The Secret of Excalibur

He shot her a look and cupped his hands as if comparing two weights. ‘It was a tough choice - you know, bit of tin, woman I love!’

‘Oh, all right - aah!’ Nina’s foot slipped, and she stumbled down the tilting deck to hit the aft bulkhead, now well on its way to becoming the new floor. Chase gripped one of the plotting tables and made his way to her as she peered through the hatch. ‘Er, Eddie?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I can see water. That’s supposed to be on the outside.’

He looked past her. Water was indeed rising up the floor of the sonar room. The ladder he’d seen was already submerged. ‘Buggeration and fuckery! Okay, Plan B.’

‘You have a Plan B?’

‘No, but if you do that’d be bloody fantastic!’

More loose items crashed on to the deck. The radio handset on the communications console swung on its coiled cord. The submarine was now close to thirty degrees down by the stern, and the rate of tilt was increasing. The inclinometer clanked as it reached its limit.

Nina jumped away from the hatch as a first wave splashed through it. ‘Okay, how about we close this?’ She slammed the heavy metal door and spun the locking wheel a couple of times, then pointed at the dangling microphone. ‘What about that radio? Can we call for help?’

‘Call who? The Russians won’t be able to reach us in time - assuming they don’t shoot us on sight for sinking one of their nuclear subs!’

‘Maybe not, but they might be able to tell us how to get out of this thing.’

‘If they speak English—’ Chase began, but Nina cut him off.

‘Is that a phone?’ she asked, jabbing a finger at the piece of equipment mounted next to the radio. It looked like a later addition to the control room, not as utilitarian and military in design.

‘Yeah, a satphone.’

‘Great!’ She battled her way across the room, using the firmly secured legs of the plotting table as steps before clambering over the periscope to reach the console.

‘Who you gonna call?’ Chase asked as he followed, confused.

Nina resisted the near-automatic urge to cry ‘Ghostbusters!’ in response. ‘Someone who knows about submarines! What time is it in New York?’

Chase looked at his wrist, but saw only skin; his watch had been confiscated at Vaskovich’s power station. ‘I dunno - late afternoon?’

‘Hope he’s still in the office . . .’ She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, then pushed a green button on the phone. She heard a bleep. ‘Yes!’ She dialled a number from memory and waited, adjusting her precarious position as the room tilted around her.

A click, then a hollow hiss of static. ‘It’s working!’ she cried on hearing a ringing tone. Another few seconds and she got an answer from the IHA’s receptionist in New York. ‘Lola! It’s Nina Wilde. This is an emergency - I need you to put me through to Matt Trulli at UNARA right now!’

To her credit, Lola didn’t waste time asking any questions, but immediately dialled Trulli’s extension. Another ringing tone, two rings, three . . .

‘Hello?’ said Trulli.

‘Matt! It’s Nina!’

‘Hey, what’s up?’

‘Oh, nothing much. Just that Eddie and I are trapped aboard a sinking Russian submarine.’

Even with the time lag of a satellite link, a reply was a long time coming. ‘Really?’

‘Yes! Really! You said you’d been on a Russian sub - so tell us how to get off this one!’

‘I’ve been on a Russian sub, but they’re all different. What kind is it?’

‘A . . . a big one! Eddie, what kind of sub is this?’

‘A Typhoon,’ Chase told her.

‘A Typhoon,’ she repeated. ‘We’re in the bridge and we can’t get to the ladder behind us because it’s flooded!’

‘When you say bridge, do you mean the observation deck in the sail, or the main control room?’

‘What?’ Nina shook her head in exasperation. ‘The second one! Matt - we are going to die! Get us out of here!’

‘I’ve never been on a Typhoon - I was aboard a Sierra!’ Trulli protested. ‘I’ve read about ’em, though. Hang on, let me think.’

Nina gave him exactly three seconds. ‘Matt!’

‘Okay, okay! If you can’t get up into the sail, there’re supposedly escape pods on each side of the control deck.’

‘Supposedly?’

‘The Russians don’t exactly put the plans on the Internet! But there are big hatches in the hull, and everything I’ve read says they’re for escape pods.’

‘Okay! Great! How do we get to them?’

‘I dunno! If there’s no direct access to the sides, you’ll have to go forward or aft and double back to them.’

Nina glanced at the aft hatch. ‘Going back’s out. This thing’s sinking ass first.’

‘Then you need to go forward.’

She looked ahead - and up. The forward hatch was now above her, the floor at forty degrees from the horizontal. ‘Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that.’

‘Nina!’ Chase warned, pointing at one of the panels in front of the dead sailor. He had realised it was a depth gauge some time ago, but ignored it, with the Typhoon on the surface. Now, though, it was starting to tick down . . . and with increasing speed. The sheer volume of water in the stern section was outweighing the buoyancy provided by the remaining air in the bow. ‘We’re going down, and not in the good way. Time to go!’

‘Matt,’ Nina said, ‘if you’re right about this escape pod, you’re going to get such a great thank-you present from us both.’

‘And if I’m wrong?’

‘Then it was nice working with you! Bye!’ She dropped the handset and pulled herself up the consoles.

Chase was right behind her. ‘Escape pod?’

‘Hopefully. He says there’s one on each side of the control room.’

‘Shit, then they’re probably flooded by now.’

‘There you go with that British pessimism again! Stop it!’

The forward hatch hung open. Nina braced herself against a console and stretched to grab its frame. Chase pushed her up from below until she was able to wriggle over it, then climbed after her. They found themselves in a narrow passage running across the sub; a closed hatch led forward, but Nina was more interested in the routes to the left and right, which as Trulli had suggested headed back along each side of the control room. ‘This way’s not flooded,’ she said, looking left.

‘This way is!’ Chase yelped as seawater reached the top end of the other corridor. The sub was now at a forty-five degree angle, walls turning to floors, the water flowing with increasing force along the welded corner where the two joined.

‘Oh boy.’ Nina ran left and looked down. ‘Eddie! I think I’ve found it!’

Chase joined her. The hatch at the far end of the corridor was closed, keeping out the water - however temporarily. About ten feet below them was another hatch set in the side wall, this one hydraulically operated. A large button on a panel beside it glowed with a green light. ‘Great, but we’ve still got to get to it,’ he said as the water gushed past their feet and spewed into the passage like a waterfall.

One side of the passage was lined with protruding metal boxes - electrical switchgear. Chase climbed down them until he reached the level of the hatch, then leaned across. Water splashed over him from above. Some of it sprayed into the boxes, causing a bang and a flash of sparks. Nina shrieked. Chase winced and shifted his grip to something he hoped was non-conductive, then pushed the button.

The hatch hissed open. Through it Chase saw another, smaller hatch opening more slowly, beyond it a white-painted cylindrical chamber. ‘Is it the escape pod?’ Nina asked.