Leviathan Rising Part 19

"Do not doubt my single-minded dedication to achieving my aims," Cheng said, training his gun back on the captain, having only given the two engineers the most cursory of glances. "I have no qualms about killing everyone here, if it will help me achieve my goals. However, as honour dictates, I would prefer not to cause any unnecessary loss of life."

"So, it was you all along," McCormack said with furious, deepening conviction.

"If you are referring to the mysterious disappearances and deaths, then I can a.s.sure you that you are mistaken. And you can take my word for that, for what would I have to gain in the current situation by lying?"

The sound of running footfalls broke the stunned silence that followed Cheng's words.

"What's going on? Captain?" Mr Wates asked stumbling to a halt as he entered the chamber.

McCormack saw his officer going for his own holstered weapon.

"Wates, don't you dare," he commanded. "That's an order!"

Mr Wates froze on the spot, as the rest of the small group that had accompanied him stumbled into the dome after him.

"Oh my G.o.d!" Dr Ogilvy shrieked as he saw Cheng, the gun and the dead engineers.

"Doctor, that goes for you too," McCormack commanded.

"All of you, over there," Cheng said, gesturing towards the chamber containing Ulysses and Nimrod with the muzzle of his gun. "And drop your weapons."

The command was following by a clattering of pistols and other weapons, falling to the grille-mesh floor.

"What do you hope to achieve by this coup of yours, Cheng?" McCormack challenged. "You are but one man."

"But again you are mistaken, captain. I am one man with the entire crew of a submarine preparing to dock with this facility and take control of it."

Without taking his eyes off the party gathered in front of him, Cheng jerked his head towards the gla.s.s-bubble apex of the dome. McCormack and a number of the others could not help risking a glance upwards. Through the mote-shot murk above them, they could see the submarine returning, illuminated by its own running lights.

With a moaning howl that surprised everyone, including Cheng, the timorous, self-serving doctor suddenly launched himself at the Chinese double agent.

"It can't end like this! I won't let it end like this!" he shrieked. Startled, Cheng stared open-mouthed at the doctor as he stumbled towards him, arms flailing, completely thrown by Ogilvy's unexpected reaction. "They used me. I wasn't a willing member of their ring!"

And then the doctor was on him.

Cheng stumbled backwards, wrong-footed. Ogilvy fell into him.

The crack of a pistol shot rang out again, made unreal by the weird acoustics of the s.p.a.ce.

Ogilvy's body tensed then went limp.

McCormack was already moving as Cheng pushed the doctor's body from him. Ignoring his own gun that he had been forced to discard moments before, deciding in that split second that in the time it would take him to retrieve the weapon, aim and fire, he could cover the distance between him and the Chinaman. He judged wrongly.

The pistol barked a fourth time.

Having driven off the monstrous squid-beast, the Chinese sub finished making its turn and powered back towards the underwater facility, preparing to enter the Marianas Base. From there the Chinese would be able to seize the very technology that controlled the creature.

The only warning the crew of the sub had that they were in any danger, apart from a brief sounding on their sonar, was the appearance of a pulsing blue light through the soup of protoplasmic murk behind them. And then the beast rushed them out of the smothering darkness.

Patches of flesh were missing from its flanks, something like gleaming steel exposed beneath, and there were cracks in its own armour plating. But none of its injuries seemed to be having any effect to its detriment.

Despite its vast size, the Kraken was able to react quicker than the submarine, and was the more agile by far. Where the squid-thing had been able to take evasion action when the submarine had made its attack run, when the tables were turned, the submarine was too c.u.mbersome to turn quickly enough to meet the Kraken's counter-attack, as the hunted became the hunter, and the hunter became the prey.

The monster seized the vessel all along its length with its muscular crus.h.i.+ng limbs. A tentacle twisted and a propeller came away. Electrical discharges with the power of a lightning strike shook the sub, disrupting all its internal mechanical and electrical components.

As the craft lost motive power and its crew any means of controlling it, the Kraken's immense, crus.h.i.+ng jaws closed around its rear-section. Teeth like spears of steel, ruptured fuel tanks and ballast tanks. Sucker-tight tentacle-arms twisted and pulled, and the armour-plated hull of the vessel ruptured.

The Chinese submarine and its crew had no chance against the beast's a.s.sault.

Screams from inside, smothered almost into silence by the thickness of the hull, could still be heard, the vibrations of its terrified prey reaching the Kraken through the superstructure and the many sensors placed along its grasping tentacles, exciting the creature even further.

Its hull breached, the colossal hydrostatic pressures of the unfathomable weight of water pressing down on top of the vessel claimed another victim for the abyss.

With a whoomph of escaping air, the submarine imploded.

Harry Cheng stared in horror at the gla.s.s bubble above, as debris from the destroyed submarine drifted down onto the dome, ringing against the structure like the ominous tolling of a giant bell.

One by one Cheng took in each of his eight captives. The captain's foolish act of misplaced heroism had cost him dear. He sat slumped against the wall of the dome, with John Schafer and Constance Pennyroyal either side of him, trying to make him as comfortable as possible, propped up as best they could manage with whatever came to hand. He had a hand held tight to his stomach, a pad of bandages from the party's make-do first aid kit cinched tight against his midriff. His sodden s.h.i.+rt was stained red across his middle. He face had taken on a horrible grey pallor and his skin had a waxy sheen to it, wet with perspiration. Dr Ogilvy still lay between Cheng and the rest of the party, face down and unmoving.

"Not such the big man now, eh, Cheng?" McCormack gasped between pained grimaces.

"Captain," Cheng said with something approaching his usual calm manner, "I think you'll find that I am still the one - how does the saying go? - holding all the aces." He gestured with the gun as if to emphasise the point.

With a torturous screeching of metal, the hatch buckled and then swung suddenly outwards. Automatically Cheng turned his gun on the door as a huge shape pushed its way into the chamber. Twice as tall as a man, and almost twice as broad, the huge diving pressure suit exo-skeleton barely made it through but its pilot was determined.

Gasps of shock and squeals of surprise rose from the mouths of the captives as they scattered, despite the Chinaman's screams that they stay where they were. The ma.s.sive machine-suit bore down on the Chinaman whose gun barked again, and again, and again. The pressure-resistant armoured suit deflected each bullet in turn, all the time Ulysses Quicksilver's manic face visible within the dome of the helmet, made even more sinister by the reflected eerie green glow of the instrument panel in front of him.

The crus.h.i.+ng steel claw - that had made light work of the hatch's locking clamps - swept down, smacking the weapon from Cheng's hand. The Chinaman reeled under Ulysses' attack and fell down hard on his backside.

The claw came down again. With a whirr of grinding servos, the pincer opened, before closing around Cheng's shoulder. The agent gritted his teeth against the pain, but couldn't help crying out as Ulysses lifted him off the ground, the suit's hydraulics lending him strength far beyond that of a normal man.

The dome shook again, provoking more cries from the over-wrought party, but Ulysses maintained his balance in the heavy suit, its feet weighted, although he lost his grip on the Chinaman as he reflexively opened his hand, ready to stop himself should he fall. Cheng crashed back down onto the mesh floor, whimpering in pain.

Glancing upwards, Ulysses saw the terrible maw of the Kraken again as it renewed its attack on the base. But, his preternatural senses sending him another warning, he returned his attention to Cheng, who was now struggling to escape from the pressure-suited colossus, kicking his feet against the floor for purchase, shuffling backwards on his backside.

A thin metal cylinder rolled across the floor where it had fallen from Cheng's pocket. A red light pulsed rhythmically.

The dome shook again, the dim lights flickering in protest.

Without a second thought, Ulysses punched the Gatling-harpoon fist into the floor, smas.h.i.+ng the metal tube beneath it. The bulb exploded and the pulsing light died.

It took Ulysses a moment to realise that in the same instant as the metal cylinder stopped broadcasting its recurring signal, the sea monster's attack had also ceased.

In the shocked silence that followed the cessation of the Kraken's determined a.s.sault, Ulysses' breakout from his incarceration and the s.h.i.+ft in the balance of power, everyone heard the piercing scream, that came from somewhere beyond the chamber. Ulysses' sixth sense flared once more, like a burning coal dropped into his skull.

It was a woman's scream and there was only one woman left among the party of so-called survivors from the Neptune who was not already present in the chamber.

It was Jonah Carcharodon's PA.

It was Miss Celeste.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Project Leviathan "He's dead!" Professor Crichton exclaimed.

"And whatever gave you that idea?" Ulysses Quicksilver said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

There could be no doubt about it. Major Marmaduke Horsley was dead. The shaft of a harpoon protruded from his not inconsiderable belly, its barbed tip buried in the wall behind him.

Ulysses turned to face Jonah Carcharodon, an expression like thunder contorting his usually calm features. "And you say you know nothing about this?" He stared pointedly at the discharged harpoon gun resting on the old man's lap.

The rest of the group did the same.

There were seven of them gathered at the back of the archiving dome, including Carcharodon and his emotionally exhausted PA. The survivors had reacted instantly when Miss Celeste's screams had rung out through the base, carried by the distorting acoustics of the place.

Ulysses had led the way, piloting the immense pressure suit towards the corridors beyond the dome. But it immediately became apparent that the suit was too large and would hamper his progress so, boldly, he shut it down and clambered back out of the machine.

There was an awkward moment where the now defenceless Ulysses came face-to-face with Mr Wates, who had leapt to recover his pistol as soon as Ulysses had Cheng on the run. Selby was there, ready to back him up should the need arise. But there was something about the intensity of the look in Ulysses' eyes, in the way he said, "You have to decide who to trust!", and what Miss Celeste's screams were telling them that were enough for Wates to let it pa.s.s - at least for the time being.

So it was that Ulysses, Wates, Selby, Crichton and Nimrod, following his master from their breached cell, had rushed to the rescue, while Lady Denning and Constance Pennyroyal had remained where they were, finding the reserves of energy from somewhere to see to the captain, while John Schafer and the purser restrained the duplicitous Cheng.

Forced to follow those curving corridors still left intact they had soon found themselves inside a musty-smelling archive, filled with tumbled shelves and filing cabinets. A Babbage unit stood in one corner of the room but it did not look like it could be in any kind of working order; a film of algal slime covering much of it, and eating away a number of the files stored here, having spread to the cataloguing shelves.

"I told you! I discharged my weapon during the confusion of the Kraken's attack," Carcharodon protested. "We were descending a ramp into another of these G.o.d-forsaken labs, still searching for Horsley when the attack came."

"Well, it certainly looks like you found him," Ulysses couldn't help throwing in.

"Scaffolding came cras.h.i.+ng down," Carcharodon went on, as if he hadn't caught Ulysses' interjection, "and Celeste let go of my ruddy chair again. Went a.r.s.e over t.i.t, again, which I don't mind saying I'm getting more than a little sick of."

Ulysses gave the magnate's beleaguered PA's shoulders another comforting squeeze. She was even more of a mess than she had been before, dust having been added to her generally dishevelled appearance.

"Gun went off in my hands! By the time Celeste had pulled herself out of the wreckage I had already managed to right my chair myself. And then we came face to face with that," he said, pointing at the dead Major's skewered body. Carcharodon's complexion was pale, his eyes ringed grey with tiredness. A large purple bruise was blossoming on the left side of his face, an oozing graze above it. He did not look at all well, but was it as a result of shock or fear that his guilty little secret had been found out?

"And besides, who are you to accuse me?" he snarled, finding some of his old fire again.

"I don't remember accusing you," Ulysses said with icy calm.

"Well, no, but you as good as said so with your meaningful looks and that ruddy waggling eyebrow thing of yours. Well, I'll not stand for it!"

"I didn't think you stood for anything anymore."

"And since when did you go from being prime suspect to judge and jury?"

"I would say since someone else was murdered whilst Nimrod and I were happily tucked up inside our little make-do cell. Wouldn't you?"

"He does have a point, sir," Selby b.u.t.ted in.

Carcharodon could think of nothing to say in reply to that, so he merely sat in his chair quietly fuming to himself.

"So what now?" Wates asked, showing Ulysses the deference he would have normally reserved for Captain McCormack, obviously quite happy now to look to him for leaders.h.i.+p in their steadily worsening situation.

Ulysses didn't answer Wates' question but instead appeared to have become distracted by the contents of the room in which they now found themselves.

Lying discarded on top of a filing cabinet, amidst reams of data printouts, were two dusty, sepia-toned photographs. The first was only small, five inches by four, and was a picture of a child, a young girl. She couldn't have been more than about six years old, Ulysses judged. She was wearing a pretty pinafore dress and had ribbons tied in her long fair hair. She was beaming at the camera, holding her dolly in one hand.

He recognised two things within the photograph, the doll and the room in which the picture had obviously been taken. It was the central chamber of the complex in which they had found the mummified corpse.

The second photograph was larger and formal in style. It showed a team of people arrayed in two rows, those in front seated. This picture had also been taken with the central lab-dome as its backdrop. Ulysses could tell from the uniforms and lab-coats that this was a record of members of the military-scientific team that must have worked here in the past. Chances were that it was their belongings that were now was.h.i.+ng around the partially flooded corridors of the collapsing base. There were no children in this photograph, although there were a number of severe faces that Ulysses recognised.

Seated in the front row was a younger version of Jonah Carcharodon and he was still an invalid even then. He looked older than the rest, but there was less grey in his hair, his face less jowly, his eyes brighter. The second person he recognised in the front row was Professor Maxwell Crichton, his round spectacles and spiky hair unmistakeable. Seated directly next to him was an attractive woman, with her hair arranged in a bun on top of her head. Ulysses was taken aback by her beauty - she had been quite a looker in her day - but there was no mistaking her either, now having spent so long with her in such close company. It was Lady Josephine Denning. And next to her was seated the army-formal figure of Major Marmaduke Horsley.

There were two others remaining in the front row of the photograph. He did not recognise either the emaciated man with the walking stick, who looked like he had already been old when the picture was taken, or the significantly younger, bearded fellow. But there was still one other, among the nameless scientists, mechanics and naval personnel - standing at the end of the row behind the seated dignitaries - whose striking appearance stunned Ulysses to the core. The last person he had expected to see amongst the group in the photograph was Hercules Quicksilver, his own father.

Ulysses stared at the image in disbelief, only dimly aware of the discussions of the others taking place around him. He turned the picture over in his hands. Written on the back in a languid copperplate hand were the words: Project Leviathan, February 1972.

Ulysses turned slowly to the professor who was still staring dumbstruck at the dead Major.

"Professor Crichton," he said, holding up the picture. "What is this? What is Project Leviathan?"

Crichton turned his eyes from Horsley's gla.s.sy stare and Ulysses could see that, behind the round lenses of his gla.s.ses, the man's eyes were glistening wetly. He opened his mouth to speak but before he managed to get a word out, his bottom lip quivering, he fell to his knees, as his body became subsumed by gut-wrenching sobs.

"G.o.d forgive us!" he spluttered, just as he had done upon encountering the body in the chair. The old, spineless professor had returned, his tougher, more resolute alter ego gone.

It was uncomfortable to hear a man making such a womanly sound, sniffing noisily between sobs, snot running from his nose, tears streaming down his face. But after all that had happened - incarceration, a.s.sault by deadly sea monster, attempted coup - Ulysses' patience had reached the end of its tether.

The dandy strode up to the downcast man, grabbed him by the lapels of his ruined suit and hauled him to his feet.

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake, pull yourself together, man! What is Project Leviathan? Tell me, Professor!"

With shaking hands, Crichton pulled his hip flask from his pocket - that old familiar, spirit-sapping crutch - unscrewed the cap and took a gulping swig. As the warming alcohol coursed through him, the professor seemed to find some of that lost resolve again.

Bringing his sobbing back under control, he took the photograph from Ulysses' hands.

"I thought I would never hear the name of that G.o.d-forsaken project ever again," he said, still catching his breath, wiping the mucus and tears from his face. "We all swore never to speak of it."

Rather than badger the professor with more questions - no matter how desperately he might want the answers to them - Ulysses gave him room to make his confession.

"We all swore never to speak of it again," Crichton repeated himself.

"They why speak of it now?" It was Carcharodon who was now attempting to derail the professor's confessional.