From the Deep (25 page)

CHAPTER 53

Clara took a sip of the whisky and set it back on the table in the galley kitchen with shaking hands. Rainwater sat opposite of Clara, wondering what to say to try to console her. No words came, and so he looked at her pale face, and her bloodshot eyes, as she stared into space.  How could he possibly try to tell her everything would be all right when they were on board with a man who knew no limits?  He wasn’t in any way equipped to do that, and so he let her grieve and drink, as he listened to the thrum of the engine and the increasingly regular sound of icebergs smashing off the hull. The storm had been brutal, but against all odds, the boat had come through unscathed, and was now heading south, the temperature plummeting as they followed the creature.

Mito had gone to the wheelhouse when they had arrived back in the boat, followed by a furious Andrews who was baying for blood.

“Why are you here?” she asked as she took another sip of her drink and wiped her makeup streaked eyes with the palm of her hand.

“I uh… Thought you might not want to be alone.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I mean, why are you
here
, why are you looking for this thing? The rest of us are here by accident, you seem to be the only one out here by choice.”

“To be honest, I’ve been asking myself that same question.  This creature sank my boat, and killed my dad and uncle and a close family friend. For a while, all I could think about was revenge and killing this thing. Now…” he cleared his throat and stared at the half empty whisky bottle. “I really don’t know why I’m out here.”

Clara poured him a drink and then topped up her own glass.

“I thought this was a scientific mission, a chance to study something new, a missing link in the evolutionary chain. Dexter…” Her lip trembled and she took a deep breath. “Dexter didn’t want to come. He thought it was a bad idea. I didn’t listen to him.”

“There was no way you could have known what was going to happen out here. He must have thought a lot of you, to follow you out here.”

“I loved him like a brother,” She said, taking another drink. “I always knew he wanted more, but we never spoke of it. I was never interested in him like that, but I still loved him. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does actually.” He mumbled. “It’s about the only thing that does make sense right now.”

“He’ll kill us. You know that don’t you?”

The way she said it chilled him more than the freezing conditions outside, and he looked her in the eye. There was intensity, a glint of determination and anger. He took a drink of the fiery whisky, grimacing as he swallowed it.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Rainwater hoped it was the grief and alcohol talking for her, but she was incredibly lucid, and he saw she meant it.

“That’s not a road you want to be heading down. This seems bad now, and it will for a while. Remember that away from all this, you have a career, a life. Don’t let getting revenge on Russo ruin that for you. People like him always get what they deserve in the end.”

“No they don’t,” she said with a disgusted sneer. “People like him always get away with it and come out smelling of roses. He’ll make sure all of us loose ends are tied long before we get back to civilisation, if we ever do that is.”

“We got through the storm. At least that’s something to be grateful for.”

“True, but we’re heading towards Antarctic waters. The temperature’s going to plummet and the icebergs are going to increase in size and density. This boat isn’t equipped to deal with those conditions. Russo either doesn’t care, or won’t acknowledge it. Either way, it’s going to get bad.”

“I fished on the Bering Sea, and that can get pretty bad.”

“Not like this,” she said, shaking her head.

“The further south we go, the denser the ice pack will become. A boat like this isn’t built to cut through it. The smaller, thinner part of the ice field will be manoeuvrable easily enough. That’s what will draw us in. The second we’re through, it will close behind us.”

“You mean we could be trapped?”

“If the ice has nowhere else to go and it gets dense enough, yes.”

“Great,” Rainwater muttered as he drained his glass. He looked at Clara, but she was staring past him at the door.

Russo stood, arms folded as he looked at them both. He wore an expression, which Rainwater was sure he had been practicing in the mirror – just the right mix of grief and sorrow.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened,” he said, stepping into the room.

“You better get out of here,” Rainwater said, wondering if his bravery was due to the booze going straight to his head.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Russo replied, speaking to Rainwater but watching Clara. “I really feel we need to talk about what happened.”

“What‘s to discuss? You killed an innocent man.” Clara hissed as she drained her glass and immediately poured another drink.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You gave the order. That makes you responsible in my book, even if you didn’t pull the trigger yourself.”

“Come on, be fair. He was hardly innocent in this. He had attempted to attack one of my men who could have been severely injured or killed. Can you blame him for retaliating?”

“Don’t you think shooting him is a little too much?” Rainwater cut in.

“You don’t understand, I have to be seen to keep discipline with the crew. If I lose control I—”

Rainwater lurched out of his seat and swung a looping punch at Russo.  His knuckles connected with jaw, sending Russo staggering into the fridge freezer, which opened and spilled its contents onto the floor.

Russo didn’t go down, instead, he touched his fingers to his bloody lip, and spat on the floor. Rainwater stood defiant, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand. Russo didn’t fight back. Instead, he pulled off a length of kitchen roll and held it to his lip.

“Any other time, you would have been dead for doing that.” He said as he examined the bloody tissue and touched it back to his lip. “I understand you’re upset, so on this occasion, I’ll let it slide.”

“Get out of here,” Rainwater said, balling his fists.

“I did what I could, if you chose not to accept the olive branch so be it. It’s on you. If you try anything like that again, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

CHAPTER 54

Russo went directly to his room, still holding the tissue to his lip. Slamming the door shut behind him, he tossed the tissue on the dresser and looked at himself in the mirror, surveying the damage. He was surprised at how haggard his reflection had become. His eyes were sunken and dark from the lack of sleep, and a fluffy salt and pepper stubble was well on the way to becoming a beard.  He tried to see past the things he had done, and that he had been forced to do to complete the mission. He hadn’t realised it before, but he was starting to look…

Old.

People saw him as a monster. They didn’t understand what he had to put up with, or the difficult decisions he had to make. He had seen the way people were looking at him, the disgusted, fearful look in their eye, and he was starting to wonder if he was close to losing the crew.

Mutiny on the Victorious.

He smiled, and his swelling lips screamed in anger, transforming it to a wince.

No
.

He wouldn’t let that happen, not when he was so close to the end. He tried to figure out when he had last been able to sleep without his conscience nagging at him about how far he had to go to get the job done. That was the side other people didn’t see, the personal toll that taking on a mission took on him. His superiors wanted results, and had already spent millions of dollars in both building the Florida facility and researching the state of the art capture and cloning facilities they intended to use. The message was clear. They had done their part, and everything now depended on him. A pretty tall order for someone earning just over seventy grand a year before taxes. He kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, ignoring the uncomfortable mattress as best he could as he stared at the roof. As tired as he was, he knew what would happen. It was as if lying down was some kind of trigger to make him become wide-awake and unable to sleep. For three nights, he had tried to get a couple of hours rest, only to find himself unable to drop off, distracted by the billion things racing around in his head and the nauseating motion of the boat as it ploughed towards the southernmost tip of the world.

He pulled the roll of mints out of his pocket and looked at them. They weren’t mints of course, not really. They were a special mix of narcotic, made up for him by a guy in LA and packaged to look like harmless breath fresheners. Apparently, most of the A list stars did their drugs this way now. In the age of social media and everyone and their dog carrying a camera, it was the safe way to feed a habit. For a price, you could have your own personal cocktail made up and packaged in such a way that nobody would know any different. His brand was a mixture of anti-depressants, cocaine and aspirin – all with minty fresh breath thrown in for good measure. He didn’t like to call himself an addict, especially as he prided himself on his supreme level of self-control. Even so, he hadn’t accounted for how long they would be at sea, and now that he had run out, he was becoming increasingly agitated.  He took the last anonymous white tablet from the package and turned it over and over in his hands, trying to ignore the screaming panic in his belly at the thought of not having any more to take after this last one.

I don’t need them. I take them for recreation. I control them. They don’t control me.

Which was all well and good, he thought as he stared at the miracle pill, except that it was bullshit. Even now, he could feel how much his body craved that numbing cocktail. He half wondered if they were what made him so able to make the tough decisions he was forced to make. What would he do when the aches started, the stomach cramps and spasms, as his body tried to adjust to functioning without its precious medication?

Save it. Save this last one until you really, really need it.

It was a good idea, and yet as he lay there, his stomach fluttered and his brain fired with ideas, thoughts, hopes, dreams, guilt, need, pleasure, and pain.  This was way too much to expect any one man to handle without a little chemical rebalancing.

It’s not like I’m some crack addict holed up in a squat somewhere.

Although that was true, he still didn’t like the idea of coping without his precious pills. Not when there were already so many things he had been forced to do to get this job done.

You’re stronger than the pills. You don’t need them. You can kick them anytime.

The voice in his head was convincing, even if he had heard it all before. He had threatened to put himself in rehab on more than one occasion, only to find himself breaking out in sweats and speed dialling his supplier to FedEx him a fresh supply.

This time.

He promised himself as soon as this mission was over, and he had delivered the creature to his employers that he would check himself into rehab, and take himself a long vacation. Somewhere that was warm and away from civilisation, somewhere with sandy beaches and no roads or nightclubs, – perhaps the Maldives. For now though, he had a job to finish.

He popped the last pill into his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep and not think about what he would do when those pains started, and how he might cope next time a tough decision had to be made. He prayed for sleep, knowing that his body desperately needed the rest. However deep down, he knew it wouldn’t come. His body would make him stay awake.

Don’t give it a choice. You’re in control. You are the master of your own body. You can sleep if you want to.

He looked at the alarm clock by his bed. It was only a little after five in the afternoon, (not that time mattered when you had chronic insomnia and addiction to manage) and he was determined to force himself to get some much needed shut-eye.

You are in control, you can do this if you want to.

He swallowed the pill, and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing, trying to empty his head, determined to prove to his body who was in charge.

Five hours later, and sick of staring at the same spot on the roof, a frustrated Russo got off the bed, showered, changed, and headed back towards the wheelhouse. He was trying not to acknowledge the need in his gut for more of his precious drugs, which was already starting to present itself, and to think less about what tomorrow would be like, never mind the day after.  Pushing the worrying train of thought to one side, he walked out to stand beside Mackay and drew a breath.

The open ocean was gone. In its place, the water was littered with giant icebergs that drifted gently in the waters as far as the eye could see. The entire deck of the boat was thick with ice, and ahead, looming on the horizon, lay the impressive and intimidating Ross Ice Shelf.

CHAPTER 55

The creature moved with grace around the mountainous icebergs that hung below the waterline. Back in familiar territory, it changed course, heading towards the dark fissure in the wall of the ice that dwarfed even the creature’s mammoth frame.  Angling into the pitch-dark underwater chamber, the animal weaved around the twisting ice formation and deeper into its lair. Two miles away, the
Victorious
pushed on through the dense ice field as driving snow fell from white skies overhead. In the wheelhouse, Russo was staring at the Radar screen.

“It’s gone into the shelf.” He said to the room. “Mito, get Andrews, tell him I need him here, now.”

Mito headed below deck as Russo turned to Mackay, who was still staring out of the window and hadn’t slept for three solid days.

“Stop the boat, now.”

Mackay didn’t acknowledge, instead increasing speed towards the tightly packed ice field.

“I said stop the boat.” Russo repeated, wincing as the
Victorious
collided with a large iceberg, which scraped down the side of the hull.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Russo yelled, reaching for the controls.  It was the exact moment Mackay had been waiting for since he had been forced to take over. In a single fluid motion, he pushed the boat to max speed, and then lunged at Russo, clamping his massive hands around his throat and shoving him to the ground as the boat raced towards the shelf.

“You deserve this you prick,” the Scot raged through gritted teeth.

Russo clawed at his massive forearms, unable to free himself from Mackay’s vice like grip. 

“I’ll see you die before you get to that fish you son of a bitch,” Mackay hissed as Russo’s eyes bulged out of his head.

Mito heard the commotion and raced back into the wheelhouse, dragging Mackay off his employer, and laying into him with vicious punches.

Spluttering and staggering to his feet, Russo joined him, both of them beating the prone Mackay to a pulp.

“Hey,” Rainwater said, racing from the galley, tackling Mito without thinking. The four were now engaged in a brawl on the confined space of the wheelhouse, as confused soldiers and Clara looked on.

“Look out!” She screamed.

The
Victorious
lurched out of the water as it clipped the immense iceberg on the starboard side, the entire hull groaning  as the thunderous impact made the boat shudder. All through the vessel, people were thrown like ragdolls. Glass shattered, alarm bells rang as the boat half slewed on top of the iceberg. The lights flickered as the rear of the vessel slammed back into the water. Propped on a natural shelf just below the waterline, three quarters of the mangled
Victorious
was out of the water, only its stern still fully in the ocean. Silence befell the wheelhouse as the forward motion of the boat stopped, wedging the vessel in a landscape of compacted ice.

Confused crew members got to their feet. Mito had a nasty looking gash on his head, and Rainwater had a bruised cheek where he had been hit during the brawl. He pushed himself to his knees, as he looked around the destroyed wheelhouse. Everyone bore the same expression, all except for Mackay. He was sitting on the floor, staring at Russo, smiling a bloody toothed grin.

“You idiot!” Russo screamed, wiping blood from his nose. “Have you any idea what you’ve done?

Get them out of here!” Russo raged, pointing at Mackay. “All of them, lock them up.”

“Good luck catching your fish with no boat.” Mackay said as he was hauled to his feet by Mito.

“All of you are going to go down for this. I swear to God. I’m going to make sure you spend the rest of your fucking lives in the worst hell hole prison I can find.” he screamed, the veins bulging out of his neck. “Lock them away, I don’t want to see them again until we get a rescue boat out here.”

“Yes sir,” Mito said, nodding to two soldiers who led the trio away.

“The rest of you…get out. Leave me alone.”

The crew looked at each other, and then at Russo.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said out! Everybody!” he screamed.

This time the crew made a swift exit, leaving Russo alone. When they were gone, he paced the wheelhouse, which now angled uphill towards the bow. His guts gnawed for his medication and his nerve endings tingled with need, both of which were becoming harder to ignore. He leaned on the control console and closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh as he looked at the landscape beyond. The ice shelf was tauntingly close, the ocean between the boat and it, was completely frozen over – packed with more ice than he had ever seen in his life. The snow continued to drive down, and the wind howled through the broken window beside him.

“What’s going on up there?” Andrews said to Morrison as he passed him in the corridor.

“It looks like our mission is over,” Morrison replied. “Seems our temporary captain deliberately ran us aground.”

“Are we going down?”

“No, as luck would have it, we’ve got ourselves perched up on an iceberg, otherwise we would all be taking a cold bath right now. We’re going nowhere.”

“Where’s Russo?”

Morrison jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Wheelhouse, says he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I don’t care what he wants anymore. It’s time we put a stop to this.”

“Good luck,” Morrison said, and then walked away. Andrews jogged up the steps and entered the wheelhouse, choosing his words carefully as Russo   stared out of the window.

“We need to call for help,” he said, unable to believe how old and broken Russo looked.

“We’re so close,” Russo whispered. Andrews struggled against the gradient as he stood beside him.

“It’s over, you must know that right?”

“How bad is the damage?” Russo asked, chewing on his lip.

“Hull is damaged. We’re also wedged up here on this iceberg. Luckily for us, it’s not going anywhere because of the ice field.”

“Is the boat seaworthy?” Russo asked, half turning towards Andrews.

“No. It isn’t. In fact, if it wasn’t for the sheer luck of us riding up this iceberg, chances are it would be underwater right now.”

Russo nodded, and turned his face back to the window, looking out at the arctic storm. Andrews was astounded by how he seemed to be withering by the second.

“Its right there Andrews.
Right there
.” He said, nodding to the towering ice shelf.

“This isn’t all bad. You know where this creature’s lair is.  Another crew can come out and finish the job. You did everything you could.”

“And what, they take all the credit? Would you say that’s fair?”

Andrews opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. Russo was trembling, and a light sweat lined his brow.

“Well, do you?”

“No,” Andrews said, deciding it was better not to ask if Russo was okay. “Even so, this isn’t about fair. It’s about survival. You have this thing tracked and you know where it is. I would say that’s a pretty successful mission under the current circumstances.”

“We both know that tracker only has a day or so before the battery dies.”

“That doesn’t matter now. You know where it is.”

“What? Somewhere in the ice? Do you know how big the Ross Ice Shelf is? Even something as big as our fish will be like a needle in a haystack.” Russo’s eyes were on stalks and he thrust his trembling hands into his pockets, leaning forwards to counter the angle of the boat.

“Why don’t you go get some rest? Let me call it in.” Andrews said.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine.” He snapped.

They were silent for a moment, both watching the snow flurry outside.

“Let me call it in,” Andrews said again, hoping Russo was too out of it to argue. “We need some help out here.”

Russo didn’t answer, so Andrews shuffle stepped across broken glass towards the radio, his heart plunging into his stomach when he saw it. The console was destroyed, circuit board and wires hanging out of the shattered casing.

“What the hell happened here?” Andrews said, testing the radio anyway before throwing the useless receiver against the wall, where it bobbed on its bungee style chord.

“Smashed it.” Russo said, still staring out at the snow.

“What the hell did you do that for? We need to contact the Coast Guard, we have injured people on board!”

“I had to,” he whispered, still staring out of the window.

“What are you talking about, are you out of your mind?” Andrews bellowed, grabbing Russo by the shoulder and spinning him around, unable to help but recoil when he saw Russo’s twisted grin.

“The mission goes ahead. No Coast Guard. Not until we have what we came for.”

“There are crew on board who need medical attention.”

“I called in the transport ship before I smashed the radio. It’s on its way here. They’ll take our injured on board as well as our fish.”

“This is crazy, listen to yourself!”

“Don’t mistake my determination for insanity.” Russo shot back, his eyes darting as he grinned at Andrews.

“Look at you, you look like hell. You’re obviously sick, and it’s affecting your judgement. How the hell do you expect us to complete the mission when we’re stranded?”

Russo turned back to the window and nodded towards the mass of ice between the boat and the shelf.

“I think we can walk to the wall from here across the ice, then use our climbing gear to get on top of it.”

“You can’t be serious,” Andrews said, shaking his head and ignoring the tight ball of fear in his gut. “This isn’t a stroll we’re talking about here, it’s the Antarctic Ocean.”

“Which is frozen enough for us to cross on foot.”

“You can’t know that. If you do this, people will die.”

“People die every day. It’s something neither you nor I can change.”

“No,” Andrews said, walking towards the door. “This has gone too far. Job or no job, I’m done. I’m not going to go down in flames with you on this one, Russo. Not a chance.”

“Fine.”

Andrews was expecting to have to argue with the sweating, twitching Russo, and was stunned into silence by his unexpected agreement.

“I don’t think you would be much assistance past this point anyway. Besides, I need someone with seniority to stay here with the
Victorious
for when the transport ship arrives.”

“
You
are going out there?”

“Of course I am. I’ve come too far to sit back and watch from the boat. All I need from you is to complete your end of the mission and send the drone over the shelf.”

“You really do intend to do this, don’t you?”

Andrews said, waiting for a reply that didn’t come.

“Yeah, I’ll send the drone,” he said with a sigh. “After that, I’m done. The sooner I’m off this boat and away from you, the better.”

“That works for me. How soon can you have it in the air?”

“You’ll die out there, Russo. You know that don’t you?  What you’re planning…its suicide.”

“Your concerns have been noted. How long for the drone?”

“I can have it in the air in twenty minutes.” Andrews said with a sigh, knowing any attempt to talk Russo out of his crazy plan was futile.

“Good. Let me know when it’s done.”

Andrews didn’t reply and left Russo staring out at the window at the ice that had almost completely encased the boat.