Deep Storm (5 page)

Lindengood walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, careful to leave the door wide open. He kept the air hose in his hand, playing with it idly. The man wasnt going to try anything, not here besides, he hardly looked the physical type but on the off chance he did, Lindengood could use the air hose as a blackjack. Yet once again he reminded himself that wouldnt be necessary: hed transact his bit of business and then vanish. Wallace didnt know where he lived, and Lindengood sure as hell wasnt about to tell him.

Youve been paid, and paid well, Wallace said in his quiet voice. Your part of the job is finished.

I know that, Lindengood replied, careful to keep his own voice firm and confident. Its just that, now that I know a little more about your, um, operation, Im beginning to think I was underpaid.

You dont know anything about any operation.

I know that its far from kosher. Look, Im the one who found you, remember?

Wallace didnt answer. He simply stared back, his expression neutral, almost placid. Outside, the air compressor chuffed, then chimed, as it maintained pressure.

See, I was one of the last of the crew to leave Storm King, Lindengood went on. It happened a week after wed finished our little business, and Id fed you the last of the data. All these government types, all these scientists, began swarming over the place. And I got to thinking. Something huge, really huge, was taking place. It was a lot bigger than Id ever thought. So just the fact you were interested in what I had to sell meant your people must have resourcesand deep pockets.

Whats your point? Wallace said.

Lindengood licked his lips. My point is certain officials would be very, very eager to learn of your interest in Storm King.

Are you threatening us? Wallace asked. His quiet voice had gone silky.

I dont want to use that word. Lets say Im trying to redress an imbalance. Clearly my original fee wasnt nearly enough. Hey, Im the guy who first discovered the readings, reported the anomaly. Doesnt that count for anything? And I passed the information on to you: all the readouts, the triangulation data, the telemetry from the deep-sea probe. Everything. And Im the only one who could have done it I made the connection, saw the data. No one else knows.

No one else, Wallace repeated.

Without me, your people wouldnt even have known about the project. You wouldnt have your own I presume? assets in place.

Wallace took off his glasses, began polishing them on the tank top. How much were you thinking?

I was thinking fifty thousand.

And then youll go away for good. Is that it?

Lindengood nodded. Youll never hear from me again.

Wallace considered this for a moment, still polishing. Itll take me a day or two to get the money together. Well have to meet again.

Two days is fine, Lindengood replied. We can meet here, the same

Quick as a striking snake, Wallaces right fist shot out, index and middle knuckles extended, hammering Lindengood in the solar plexus. A crippling pain blossomed deep in his gut. Lindengood opened his mouth but no sound emerged. Involuntarily he bent forward, fighting to get his wind back, hands clutching his midriff. Now Wallaces right hand grabbed Lindengood by the hair and pulled him down onto the seat while brutally twisting his head around. Staring eyes wide with agony, Lindengood saw Wallace look first left, then right glasses forgotten checking that his actions were unobserved. Still holding Lindengood by the hair, he reached over to close the drivers door. As the man sat back again, Lindengood saw he had the air hose in his other hand.

You, my friend, have just become a liability, Wallace said.

At last, Lindengood found he could speak. But as he drew in breath to yell, Wallace thrust the air hose into the back of his throat.

Lindengood retched and bucked violently. He pulled up from the seat despite the restraint, hair tearing out at the roots. Wallace grabbed a second, larger handful of hair, pulled him back, and with a brutal movement shoved the air hose directly down his windpipe.

Blood filled Lindengoods mouth and throat and he let out a gargling scream. But then Wallace clamped down on the compressor handle; air shot from the nozzle with terrible, overwhelming force; and a pain unlike anything Lindengood had ever remotely imagined exploded in his chest.

Chapter 5

The voice that echoed over the talkback mike was pitched slightly high, as if the person on the other end was sucking helium. Another five minutes, Dr. Crane, and you can pass through airlock C.

Thank God. Peter Crane swung his legs off the metal bench where hed been dozing, stretched, and checked his watch. It was 4 A.M. but he suspected that, if the Facility was anything like a submarine, day and night held little meaning.

Six hours had passed since hed left the bathyscaphe and entered the maze of airlocks known as the Compression Complex. Hed been cooling his heels since, waiting through the Facilitys unusual acclimatization period. As a doctor, he was curious about this: he had no idea what it might consist of or what technology was involved. All that Asher had told him was that it made working at great depths easier. Perhaps theyd modified the atmospheric composition: reduced the amount of nitrogen and added some exotic gas. Whatever the case, it was clearly an important breakthrough no doubt one of the classified elements that made this mission so hush-hush.

Every two hours, he had been instructed by the same disembodied chipmunk voice to pass into a new chamber. Each was identical: a large saunalike cube with tiers of metal bunks. The only difference had been the color. The first compression chamber had been military gray; the second, pale blue; and the third rather surprisingly red.

After finishing a short dossier on Atlantis hed found in the initial chamber, Crane spent the time dozing or paging through a thick anthology of poetry hed brought along. Or thinking. He spent a lot of time staring up at the metal ceiling and the miles of water pressing down on him and thinking.

He wondered about the cataclysm that could have sunk the city of Atlantis to such a depth; about the lost civilization that had once flourished. It could not be the Greeks, or the Phoenicians, or the Minoans, or any of the other usual suspects favored by historians. As the dossier made clear, nobody knew anything about Atlantean civilization not really. Although Crane was surprised the city was situated this far north, the dossier also explained that, even in the original sources, its actual location was obscure. Plato himself knew next to nothing about its citizenry or civilization. Perhaps, Crane mused, that was one reason it had remained hidden so long.

As the hours slowly passed, his feeling of disbelief refused to ebb. It all seemed miraculous. Not just that it had all happened so quickly, not just that the project was so breathtakingly important but that theyd wanted him. He hadnt stressed the point to Asher, but the fact was he remained unsure why theyd so particularly required his services. After all, his specialty wasnt hematology or toxicology. You are uniquely qualified both as a doctor and as a former officer to treat the affliction, Asher had said. True, he was well versed in the disorders of those who lived in undersea environments, but there were other doctors who could make the same claim.

He stretched again, then shrugged. Hed learn the reason soon enough. And besides, it didnt really matter; being here was simply his good fortune. He wondered what strange and wonderful artifacts had been unearthed, what ancient secrets might already have been rediscovered.

There was a loud clank, and the hatchway in the far wall opened. Please step through the airlock and into the passageway beyond, the voice said.

Crane did as instructed and found himself in a dimly lit cylindrical passage about twenty feet long with another closed hatch at the end. He stopped, waiting. The airlock behind him closed again with another sharp clank. There was a rush of escaping air, so violent that Cranes ears popped painfully. Then at last the forward hatch opened and yellow light flooded in. A figure stood in the hatchway, haloed in light, one arm outstretched in welcome. As Crane stepped out of the passageway and into the chamber beyond, he recognized the smiling face of Howard Asher.

Dr. Crane! Asher said, taking his hand and shaking it warmly. Welcome to the Facility.

Thanks, Crane replied. Though I feel Ive been here awhile already.

Asher chuckled. We kept meaning to install DVD players in the compression chambers to help pass the acclimation time. But now that the station is fully staffed there didnt seem any point. And we werent anticipating any visitors. How did you find the reading material?

Incredible. Have you really discovered

But Asher stayed the question by raising his finger to his nose, winking, and giving Crane a conspiratorial smile. The reality is more incredible than you can imagine. But first things first. Let me show you to your quarters. Its been a long trip, and Im sure youd like to freshen up.

Crane let Asher take one of his bags. Id like to know more about the acclimatization process.

Of course, of course. This way, Peter. Did I already ask if I could call you Peter? And he led the way with another smile.

Crane looked around curiously. They were in a square, low-ceilinged vestibule with gray-tinted windows lining the opposing walls. Behind one of the windows sat two technicians at a bank of controls, staring back at him. One of them saluted.

At the end of the vestibule, a white hallway led off into the top level of the Facility. Asher was already heading down it, bag slung over one shoulder, and Crane hastened behind him. The hall was narrow of course but not nearly as cramped as hed expected. The lighting was unexpected, too: warm and incandescent, quite unlike the harsh fluorescence of submarines. The atmosphere was yet another surprise: warm and pleasingly humid. There was a faint, almost undetectable smell in the air Crane didnt recognize: coppery, metallic. He wondered if it was related to the atmosphere technology the Facility employed.

As they walked, they passed several closed doors, white like the hallway. Some bore individuals names, others abbreviated titles like ELEC PROC or SUBSTAT II. A worker a young man wearing a jumpsuit opened one of the doors as they passed by. He nodded to Asher, looked curiously at Crane, then headed back toward the vestibule. Peering inside, Crane got a look at a room full of rack-mounted blade servers and a small jungle of networking hardware.

Crane realized the walls and doors were not painted white, after all. Instead, they were constructed of some unusual composite that seemed to take on the color of their environment: in this case, the light of the hallway. He could see his own ghostly reflection in the door, along with a strange, platinum-colored underhue.

What is this material? he asked.

Newly developed alloy. Light, nonreactive, exceptionally strong.

They reached an intersection and Asher turned left. From the image, Crane had assumed the chief scientist of the National Ocean Service to be in his late sixties, but he was obviously a decade younger. What Crane had taken for age lines was really the weathering of a life spent at sea. Asher walked quickly, and he toted Cranes heavy bag as if it were nothing. For all his apparent healthiness, however, the man kept his left arm cradled against his side. These upper levels of the Facility are a warren of offices and dormitories, and they can be disorienting at first, he said. If you ever get lost, refer to the schematic diagrams at major intersections.

Crane was impatient to learn more about the medical issues and the dig itself, but he decided to let Asher set the agenda. Tell me about the Facility, he said.

Twelve decks high, and exactly one hundred eighty meters per side. Its base is embedded into the matrix of the ocean floor, and a protective titanium dome has been placed over it.

I saw the dome on the way down. Thats some piece of engineering.

It is indeed. This Facility were in sits beneath it like a pea under a shell, and the open space between is fully pressurized. With the dome and our own hull, there are two layers of metal between us and the ocean. And its some metal, too: the skin of the Facility is HY250, a new kind of aerospace steel, with a fracture toughness above twenty thousand foot-pounds and a yield strength in the range of three hundred KSI.