Текст книги "Noah's Ark: Encounters"

Автор книги: Harry Dayle

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Twenty-One

MARTIN OAKLEY LOVED the sea, as long as he wasn’t in it. As far back as he remembered, he had loved boats, loved engines, and knew that he wanted to somehow combine the two. When he was eight years old, he’d had the grand revelation that there was such a job as marine engineer, that it was possible to work on ships’ engines and get paid for it. But for all that, he preferred being on the water to under it. He rarely used any of the swimming pools on the Spirit of Arcadia, and never took holidays at the beach. As far as he was concerned, the sea existed purely as a means of making boats work.

Getting out of the sea was now his primary focus. All he had to do was swim to the tender platform that was suspended just above the water line, and climb out.

It wasn’t until he had swum half the length of the ship that he realised the tender platform had gone. Part of the metal staircase that descended from the deck-two hatch was still visible. The rest had apparently come loose and detached itself, along with the platform. Given that it was made from steel, it was, he realised with horror, on its way down to the seabed.

Martin’s limbs were already exhausted from his efforts to escape being crushed. Now it seemed he would have to swim all the way round the cruiser and try to board the Lance, whose hull was much lower and therefore a more realistic prospect for climbing.

He trod water as he considered the Lance. He’d walked all the way round her deck when he had been carrying out his inspection. He couldn’t recall seeing any ropes, ladders, or other means of getting himself up out of the water. Even if he did make it aboard, the walkway was now gone. He’d be out of the sea, but no closer to getting back to the Arcadia’s engine room.

Frustrated, he raised his head to the sky and shouted out in rage.

Which was when he saw the severed umbilical power cord, dangling impotently from the Arcadia. It was ten metres ahead of him, and the end was already in the water.

• • •

In her rush to get to the classrooms, Lucya had overlooked the small matter of the lack of power. On the upper decks it wasn’t so much a problem; daylight flooded in through the windows. The lower she descended, the darker it got.

She continued to be ambushed by questions on every level, slowing her progress. Whilst she tried to remain as polite as possible, her patience began to wear thin. There was confusion and injury on every deck en route, and the more of it she saw, the more worried she became about Erica and the other children. Vardy had been spot on: going to engineering had just been an excuse.

By deck three there was very little light at all. The one upside was that it was possible to pass straight through without being noticed, which meant no stopping to answer the same questions.

Deck two was lit by small portholes. The sun, which had trouble enough penetrating the ever-present thick cloud, didn’t get far into this gloomy area. Most of deck two was the kind of space where the lack of daylight wasn’t a drawback. The sterile conference rooms – now classrooms – the lower level of the cinema, a casino, and crew accommodation. Without power, this warren of corridors and passageways would have been unnavigable for most people. Lucya had been bunked down there for most of her time on the ship, so she could find her way round with her eyes closed. She went directly to the classroom that she had dropped Erica in barely half an hour earlier.

Her first instinct was to peer through the small window in the door. If Miss Linders had everything under control, there was no need to interrupt. The room was, of course, in almost total darkness. Being in the interior of the ship, it benefitted from no natural light at all. However, it looked like someone – Miss Linders, she presumed – had a torch. Its focussed beam was darting around, picking out the faces of children.

The youngsters looked terrified.

“Poor loves,” Lucya whispered under her breath. “Why doesn’t she bring them up to another deck?” She pushed at the door to go and suggest that to the schoolmistress.

The door did not move.

Lucya rattled the handle, but the room had been locked shut. She rapped three times on the glass panel. “Miss Linders? Can you open the door?”

• • •

Martin stood on deck four, hands on his knees, water dripping from his clothes, panting heavily. His head was spinning. The physical exertion had been too much. He wasn’t quite sure how he had managed to climb the electrical and navigation umbilical cord when he was already so drained, but he had. The thick plastic ties that clamped the bundle of cables together at regular intervals had been life savers. Every couple of metres he had rested his feet on them, taking the strain from his arms and hands, getting his breath back before pulling himself ever upwards. As he went, he had thought of Stieg. Martin had been in the water for no more than ten minutes and was already chilled to the bone. He couldn’t imagine how Stieg could possibly have survived more than an hour in such conditions.

Finally he had arrived at deck four, exhausted. It was the lowest deck with an outside area, and so the first opportunity to get back onto the ship. Now he had to get back to the engine room. Just as soon as he got his breath back.

Extra motivation arrived in the form of a crowd of angry passengers. Martin always wore engineering overalls, emblazoned with the Pelagios Line logo. They gave him away as someone who might have answers, and the passengers made that perfectly clear.

“Here, mate. What’s going on with the electric? When’s the power getting switched back on?”

Martin shook his head, showering those closest to him with beads of salty water. “You do realise we’ve just endured some kind of explosion?”

“Yeah? Obviously. And? When’s the electric coming back on?”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Martin glared at the crowd, looking from one person to the next. He pulled himself upright, turned, and walked away, ignoring their protestations and cries.

He arrived in engineering to find Tom Sanderson working with two junior mechanics. They were almost at the point of getting the main diesel electric generator running.

“Ah. Mr Oakley. Hope you don’t mind,” Sanderson began. “Took the liberty of coming down to lend a hand. Didn’t want the lack of electricity to delay the lunch service, you see.”

“Mr Sanderson. How nice to see you.” Martin spoke through gritted teeth. He hated it when Tom poked his nose in, but he was so tired he didn’t really care anymore. In fact, if it meant he could sit down and let someone else do the work, he was quite pleased. “Please, be my guest. I’ll just be over…” He waved a hand in the direction of a desk, and a very inviting chair.

Sanderson nodded and turned back to the others. “So that’s primed, and now we can begin the start-up sequence.”

• • •

There was no answer from Miss Linders, but there were voices. They sounded strange, unfamiliar.

They did not sound like the voices of children.

The beam of light moved frantically, too fast for Lucya to follow. She heard the sound of tables and chairs being dragged around, their sturdy metal legs scraping against the tiled floor. A bang close by made her think something had just struck the door.

Lucya rattled the handle again, then rammed the door with her shoulder. Her instinct told her something was wrong, and that it was important to get in there one way or another.

Then, another noise. A deep, low rumbling. A familiar vibration felt through the soles of her feet. She’d lived with that vibration for years. It had only stopped when they had found the Ambush, and connected to her for power. It was the unmistakable feeling and sound of the Arcadia’s diesel electric generators starting up. One of them, at least.

As the vibration settled down, lights began to flicker into life. The ship’s systems were designed to power up in sequence so as not to draw too big a load from the generators. The first lights to come back on were those far away, down the passage near the cinema. One by one, more sections of illumination were roused, getting closer and closer to Lucya. Then the lights right over her head powered up.

She stopped pushing at the door and tried again to look through the window. With the room beyond still in darkness, all she saw was her own reflection, her eyes wide with fear, although she still didn’t know what she was afraid of.

The noises inside had stopped. She heard a child whimper, then an adult voice shout something she didn’t understand.

After what felt like hours, but was only seconds, the fluorescent ceiling lights in the classroom finally began to awaken. They flickered and flashed, illuminating the room for microseconds at a time like tiny bolts of lightning. Lucya caught the shortest glimpse of the children; a snapshot, a hundredth of a second. Her brain processed the image: they were all seated on the floor, and she thought they had their hands on their heads.

Another flicker as the tubes warmed up. Another glimpse.

There were other people in the room. They were standing around the children.

Another flash, a tenth of a second longer than the last. The lights were almost on. Lucya thought she saw Miss Linders. It looked like Miss Linders. But she was on the floor, lying on her front. Something dark surrounded her head. Was it…blood?

Lucya banged on the door with both fists. “Open up! Open this door.” Tears rolled down her face. Her heart pounded in her ears, her hands burned with pain, and still she rammed them into the wood.

At last, with a final flicker, the lights came on, and stayed on.

Sixteen men in uniform surrounded the children. One man stood before the door, barricaded by classroom furniture. He stared at Lucya, his face devoid of emotion yet still somehow menacing, like a malevolent robot. In front of him, a child. He held her fast with his left arm. In his right hand, a gun. It was pressed into the child’s neck.

It was, Lucya saw with a mixture of horror and terror the likes of which she had never experienced in her life, pressed into Erica’s neck.

Twenty-Two

JAKE MET DAVE, the navigation officer, on his way back to the bridge. He had been on his way to start his shift when the explosion had occurred.

“A torpedo?” The navigator looked incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what the Ambush reported, before they disappeared.”

The two men were crossing deck ten, pushing the trolley from medical in front of them. It made barely a sound on the plush carpet.

“But who…where…why?” Dave struggled to get to grips with the idea. The questions in his mind competed for supremacy, none of them making it to his lips fully formed.

“I’m as clueless as you. I have a sneaking suspicion that the folks from the Lance might be able to shed some light on the situation though.” Jake stopped walking and hesitated. “Actually, you can do me a favour. Get this trolley to the bridge and help Vardy with McNair. I’m going to find those men we rescued.”

“Do you think we’re in danger? Someone tried to blow us out of the water. Will they try again?”

“That’s what I intend to find out. I’m just hoping it was the submarine they were after, and not us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing any harm on those boys. Let’s face it though, they’re equipped and trained for this sort of thing.”

Dave nodded. He patted Jake on the back. “Good luck.”

As the men parted ways, lights began to pop into life, accompanied by cheering from parties unseen.

• • •

The darkness in Max Mooting’s gloomy office was not, for once, self-imposed. The head of security was getting impatient with the situation. He had been able to contact a handful of his team by radio – those who were within range without using repeater stations. His real concern was for Bembridge, or rather for the prisoners he was guarding in the makeshift brig. He saw no rational reason to be worried, but experience told him that bad things often happened when the lights went out.

He was contemplating a trip down to deck two to check on things, when he felt the unmistakable vibration of the diesel engines starting up. Up on deck six the vibration was barely perceptible, but after travelling for so long on borrowed silent nuclear electricity, even the tiniest change could be felt. Max sat back down and put his feet up on the desk, waiting for the power to come back on.

He didn’t have to wait long. In the corridor outside, a light came on, illuminating his office blind from behind, creating a halo effect. He grabbed his radio and punched in the code for the young man he had stationed down below.

“Bembridge.” A tiny beep indicated the transmission was over. The voice sounded apprehensive.

“This is Max. I need a status report.” He scratched his knee, then pushed his index finger up his nose and began to pick.

“They’re…they’re gone. The prisoners are gone.”

Max sat upright, slowly. He liberated his finger and wiped it on his trouser leg. “What do you mean, gone? Explain yourself!”

“The door…opened. When the power went. They got out.”

Max was on his feet, bellowing at the radio. “Why didn’t you stop them? No, never mind that. Where the fuck are they now?”

“I…I don’t know. I was knocked out. I don’t know where they went.”

Max swore repeatedly. He punched in a new code then spoke loudly and clearly into the radio. “All units, be on the lookout for escaped prisoners. Seventeen men, probably Korean, wearing military uniforms. They could be anywhere on the ship. Do not approach them, they’re dangerous. Call in immediately. Confirm you have received and understood this message.” He proceeded to call a rota of his entire team, addressing each name in turn and waiting for the officer to report back. All did, except one.

“Garet? Report! Where are you, damn it?” Max stared at his radio, as if Grace would feel his eyes on her and come out of hiding. But the little speaker remained resolutely silent.

• • •

Lucya felt the strength leave her body. It was as if someone had opened a valve and let her very essence flow out. Her legs went numb and weak, and she fought to remain standing. Her lungs emptied. She forgot to breathe in, making her head spin even more.

The scene before her was almost impossible to comprehend. She had already been grappling with the fact that someone, somewhere, had apparently fired a torpedo at them. And now…now someone was holding a gun to her adopted daughter’s neck.

It was Erica who brought Lucya back to her senses. She flinched. Whimpered. A tiny sound, barely audible through the door. Lucya snapped out of her stupor. As she breathed again, her eyes opened wide. Rage flooded in, filling the vacuum created by the shock. Instinct drove her, and she flew at the door, hammering and kicking it with all her strength, a wild beast desperate to save her child. With every blow, she screamed. Her thick dark hair flew about her scarlet face.

The door resisted.

Another movement brought her ferocious attack on the barricaded entrance to an abrupt halt. The uniformed man with the gun pressed into Erica’s neck was shaking his head slowly. When he saw that he had her attention, he pushed the barrel harder into the girl’s tender flesh, making her cry out in pain. Lucya wanted to fly at the door again, but a sharper shake of the soldier’s head made it clear that the consequences would not be good. It took all of her self-control to prevent herself from moving.

“Let her go!”

They were the first coherent words she had spoken since the lights had come on.

The man shook his head again.

“You understand me. Let her go, and I’ll let you live.”

The man’s lips turned up in the slightest hint of a smile. His head turned twice more.

“What is it you want? You want something, right?” Lucya fought to control her breathing, and her temper. She focussed on Erica. She had to stay calm, for her sake. “Tell me!” She took another deep breath, then repeated, less aggressively, “Tell me.”

The man spoke. Just one word. His accent was strong, but Lucya understood at once.

“Captain.”

• • •

Entering cabin 845 wearing a paper mask, Jake was reminded of the terrible virus that had claimed the lives of many on the ship, and had almost taken his own. It had started right there, in that very cabin. The room had subsequently become the centre of operations for the medical team as they fought the malady, their own rooms quickly having been overwhelmed. Now 845 had been pressed into service once more, filled with the twelve remaining members of the Lance’s crew.

The room was the same, but some of the nurses were new to Jake. The Arcadia’s original complement had been victims of the virus. Grau Lister, ship’s doctor, was in attendance, but he was so weakened by the effects of the virus that he was there purely in an advisory role. The new nurses had been drafted in during the outbreak, and had stayed on since, but Jake hadn’t met all of them yet. Carrie had looked after him and Lucya during their recovery, and now she was attending to Captain Coote in the original medical suite.

An enthusiastic young nurse called Kevin welcomed Jake, and directed him to the captain of the Lance.

“He’s very weak,” Kevin explained. “You won’t be able to talk to him for long. The drip is to get fluids into him. They were all badly dehydrated. They’re also on tranquillisers for the pain.”

“Will they be okay? In the long run?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure they will. None of them have any life-threatening injuries. Doctor Vardy is running blood tests, just to be sure, hence these.” He pointed a finger at his own face mask. “We should have the results back soon.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. Doctor Vardy is looking after our helmsman. He may be some time.”

Kevin nodded. They arrived at a bed at the far end of the room. Jake recognised the man lying in it. He had been the weakest of those to come out of the Lance. It was the man who had thanked them. “This is Captain Ove Kolstad,” Kevin said. “Ove, this is Captain Jake Noah. He would like to talk with you. Do you think that would be alright?”

The gaunt man gave the slightest of nods.

“Okay. Keep it brief please, captains. I’ll be over there if you need me.”

Kevin got out of the way, giving the two men some privacy.

“Hello, Ove.” Jake spoke softly. He found a chair and pulled it up to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling? Are they looking after you well?”

He nodded. “Wife,” he croaked. “Have you…seen my…wife?” The words were barely a whisper. Each one had to fight its way out, battling against exhaustion and the effects of the drugs.

“I haven’t spoken with any of the others. There hasn’t been time,” Jake said. “But I’m sure she’s being well looked after. Ove, I need to talk about what happened to you. About how you ended up prisoner on your own ship. I wanted to give you more time, but time is now against us.”

“Explosion?”

Jake nodded. “Yes. Someone attacked us. Or our escort submarine. Do you know who that might be? You’re the only other survivors we’ve seen since the asteroid. We’re at a loss to understand what’s going on.”

“Submarine.” The word was spoken with more conviction.

“Yes, we have a submarine escort. From the Royal Navy. It’s a long story.”

Ove shook his head. As he did so, he winced. “No. Submarine… Attacked by…submarine.”

“You were attacked by a submarine?” Jake sat up straighter in his chair.

“Yes! Koreans. Came from nowhere. Boarded us.” He was speaking more clearly; the words came more easily now. “Had guns. Put crew…below.”

“Where was this? How did you survive the asteroid?”

“North Pole. Expedition. Asteroid went high…into sky.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, we were there too. That’s how we survived. We can’t have been far apart. We searched for radio signals, but never saw or heard you.”

The bedridden captain shook his head again, screwing up his eyes. “Radios gone. Radar gone. No communication.”

“I understand.”

“Returned to Longyearbyen. Never made it. Submarine found us. Attacked.” Ove stopped, and drew several short, sharp breaths as he recalled the events. “Killed some of…my crew. Decapitated. Thrown into sea.” A tear formed in the corner of his left eye. “My friend…Karl…tried escape. Took raft. Maybe he still…out there?”

Jake closed his eyes and thought of the rafts they had recovered. The headless man they had found in the fishing net. He knew nobody who had left the Lance could have survived.

“Maybe.”

“Koreans…force me to sail…Faslane.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “The military base? We were there! We went to Longyearbyen too. How did we miss you?”

“No… Never got to Longyearbyen. Forced to Faslane instead. Submarine followed. Koreans use us…try to make base open for us.”

Jake processed the information, nodding to himself. “They used you as bait. With the submarine hidden, they hoped Faslane would open up to the Lance. But there’s nobody there. We went inside. They were all… There’s nobody there. Ove, we found a raft in the loch, at Faslane. There was a body. Was it…was it one of your crew? Another escapee?”

“No. Not escaped. Base not open. Koreans sent landing party…some of their men, one of mine. All killed but one. Koreans think it was survivor who killed others, but not true… It was ash. Poisonous. They cut off head of survivor. Put him in raft as warning.”

“Traitor scum,” Jake whispered under his breath. “They killed one of their own as a warning to others.”

Ove nodded. “After, they put me below. Keep my wife…as prisoner, above. She help them…navigate.”

“Your wife is a navigator?”

He nodded again.

Jake felt his stomach knot, and experienced a rush of empathy for the captain. “Do you know what they want, these North Koreans? At Faslane? With you? With us?”

“With us…a way in…to the base. With you? No.” Ove coughed, and winced with pain again.

Jake wanted to ask more questions, but Kevin was back again. “That’s enough for now, Captain Noah. Ove needs rest. Maybe you can come back later?”

Jake nodded. “Thank you for your time, Ove.” He stood, and looked around at the other surviving members of the Lance’s crew. Most were sleeping, or were too drugged to be able to offer any more information. He left the suite, his head filled with questions.

He was barely out of the door when he spotted a woman in a security uniform running towards him. She was red faced and out of breath. “Captain, there you are!”

“What’s the matter?” He felt a nervous rush when he saw the look on the officer’s face.

“You need to come downstairs,” she said, panting. “You have to come to the classroom. Right now.”