The Depths

by John Creasey

  All over the world, the ships of the Royal Navy were on the alert. Every commander and every senior officer knew what had been threatened, and rumours had spread among the ratings, too. Lookouts scanned the horizon and the nearer waters, with almost desperate anxiety. Every time a wave appeared to be larger than usual, every time a swell struck a ship broadside on, every time a squall of wind came out of the sky, there were moments of dread. All crews were alerted for action stations.

  In the Indian Ocean, in the South Pacific, in the North Atlantic and the North Sea, in the Mediterranean, in the Timor Sea, in the Red Sea, in the Gulf of Aden – all over the world where the ships of the Royal Navy had their bases, these were ready for an attack which, if it came, they could not hope to repulse.

  Huge ironclads, the last of the battleships and the light- cruisers, massive aircraft carriers, perky destroyers – all of these steamed about their lawful occasions, ready on an instant’s notice to try to cope with an emergency.

  In London, at the Admiralty, the staff was also at action stations.

  The First Lord and the Minister were awake, half fearful, half persuaded that the horror would not come. Perhaps the worst thing of all was that all men in authority knew that it might – and that if it did, there was nothing that even the strongest vessel could withstand.

  Reports from submarines of all nations came in, of the sighting of unfamiliar objects, but none of these materialised into anything which they could see clearly, or could identify.

  Naval attaches of the Z5 countries, and officials in all the headquarters of Z5, were at the ready.

  By five-fifteen, there was no report of any sinking.

  By five-twenty, there was still no report.

  By five-twenty-five there was silence.

  At five-thirty-one—

  H.M.S. Worthy, one of the oldest, heaviest and most beloved ships in the Navy, was cruising at sixteen knots in the North Atlantic, away from the Scillies. It was a clear, calm morning. Early haze reduced visibility to about three hundred yards. The sea was calm, with a slight swell. There was hardly any wind. The lookouts, high in the crows’ nests, had been trebled. The bridge was crowded. Officers and men stood with glasses at their eyes, so that every square yard of the calm grey sea was scanned every second.

  At five-thirty the report was flashed to the Admiralty that all was well.

  Able Seaman James Drabbick, who was in the forrard crow’s nest, could see better with the naked eye than many could with the aid of glasses – but this morning he used his glasses, under strict orders. He was a man of forty-seven, who had a plump, good-natured wife and four children, all of school age. A happy man and a good sailor, he was looking forward with mixed feelings to the passing of the next twelve months, for after that his navy days would be finished.

  He took the glasses away from his eyes, to rub an irritation out of them, and as he did so, inadvertently glanced downwards. In that moment, he saw the eruption on the water by the very side of the ship – not twenty-five yards away. He let out a great cry, bellowing into the microphone fastened round his neck:

  “Wave approaching starboard—”

  Next moment, there came a deafening roar, and water rose up in an enormous wall. In that same awful moment, the decks of the Worthy were swept clear of men. It was as if a mighty wind had snatched each man away. Then the great ship, of thirty-one thousand tons displacement, was tossed into the air like a cork.

  It rose clear of the water.

  After that terrifying moment, it crashed down, stern first, and dived beneath the surface in a swift, clean movement.

  Above it, the sea seethed and hissed and roared. For a few minutes no human bodies were seen, only some fish, but as the waters calmed, bodies bobbed up, and floated. One or two men made futile efforts to swim, but only one was able to strike out with any vigour.

  That was Able Seaman Drabbick.

  He was dazed, like the others, and swam mechanically, but instinct made him turn away from the whirlpool created by the sunken vessel. He felt the pull of the undertow, but it was not strong enough to drag him back. As he swam, full consciousness gradually returned. After ten minutes, he trod water, and looked back from the direction of the ship.

  The sea was settling down, now; he could see nothing except a few waves, none of them remarkable.

  He turned his back on them, and kept on swimming.

  An aircraft of Coast Patrol, in regular radio contact with the Worthy and the Admiralty, saw the horror and flashed a message at the same moment, the flash which told of the disaster. The aircraft flew at four hundred miles an hour over the spot where the old battleship had been, but all there were to see was wreckage of small boats, a few oddments from the ship, a few dozen bodies.

  “That’s the first,” Merritt said, almost choking. “You were wrong, Sap. That’s the first.”

  It was five thirty-six, and the report had just come in.

  Joyce was in the room with them; otherwise, they were alone. The Assembly was still in session, each delegate listening with awful intensity to the reports broadcast in the Assembly Room.

  They were echoing Merritt.

  “There’s the first … Palfrey was wrong.”

  Word was flashed round the world to the other ships of the Royal Navy, and on the instant every commander ordered action stations. Every coastal region within easy reach of ships of the Royal Navy was put on the alert. Every dock and naval installation was also put at action stations; the civilians had been cleared out earlier.

  Palfrey felt his nerves at a pitch almost of screaming tension.

  Joyce came in.

  “Sap—” she began.

  “What is it now?” he demanded roughly.

  “There are rumours of panic at some of the seaside resorts,” she reported. “People are streaming away from them. No one seems to know how the rumour spread, but—”

  “My God,” Merritt said, “I’d like to strangle Stefan!”

  Palfrey swung out of the office, and stalked into his own. He stood staring blindly at the charts, especially at the places, marked in black, where ships of the Royal Navy were sailing. He found his gaze straying to the big seaside resorts. He heard a buzzer, and picked up a receiver.

  It was Alec Merritt.

  “Sap, I shouldn’t have said that about Stefan.”

  “Forget it.”

  “I never shall,” Merritt said, as if he were choking. “I shan’t forget any of this. Listen to the radio.”

  Palfrey hesitated before switching on a small transistor radio, perfected to take all conditions down here. A typical B.B.C. voice gradually entered the room.

  “… the government sees no reason whatsoever for these measures, and advises all residents of seaside resorts and coastal areas to stay where they are until instructions are issued, if any instructions become necessary. Listeners are advised to keep their radios switched on …”

  He turned the radio to another station, and heard an excited man saying:

  “... Crowds are streaming from seaside resorts in England and in the West of Europe. Roads are jammed with cars, cycles and pedestrians. The rumour that freak waves like that which devastated so much of the French Riviera would strike these coasts was spread during the night by unidentified radio stations. Government statements assuring the populace that there is no need for alarm have for the most part, passed unheeded.”

  There was a pause; then the man almost shouted:

  “Here is a news flash from Radio Luxy. A ship of the British Royal Navy the Worthy was struck by a giant wave in the North Atlantic at five-thirty this morning, and sunk with the loss of all on board. The complement was over seven hundred and fifty officers and men, all of whom have perished. The Cornish coast has been swamped by a wave of...”

  The man went on and on.

&nbs
p; Palfrey sat at his desk with his face in his hands – thinking, yet hardly daring to think. He was desperate for word of Stefan, and frightened of what might follow next. Then suddenly, he thought:

  “It’s only one.”

  Next he thought bitterly: “Only.”

  But the realisation had put some hope into him.

  It was now nearly ten to six, and just the Worthy had gone; had there been any other losses he would have known now. He stared at the chart, his heart beginning to lift hopefully. Then Joyce came in. She stood looking at him, and when he glanced up he thought for a wild moment that she was Drusilla. It was ludicrous, but the illusion was very strong. He stared at her, not comprehending. She was not tall, as Drusilla had been, she was fair where Drusilla had been dark, but there was something in her expression which reminded Palfrey vividly of the past.

  Was it—compassion?

  “Sap,” she said, quietly, “the Assembly is back in the conference room. They would like to see you.”

  “Like,” echoed Palfrey. “It’s a wonder they didn’t send an armed guard! Do you know how Stefan went?”

  “He used one of our small aircraft.”

  So Merritt had not got round to stopping Andromovitch or him, Palfrey, from using Z5 facilities, but sooner or later one of the more spiteful or malicious members of the Assembly would get round to that, and begin to castigate Alec. Palfrey stood up – and he smiled.

  “Thank you, Joyce.”

  “Sap – take it easy in there.”

  “Tell me this,” Palfrey said. “Do you think I was right or wrong?”

  “I don’t think it matters,” answered Joyce. “Stefan did it, not you.”

  “Do you think Stefan was right or wrong?”

  “How could he have been right?” Joyce asked, tensely. “Sap, I’m sorry, but—”

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Palfrey said. He patted her arm as he passed – and deep down he asked himself what Drusilla would have said. Would she have continued to believe in him? He stepped into the Assembly Room, where a buzz of talk stopped the moment he appeared.

  He thought: There’s still only the Worthy. A kind of hope glowed in him.

  He looked at Tarov and Mandell, and thought that they were now on the side of the others. The expression on Smythe’s face was one almost of hatred; on Khavi’s, of gloating; on Meshnon’s, of resignation.

  “Dr Palfrey,” the President said, “are we to understand that you connived at Andromovitch’s escapade, arranging for him to fly to Nice and defy the decision of the Assembly?”

  Palfrey was so startled that he could not find words.

  “Dr Palfrey, please answer!”

  Palfrey swallowed hard. “No,” he said. He swallowed again. “No, you’re not to understand anything of the kind. Stefan did that entirely of his own accord. Thank God someone had the courage.”

  “Courage!” cried Khavi. “You support such action? You actually condone—”

  “Mr President,” Palfrey said, fighting desperately for self-control, “I believed what I said to you before, and I believe now that the only hope we have now of defeating this man is to defy him. I think he will yield to this kind of resistance. I don’t believe he has had to face opposition before.”

  “Oh, these theories!” rasped Swartz.

  Tarov leaned across and whispered to Mandell.

  “—so far only the Worthy has gone,” Palfrey went on. He realised the awful significance of what he was saying; that if news of the destruction of another ship came through then every word would be wasted, every vestige of hope would be torn away. “He threatened to destroy the whole Navy, remember. Either it was an empty boast, or he hasn’t enough craft, or he wants to talk again.”

  “How any man can talk about losing a capital ship of the British Navy so callously—” began Smythe.

  The door was flung open, and Joyce came in. Any kind of interruption was rare, and this one was so violent that everyone turned to stare.

  Palfrey had never seen her looking lovelier, nor so excited. Her eyes were glowing, her hands were raised in front of her, as if she were in the throes of a great ecstasy.

  She ignored the Assembly and rushed to Palfrey.

  “Sap!” she cried. “He wants to talk to you. He’s waiting for you now.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  TRUCE

  Someone in the Assembly said in a soft but penetrating whisper: “So he was right.”

  Smythe half rose from his seat, then sat down again.

  The President said in a choky voice, black beard bobbing: “Do you mean the man who—” and broke off.

  Palfrey fought back his own excitement, rested a hand on Joyce’s arm, and said:

  “There was never much doubt that he would want to talk, was there? Can you switch on the loudspeakers? Then we can all hear what he wants.”

  “Of course.” Joyce turned and ran towards one of the wall panels.

  “Mr President,” Palfrey said, still fighting to keep his voice steady and his manner calm, “have I your permission to commit Z5 to any course of action which seems dictated by the circumstances?”

  “Mr President—” Smythe began.

  “Yes, Dr Palfrey, you have,” the President said. “Gentlemen – let us listen.” He waved Smythe and Khavi to silence,

  and watched as Palfrey moved towards the desk where he had sat that morning, lifted the telephone, and said simply:

  “Palfrey.”

  “One moment, Dr Palfrey.” That was a girl, her own voice shrill with excitement. “One moment, please.”

  One of the delegates smothered a cough; it sounded like an explosion in the hush. Two or three squeaking noises came out of the loud speakers, before the operator said: “You’re through, sir.

  Palfrey spoke as if he were talking to someone he had known all his life:

  “Hallo, there!”

  A man said stiffly: “Dr Palfrey.”

  “Yes.”

  “You disobeyed me.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Palfrey. He stood upright, lean, tall, imposing – but to spoil the illusion he stood with his left hand at his hair, playing with a lock. “But I learned how tough you can be.” He smiled vaguely, as if trying to visualise the other speaker. His voice was pitched very low, and many who had worked with him in Z5 would have realised that this meant that his mind was working very fast; it was as if invisible antennae were stabbing out, picking up impressions and moods. They would have realised, too, that he believed it essential to slacken the tension; to make it sound as if he were not unduly troubled. Emotion could so increase tension and easily lead to conflict and anger, when calmness could bring understanding and reconciliation. “Now I’ve seen what you can do, and you’ve seen what I can do – where do we go from there?”

  Two among the delegates leaned forward, staring; Smythe, pale-faced, ill-looking, closed his eyes.

  “I have the quality of mercy,” the other man declared stiffly. “I do not wish to slaughter innocent people for the sake of it. You know now what a disaster could come about if I wished to create it.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “I have told you that I must have Leah back.”

  “Oh, yes,” Palfrey said. “I know you must. I wonder if—” he paused, patted the hair back into the kiss-curl shape he had never seen, and smiled; but everyone watching could see from his expression how much more tense he had become. “I wonder if we could meet and talk this over.”

  “Meet?”

  Palfrey said: “May I come and see you?”

  A man in the room gasped. Palfrey did not hear the sound, but Tarov and Mandell watched him, as if in both understanding and admiration. Smythe leaned back, his eyes wide open, his hands clasped together on his desk in an a
ttitude of prayer.

  “Do you know what you are saying?” demanded the other man. “Have you any conception of what—”

  “Oh, yes,” Palfrey said. “A very clear conception. I think you have created a world under the sea. I think that in doing so you have created what you regard as perfect human beings. In some ways no doubt they are, but I would like much more convincing. I think that you have also extended life, by your method of self-induced coma, or deep sleep in which none of the usual wear and tear on the body comes into effect. For as long as a person sleeps, so his or her life will be extended. And I think you are either Garri-Garri, who disappeared ten years ago, or a disciple of his.”

  He stopped.

  The hush in the big room had never been greater. Joyce put her hands forward, very slowly, as if to hide Palfrey from her sight: and her lips moved in a silent phrase: “I thought he was wrong.”

  The speaker spoke in a high-pitched voice, the first suggestion that emotion was affecting him.

  “Where did you learn all this?”

  “From deductions, simple reasoning process, and the indications of the past three years,” said Palfrey. “There has been a lot of evidence, you know. First, the disappearance of the shipload of doctors who had been on a conference to discuss this possibility of longevity – and all the conditions which would pertain to it. Then, the disappearance of a shipload of athletes – the nearest we have up here to perfect human specimens – I mean physical specimens, of course. Then came the disappearance of a shipload of exceptionally beautiful young women and attractive men. More of such people disappeared from all over the world, and this suggested that somewhere or other there was some kind of an experiment in progress. The rest of course is sheer guesswork.”

  “Guesswork!”

  Smythe leaned back, the heels of his thumbs pressed against his forehead.

  “That’s right,” said Palfrey, easily. “Obviously you haven’t been working from any known place on earth. The possibility that you were working from space stations or from another planet had to be considered, but there have been no indications of this, and we have the space situation pretty well under review now. I don’t believe that large objects can move about in space without our observers knowing. Moreover, many of the top scientists who disappeared were men with special knowledge of water and underwater activities, water pressure, engineers and research scientists who could turn their attention to almost anything but in fact had specialised in sub-marine matters and water. Even the nuclear explosive research physicists who disappeared at sea or from coastal waters were men who have specialised in under-water explosions, such as the Polaris missiles. You see – there is a great deal one can piece together if one has some basic facts. The key fact was that you did not operate from the earth or above the earth. Practically all the evidence showed that you often operated at sea. In view of all these facts, and the inescapable one that we have found no trace of you on earth, the obvious place for you to be is under the sea. You know, sir – it can’t go on for ever.”