Beyond the Ice Limit

65

THE CRANE HOISTED the DSV Pete into the air, and Gideon felt the now familiar movement as it was swung overboard. Through the downward viewport he had a glimpse of the aft deck and the small group watching him, and then the DSV was lowered. He had a final glimpse of the surface of the ocean—and a mass of white water churning away from the ship’s stern. What was this? Was the Batavia getting under way?

This speculation was cut short by a jarring landing in the water, made worse by the incipient movement of the ship. Bubbles swirled about the viewport and he heard the uncoupling of the hooks as Pete and its ROV companion were set loose from the crane.

As soon as the crane released the hooks, Gideon felt a sudden, sickening downward motion. Through the viewport he saw the heavy ROV swinging down underneath him, a dangling deadweight—and it sucked his DSV into the depths like a ball and chain, pulling him ever faster. The color of the water grew dark and then black almost immediately, as the DSV sank hundreds of feet per second in a headlong plunge into the depths.

Heart in his mouth, Gideon fumbled with Pete’s controls. If he didn’t arrest its descent, and fast, he would impact the seafloor—and it would all be over. He cleared the ballast tanks, one at a time, filling them with air to increase buoyancy. But even after this maneuver, the DSV continued to sink like a stone. Fighting down panic, he realized there was something else he could try—dropping the iron ballast weights. He was supposed to drop all four of them simultaneously when it was time to rise to the surface—except this time, he wouldn’t be rising to the surface.

Pressing a button, he dropped one weight. The descent slowed, but the DSV went crooked, tilting a little. He dropped a second from the other side and the descent slowed significantly. But the DSV, unbalanced, was now listing by a good twenty degrees.

The headlong plunge to the bottom had ceased. Gideon leaned back with an exhalation of relief. Great. Just great. Now I can die the way I planned to. Through the downward port, in the headlamps, he could see the ROV dangling below by its cable, swinging slowly from side to side, causing his own mini sub to rock.

He glanced at the timer, running in a window in one corner of the main monitor. Forty minutes.

Where was he? He hadn’t even had time to boot up many of the electronic and mechanical systems. He now switched on the most vital—propulsion, sonar, depth gauge, cameras, life support. Various screens flickered to life and the electronics began to boot.

It seemed to take forever for everything to warm up, but in reality it was only a couple of minutes. From the depth meter, he established he was three thousand feet deep and still sinking, albeit only a few feet per second. The whole DSV was tilted. It was damned uncomfortable being slanted to one side, but he reminded himself it was only for the next…thirty-seven minutes.

Now he had to figure out where the wreck of the Rolvaag was. Nothing but empty seafloor was showing on the sonar. He raised the gain, looking for the telltale smudge of the ship. It wasn’t there. Nor could he find the sonar cloud generated by the Baobab. He fiddled with the controls, changing the gain, but it was indeed a blank seafloor below him. Somehow he had drifted away from the target area. How far had the Batavia gone before he was released into the ocean?

He felt real panic. Thirty-five minutes to go…and he had no idea where he was. He wasn’t afraid to die—but he didn’t want to die uselessly, for nothing.

…And then it occurred to him that the damn sonar horn was tilted. It was looking off to one side. Could he correct it, reorient it? Yes, he could. He worked with the dials until he had corrected for the twenty-degree offset—and there, to his relief, was the smudge of the Rolvaag, and the strange sonar cloud that indicated the presence of the Baobab. His position was offset about half a mile north of it.

This was perfect. It would be crazy to descend straight down onto the target: he would be a sitting duck for the Baobab, which would see him coming. But if he dropped down from his present position, half a mile away, he’d arrive on the ocean floor on the far side of the Rolvaag from the Baobab; he could then approach the Baobab unseen, using the ship’s hulk as cover.

He would lurk behind the wreck, hidden from the Baobab; and then, two minutes before detonation, he would drive the DSV up to six hundred feet and hold it there until the end.

Time to get going. He filled one of the ballast tanks with seawater, and the DSV began to descend more quickly.

Thirty minutes to detonation.

In four minutes the seafloor came into view. He pumped out the ballast tank and brought the Pete back to neutral buoyancy. Slowly, carefully, he let the sub drift down until the ROV was dangling only about twenty feet from the seafloor. Then he moved forward, toward the Rolvaag, half a mile away, careful to keep the wreck between him and the Baobab.

It was hell, controlling the DSV with the weight of the nuke dangling below. It never ceased swinging and pulling the Pete along with it, back and forth, requiring constant course adjustments. But he made decent progress and, within a few minutes, the hulk of the Rolvaag reared above him. He slowed, bringing Pete in behind the cover of the ship. He didn’t dare turn off his lights during the forward movement; he hoped the glow wouldn’t be picked up by the Baobab.

The two pieces of the wreck loomed up over him, its great rust-colored hull sweeping upward and out of sight. He came to a halt mere feet from it, well hidden from the Baobab. He shut off his lights and settled in for a short wait—his last. Funny, now that he was facing death—certain death—no thoughts came into his brain. Just the final steps he had to take in order to position the bomb, complete his mission. And—he smiled grimly—save the world.

Twenty-four minutes.

Suddenly, through the starboard viewport, he saw lights approaching. Bright lights. He was confounded: what the hell was this? He turned on his own lights and saw, with utter surprise, the DSV John—coming straight at him at flank speed.