Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [141]
‘And what about you?’ asked Eddie. ‘You just going to cruise around underwater admiring your stamp collection for the rest of your life?’
A momentary twinge of Sophia’s expression, quickly hidden, suggested that the idea was not one she relished, but Glas’s own intentions were clearer. ‘I intend to resist, Mr Chase. Whatever the Group are doing, I will do what I can to oppose it.’
‘How will you know what they’re doing?’ said Nina.
‘Some of their sources are also my sources. I may be in a wheelchair, but I am not yet out of the game.’ He brought himself closer to the couple. ‘So, what will you do?’
‘I think . . . destroying the statues looks like the only option,’ said Nina reluctantly. Eddie nodded in agreement.
‘Good. In that case, I shall return you to the surface. I assume the statues are hidden in New York?’
‘That’s right,’ said Eddie.
‘I will have one of my people there as a witness when you destroy them. After that, our business will be concluded. If you wish, I will compensate you for the trouble I have caused you.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ Nina said angrily.
Eddie shrugged. ‘A bit might be nice . . .’
‘But I’ll tell you who does deserve it,’ she continued, remembering what had happened in the ruins of Atlantis. ‘The families of the people your men killed today. There were three people in the submarine they blew up, and another one in— Matt!’ she cried, suddenly hopeful. ‘Does this sub have sonar?’
The air in the Sharkdozer’s cabin had become foul, hanging hot and heavy in the confined space. Even the intake of cleaner atmosphere from the Mako had ultimately made little difference.
Matt was slumped in the pilot’s seat, breathing slowly and shallowly. But he knew his efforts to prolong his life were pointless. The ballast slab was still entangled by the mangled skids, trapping him eight hundred feet down, the meagre dregs of energy left in the batteries nowhere near enough to haul the heavy submersible back to the surface. A design flaw, he thought groggily, engineer to the last. Next time I’ll use iron shot, not a slab . . .
But there wouldn’t be a next time. One by one, even the red warning lights on the instrument panels were going out, insufficient voltage remaining to keep their accusing glows alive. This was it: death in the darkness of the ocean he had spent his life exploring. Suppose it was inevitable it’d end this way . . . He felt a tear swelling in the corner of one eye, but no longer even had the strength to raise a hand to wipe it away.
Two lights left. One. Then that too winked out. The cabin was black, silent apart from his own laboured breathing and the occasional creaks from the damaged viewport. With the sub now stationary the strain on the acrylic hemisphere appeared to have eased, but he knew that on a microscopic level the immense pressure of the water outside was still relentlessly attacking the cracks.
Crushed into oblivion in a heartbeat, or slipping into unconsciousness and suffocation: either way, he wouldn’t know about it. He was about to close his leaden eyes to await fate’s decision . . . when he realised that the darkness was receding.
But that was impossible. There was no light down here—
Matt was suddenly dazzled as brilliant beams swept into the cabin. Was he hallucinating – or were the stories of seeing bright light at the moment of death true? Were angels coming for him? But then a sharp jolt told him that he was still alive and lucid. Another vessel had just made contact with his submersible.
A big vessel, he saw as the spotlights went out, replaced by softer illumination from the other craft’s interior. The Sharkdozer had been scooped up by the larger sub – and the ticking of a backup mechanical depth gauge revealed it was still ascending. What should have been a simple calculation took several seconds in his befuddled state, but if it continued upwards at the same rate, he would be on the surface