Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [159]
The SAS commandos fell to their knees, screaming.
But they wouldn’t scream for long. Brain death would occur within the next thirty seconds as the blood vessels in their brains froze over and themselves began to haemorrhage.
They would all be dead soon, and it would be agony every second of the way.
From down on E-deck, Trevor Barnaby just stared up at the scene above him.
His whole unit had just been cut down by the blast of the two nitrogen charges. In fact, nearly the whole of the interior of the station was covered in blue liquid goo. Hand railings began to crack as the nitrogen froze them. Even the cable that held up the diving bell was covered with a layer of ice – it, too, began to crack as the supercooled liquid nitrogen made it contract in on itself at an alarming rate. Even the portholes of the diving bell down in the pool were covered over with the blue poxy.
Barnaby couldn’t believe it.
Schofield had just killed twenty of his men with one stone . . .
And now he was the only one left.
Barnaby’s mind raced.
All right. Think. What is the objective? The spacecraft is the objective. Must control the spacecraft. How do I control the spacecraft? Wait –
I have men down there with it.
Get to the cavern.
Barnaby’s eyes fell on the diving bell.
Yes . . .
At that moment, on the far side of the diving bell, Barnaby saw Schofield and the little girl break through the thin layer of ice that had formed on the surface of the pool when it had been hit by the spray of liquid nitrogen; saw them start swimming for the far deck.
Barnaby ignored them. He just grabbed a scuba tank from the ground next to him and dived into the pool, heading for the diving bell.
Schofield lifted Kirsty out of the water and up onto the deck.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
‘I got wet again,’ Kirsty replied sourly.
‘So did I,’ Schofield said as he spun around and saw Trevor Barnaby swimming frantically for the diving bell.
Schofield looked up at the ice station above him. It was silent. There were no more SAS commandos left. It was only Barnaby now. And whoever Barnaby had already sent down to the cavern.
‘Get a blanket and stay warm,’ Schofield said to Kirsty. ‘And don’t go upstairs until I come back.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘After him,’ Schofield said, pointing at Barnaby.
Trevor Barnaby surfaced inside the diving bell, where he was greeted by the barrel of Schofield’s .44 calibre Desert Eagle automatic pistol.
James Renshaw gripped the pistol with both hands, pointed it at Barnaby’s head. He was holding the gun so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.
‘Don’t fucking move, mister,’ Renshaw said.
Barnaby just looked up at the little man standing inside the diving bell. The little man was wearing some really old kind of scuba gear, and he was clearly nervous. Barnaby looked at the gun in Renshaw’s hand and he laughed.
Then he brought his own gun up from under the water.
Renshaw pulled the trigger on his Desert Eagle.
Click!
‘Huh?’ Renshaw said.
‘You have to chamber a round first,’ Barnaby said as he raised his own pistol at Renshaw.
Renshaw saw what was coming and, with a short squeal, he jumped down into the water next to Barnaby – scuba gear and all – and disappeared underwater.
Barnaby climbed up into the diving bell and made straight for the dive controls. He didn’t waste any time. He blew the ballast tanks immediately. The diving bell began to descend.
Up on E-deck, Schofield saw the ballast tanks blow.
Shit, he’s going down already, Schofield thought as he came to a halt next to one of the rung-ladders. He had planned to go up to the winch controls on C-deck and stop the diving bell from there –
And then at that moment, there came a monstrous noise from somewhere up above him.
Snap-twangggg!
Schofield looked up just in time to see the cable that held up the diving bell – frozen solid by the liquid nitrogen – contract and crack for the final