeared through the trapdoor, beaming triumphantly. "All aboard!" Purdue cried.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Matlock called. He pointed at the sluice gates that kept the pen dry. "What is the point if you can't get it out of here?"
For the briefest of moments, Alexandr looked thrown. Then he climbed swiftly down from the deck and jumped lightly onto the dock. The lever that controlled the pen was located at the far end of the dock, so it took him only a few steps to reach it. Theatrically, he threw it.
Nothing happened. Alexandr tried the lever again, listening carefully to it. Nothing happened. "Its gears are damaged," he muttered, then strode out of the room, back toward their quarters, leaving everyone to stare in silence. Within seconds there were angry yells from Jefferson, from Matlock, and a stifled sob from Fatima, but all the frightened noises were abruptly cut off by Alexandr's sudden return.
He rushed to the end of the dock, down by the sluice gates, and glanced around wildly. "I need a box," he said, pulling a small black carton from his pocket and tapping it impatiently. "Nina, I believe you had a pack of these as well? Give it to me, please. Sam! Where is the box that contained the vials? Is it still in the refectory? Go and get it, at once!"
Sam asked no questions but set off immediately, running up the stairs to grab the box, then dashing back down as quickly as he could. By the time he got back, Alexandr was cross-legged on the ground, whittling away at something with his knife. As Sam put the box down beside him he saw what it was.
"He's lost his mind," said Matlock. "Completely. We need to get through that gate and all he can think of to do is carve up some playing cards."
"Ssssh," Purdue raised a finger to his lips. "I think I know what Mr. Arichenkov is doing. I want to know whether I am right."
One by one, Alexandr flipped over the cards. If the card was black he discarded it, tossing it to one side. If it was red, he would carefully slice off the pips and place them in the box. His hands moved at frantic speed. Finally, when he had reached the last card and removed its three diamond-shaped pips, he got to his feet. "Stand back," he instructed the group.
Purdue clapped his hands. "Ah, it is what I thought! Excellent! I have always wanted to try this."
"What is it?" Sam whispered, watching intently as Alexandr crouched by the vacated pen and scooped freezing water with his hands, dumping it into the wooden box.
"Nitrocellulose," Purdue replied. "This is how William Kogut nearly escaped from his cell in San Quentin in the 1930s—a most remarkable man."
"Nearly escaped?"
"Well, he may have overdone things a little. He inadvertently blew himself up as he tried to blast his way out, but the theory was flawless." Purdue reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. "Alexandr! You'll need heat! Try this." He dashed forward as Alexandr was closing the box and shaking it up. He held the flame underneath. As the box caught fire, Alexandr threw it toward the sluice gate and the two men turned and ran.
"Everybody down!" yelled Alexandr They barely had time to cooperate before the explosion happened.
When Sam looked up there was a gaping hole where the sluice gate had once been, and water was flooding in from the icy ocean. The group scrambled up the ladder and down through the trapdoor into the U-boat, closing the hatch just as the ocean water began to swell and carry the submarine out of its moorings. Alexandr seized the wheel that controlled the rudder, and their desperate journey began.
Chapter 25
AT THE TOP of the stairs, Admiral Whitsun took a left turn along the dark corridor that led to the surface. Slowly but steadily, he made hi
s way up the slope until he reached the door by which they had initially entered. It took all the strength he had to turn the wheel that opened it, but after a certain amount of groaning and wheezing he managed it.
He stepped outside, into the frozen landscape, and looked up at the clear white sky. From his coat pocket he pulled the small satellite phone that he had discreetly taken from the corpse of Major Alfsson, flipped it open and dialed.
"I'm ready," he said. "Send the transport."
"You're kidding, right? Tell me you are kidding."
"I'm not, Jefferson," Fatima was scrutinizing the sonar. "We're really deep down, and there's a solid mass above us. There's nowhere we can surface around here."
"And nobody thought to check this before we set off?" Daniels' face was turning livid pink beneath the tan.
"It's not like there was a map!" Fatima snapped. "Nobody was exactly planning this!"
"Ok, ok," Sam took Jefferson by the shoulders and steered him away. "Come on. Let's try to keep our cool. We've been making steady progress for a while now, we'll find somewhere soon."
"We're not looking for a motorway service station, Mr. Cleave," Professor Matlock joined in. "We have been sailing for around forty minutes. Unless we find a place to surface within the next fifteen minutes or so, we will run out of oxygen. You do know what happens in that eventuality, don't you?"
"Stop talking!" Fatima snarled, her gaze never wandering from the sonar. "The more you talk, the more air you use up."
Jefferson and Professor Matlock clearly wanted to argue, but they knew that she was right. They fell into a surly silence. Sam picked his way along the U-boat toward the navigation area, where Purdue and Blomstein were waiting for any new information from Fatima to tell them where to go. The division of tasks had happened swiftly and naturally. Alexandr had taken responsibility for the engine room. Fatima, who had done a few dives before, knew how to read sonar. Blomstein had served aboard a submarine previously, although he did not divulge the circumstances. Sam and Nina were acting as runners, transferring communication from one part of the boat to the others. In theory they were sharing this task with Jefferson and Professor Matlock, but they could not be torn away from the sonar, where they waited desperately for any signs of open water. Sam shot Nina a smile as they crossed paths. He was not feeling particularly brave, but he knew that she was struggling to keep her claustrophobia under control and wanted to be supportive.
"Anything?" Purdue asked as Sam entered. Sam shook his head. "I see," said Purdue. "I will start looking for any oxygen tanks, then."
Sam nodded and slumped against the door. Is this really going to be it? he wondered. I never thought I'd suffocate in a cramped metal tube beneath the Antarctic Ocean . . .
"We've got one!" Fatima yelled. "Prepare to take her up!"
The hatch creaked open. Purdue was first to climb out. They found themselves in a vast grotto, hewn from the ice by the hot springs, with dripping stalactites reaching down from the high ceiling. Nina had never felt as small as she did in that space, nor so glad to be in a cavernous chamber.
When they were done with gulping down lungfuls of the fresh, salty air, they made their way down the ladder. By great good fortune, the grotto contained a small outcropping of rocks that was within jumping distance and made a decent makeshift dock. Once on the rocks they had to clamber over a little mound to reach the plateau on the other side.
"Oh!" Purdue stopped as he reached the top of the mound. He looked around at the others. "You might want to prepare yourselves," he said. "We are evidently not the only travelers ever to have found our way into this cave, and some of you might find the presence of our predecessors a little distressing."
This stopped some of the others in their tracks, but Sam's curiosity got the better of him and he could see that the same was true for Nina. Sam was secretly pleased to see that the bodies that lay scattered across the plateau had long since decomposed and were now just skeletons. After his encounter with the murdered soldiers, he was in no hurry to see any more fresh corpses.
Much more disturbing than the dead bodies was the rusted, partly-submerged U-boat. Evidently there was more than one point of access to the grotto, but this party had never made it out again. Perhaps it was because their own means of exit was by no means certain, but Sam found the sight of the abandoned boat quite chilling.
Alexandr and Nina, on the other hand, were exhilarated. They scrambled straight onto the plateau and rushed toward the objects of their fascination—in Nina's case the corpses, which she wanted to examine, and in Alexandr's case the defunct submarine, which he wanted to plunder for fuel.
"Stop!" Fatima's voice rang out urgently, amplified and echoed back by the cavern's acoustics. "Nina, Alexandr, wait!"
But it was too late. Nina was already on her knees next to the nearest skeleton, her fingers in the pocket of its duffel coat, and Alexandr had reached the U-boat and laid a hand on its rusty surface.
"Oh, shit . . ." said Fatima, "What have you done?"
"What?" Nina asked. "What's the matter?"
"Where do you think that U-boat came from?" Fatima demanded. "Because I'll bet it came from one of those empty spaces in the dock at Wolfenstein. What if these guys were trying to escape from exactly the same thing that we were? We don't know what they died of. We don't know whether it's something that's still alive—and we may just have exposed ourselves to it, again."
Sam felt a prickling, uneasy sensation creeping up the back of his neck. "But we've been vaccinated now, right? So we should be ok?"
"Some of us were vaccinated," Fatima said darkly. "And for all I know, it could have mutated over time. If we're looking at a different strain, my vaccine won't be worth a damn—assuming that it ever was in the first place."
"Shit," said Sam. He waited for the feelings of doom and hopelessness to take hold, but all he felt was a certain resignation. "Look, does anyone mind if I smoke?"
An argument broke out after that, of course. Accusations flew as everyone blamed one another for the danger they were now in. There were recriminations about whether they should have taken the U-boat, whether they should have opened the locked doors in Wolfenstein, whether they should have set out for Antarctica in the first place. None of it brought them to any kind of conclusion except that if they were infected it was too late to do anything about it, and they were not going to be rescued down here.
"The device needs a satellite connection to work," Purdue lamented, prodding idly at the tiny, paper-thin device in his hand. "That will have to be my next challenge, I think. Building a device that satisfactorily avoids the normal constraints placed on communications."
"So we must reach the surface," Alexandr said. "There is likely to be a little fuel left onboard the other boat. Give me long enough to transfer it to our own tanks and we will try again."
While Alexandr busied himself with siphoning fuel from the defunct U-boat, Sam joined Nina by the skeletons. She was carefully searching through their pockets, trying not to disturb them more than was strictly necessary.
"I just want to find something that tells me who they are," she said, placing the contents of their pockets a little pile at each skeleton's feet. "Presumably they either came from the ice station or were on their way to it. Their uniforms aren't from the 1940s, and this one has an appointment diary from 1953."
1953! Sam suddenly remembered Karl Witzinger's letter. His hands flew to his pockets, feeling for the leather wallet, but he found nothing but a filled-up memory card and a lighter. He checked his inside pocket. Nothing. It's in my backpack, isn't it? He thought. Along with my camera. And my tobacco pouch. All sitting neatly next to my bunk . . . Shit.
"What's up?" Nina asked, seeing him searching for something. "What have you lost?"
Sam opened his mouth to tell her about Witzinger's letter and how these skeletons were probably the scientists who had attempted to escape from the ice station, but at that moment Alexandr called out to them.
"We hav
e all the fuel we are likely to get," he cried. "So let's get out of here!"
Nina stuffed the skeletons' possessions into her pockets. "Sorry lads," she said, "but you're not going to need them, and I might. Come on, Sam."
Admiral Whitsun alighted from the hovercraft in a remote bay. He crossed the beach, marching smartly past a small cohort of PMCs, and made his way to a small speedboat, which was waiting to transport him to the destroyer anchored nearby.
"Welcome back, sir!" His second-in-command, Captain Belvedere, saluted as Admiral Whitsun stepped onto the boat. "Did things go well?"
"Exceptionally well, Captain Belvedere," Whitsun replied as they sped across the water. "The virus is definitely still live and highly communicable. Our friends in the East will pay a great deal for it. However, there was one slight hitch—I believe that the rest of the expedition party might attempt to make an escape, and if they do we need to be ready for them. Either they will come by land, in which case the platoons surrounding Neumayer will deal with them, or they will find a way to get that old submarine working. Oh, it seems unlikely, I know. But I may have underestimated both Mr. Purdue and the guide. In retrospect I should simply have killed them all. Mr. Blomstein might have posed me a problem there, but perhaps he could have been paid off and recruited. The others . . . I should have contented myself with seeing Mr. Cleave dead, rather than succumbing to the temptation to leave him and his friends to die slowly. But forgive me, I am allowing myself to be distracted. If they succeed in making it to the surface, they will emerge somewhere to the southwest of Deception Island. While our colleagues recover the biological material from Wolfenstein and prepare it for transport, we shall wait near Deception Island. If that submarine appears, we shall destroy it."
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