pilot prepared for the fury he unleashed from the giant Russian as a result of his attack. The blood rushed to Zhilev’s head, filling him with violence. He ran to the front of his boat, found an old shackle and launched it with such force it crashed through a window in the pilot’s bridge, bounced off his control console and almost took out his assistant. If the pilot had been stupid enough to repeat his attack, Zhilev would not have been able to stop himself leaping aboard and smashing the pilot’s and his assistant’s skulls together. But the pilot must have sensed something of that order was probable from the hairy, bedraggled and enraged monster he had awoken and elected to back smartly away and depart altogether. All he dared offer in reply was another volley of abuse as he accelerated away.
Zhilev chastised himself, aware that his response had been a senseless one. Had he indeed boarded the boat he would probably have had to end up killing both men and sinking the boat, something he might have gotten away with since there was no other vessel close by, but had he been seen it would have meant the end of his mission. As it was, he still had to make port and run the risk of having to deal with the pilot on land.
The visit went smoothly. The man who measured his boat for the transit fees also asked for cigarettes and was content to receive ten US dollars instead. Zhilev resented paying that much but decided it was wiser not to cause any more trouble and keep as low a profile as possible.
Early the next morning he caught the south-bound convoy and spent the following night at the halfway point of Ismailia where he stayed aboard in the yacht club’s marina. He ate from the ample supply of rations he had bought from the small grocery shop on Kastellorizo, practically emptying it of its tinned goods which he ate without heating, and ventured ashore only to refill his water containers.
On the evening of the second day of passage down the canal, he left Port Suez and headed into the Gulf of Suez where he moored for the night prior to cutting across the Red Sea and into the Gulf of Aqaba. The journey along the monotonous, mainly rocky eastern coast of Egypt had been uneventful. The only points of interest were the occasional clusters of barbed wire and dilapidated signs in Arabic and phonetic English warning against coming ashore.
That was yesterday and now the lights from the city of Aqaba, Jordan’s most south-western town and only seaport, were to the north and less than a mile away. A short distance to the west of those lights, separated by a narrow dark area, was the even more brightly illuminated holiday town of Elat, across Jordan’s border, and Israel’s southernmost town. It was this cluster of brightness, formed by a dozen towering hotels and dense harbour life, that held Zhilev’s gaze.
He studied the panorama for a long time, looking for any signs of security measures such as military vessels that might approach to investigate his little boat, and then looked at the waters to estimate the speed and direction of the current before finally turning to face his large bag which was on the deck.This was it, he told himself, the point of no return. Once this next phase was complete and he was on Israeli soil, there was no going back, not that Zhilev had any doubts now about completing his mission.
He crouched in front of his bag, cracked his neck which had begun to ache a little, and opened it. He removed various pieces of diving equipment, one by one, like a priest reverently sorting out his altar before a mass, and laid them neatly on the deck. He removed a black, rubber dry suit from a plastic bag; it was covered in talcum powder to prevent the thin wrist cuffs and neck seal from adhering to themselves, which would cause them to tear when pulled apart. Beside the suit he placed a pair of black fins, a facemask and a black board the size of a small tea tray that had a depth gauge and compass fixed to it. He then removed a small oxygen cylinder the size of a water bottle and what looked like a coffee tin with Russian writing on it describing the contents as carbon dioxide absorbent powder.The last and heaviest item was an old Spetsnaz re-breathable diving apparatus which Zhilev had purloined while in service - along with all the other equipment. The diving set was some twenty years old but because of its basic design and solid construction it was as good as the day it had been made. It comprised of a large, thick rubber bag the size of a small backpack attached to a harness made up of a series of broad, heavy rubber straps. Fixed to the bottom of the harness, under the rubber bag, was an oxygen-flow regulator, and beside that was strapped a canister the size of a small cake tin. The mouthpiece of the apparatus was similar to a regular scuba’s in so far as it was made up of two flexible rubber concertina hoses attached either side of breathing valves, one leading to the canister and the other fixed directly into the large rubber bag.
Zhilev unscrewed the side of the canister, which was empty, and then opened the sealed tin which contained white granules. Zhilev poured them into the canister until it was full, discarded the empty tin over the side and re- screwed the canister tightly shut again. He picked up the oxygen bottle, checking a small gauge on the side to ensure it was full, and fitted a short, high-pressure hose attached to the regulator, tightening it with a wrench, and then strapped it into its place on the harness. After checking all the seals were secure, he turned on the oxygen bottle and lowered it over the side into the water to check for leaks, and finally opened the bypass valve on the regulator partially inflating the bag. He took a couple of breaths through the mouthpiece to ensure the breathing circuit was functioning. Everything appeared to be working perfectly.
The system was ingeniously simple. High-pressure oxygen trickled from the oxygen cylinder, through the flow regulator and into the rubber bag at low pressure. With the mouthpiece in his mouth, when the diver inhaled fully he emptied the rubber bag containing the pure oxygen, which passed along the concertina hose and into his lungs.When he exhaled, the gases, which were made up of unused oxygen and a small percentage of carbon dioxide, travelled through a valve, along the other concertina hose and into the canister where the carbon dioxide was absorbed by the special powder. The unused oxygen continued through the canister and back into the bag where the spent oxygen was replaced via the regulator attached to the oxygen cylinder, completing the closed- circuit system. The result was a sealed breathing apparatus that did not release any bubbles and therefore did not betray the presence of a diver beneath the surface.
Zhilev looked around to see if any boats were approaching, and when he was satisfied he was alone made a final check of his breast pockets to ensure he had his passport and all his money.
He picked up the diving suit, sat down on the deck, removed his boots, pushed his legs inside and, lying on his back, wormed his way into it. Once he was inside up to his chest he got to his feet, pushed his arms through, being careful not to tear the cuff seals, then lifted up the front and pushed his head through the neck seal. After putting his boots inside the suit, one down each side, he made a quick adjustment of his clothes to ensure comfort and yanked tight the watertight zip across his back to create a seal. After slipping on his fins he picked up the diving apparatus, placed it over his head and buckled the rubber straps that criss-crossed his back so that the bag fitted snugly across his chest.
The nuclear device in its log-like casing was neatly wrapped inside a canvas bag and had a short length of line tied around it that he attached to one side of the diving apparatus harness. The atomic bomb was waterproof to a depth of one hundred feet, more than enough since he would not be going deeper than a quarter of that. The final items were a pair of rocks he had brought from Kastellorizo, which he placed in pockets on the thighs of the suit. Zhilev had carried out a ballast test in a quiet cove of the island prior to leaving, to ensure he had the precise weight including the nuclear device to keep him below the surface. He tied the line connected to the compass and depth gauge board to his harness and picked up his facemask. He was ready.
Zhilev checked around the deck one last time to ensure he had everything then put the facemask on. A quick turn of the regulator bypass valve filled the bag and then he switched the regulator to a trickle flow. He placed the mouthpiece in his mouth, checked his watch and began to breathe. Zhilev stood quietly for two minutes, the prescribed time to test the set and ensure it was working properly. If the gas was bad or the system faulty in some way, it was better to collapse on the deck than in the sea. He looked out over the water once more to check for boats then picked up the nuclear device, climbed carefully over the side and lowered himself into the sea.
As he let go of the boat and quietly drifted away he was suddenly filled with sadness for the little craft. They had not spent very long together but in that short time she had become a friend to him. They had had their ups and downs, such as the times the engine would die suddenly and for no apparent reason. He would curse and shout at it, but after a little tinkering here and there, patching a leaky fuel hose, or unclogging a filter, and always accompanied by words of encouragement, it would run once again as if all it really wanted was some love and attention. In an odd way Zhilev felt the little boat had similar affections for him. They made a fine pair, both old and in their winter, but plodding on without complaint, needing little more than fuel to keep going. It was love, or the lack of it, that was the great sadness of Zhilev’s life and one he was hardly aware of. He had never known it from, or given it to, anyone but his brother. Perhaps that was the deeper reason for his mission, the severing of his last emotional attachment to the rest of humanity, but he would never admit as much. Watching the little boat drift off into the darkness, he was alone again. He had thought about sinking her, and knew it was the wisest course if he
