Deep Storm

56

They stepped out of the airlock into a narrow, dark chamber. Crane paused a minute to catch his breath. From beyond came the whoop, whoop of an alarm.

Crane opened the door and they emerged into an empty hallway. Here, the cry of the alarm was much louder.

"Deck eleven," Hui said, taking a quick glance around. "Staff quarters."

"We need to get to the conference center on twelve," Crane said. "Dr. Vanderbilt's waiting for me there."

At random, Crane ducked into a stateroom, plucked a towel from the bath, and wrapped it around Hui's shoulders. Then they ran for the nearest stairwell. The floor seemed deserted, and only once did they pass someone: a man in a maintenance jumpsuit who stopped to stare, openmouthed, as they went past, drenched and dripping.

Reaching the stairwell, they dashed up a flight to the top level of the Facility. Unlike 11, deck 12 was crowded: people stood in the corridors and in open doorways, faces tense and drawn.

The conference center consisted of a central space that resembled a lecture hall, surrounded by a few small breakout rooms. Half a dozen people stood huddled together in the central hall, talking quietly. When Crane entered, they fell silent. One man detached himself from the crowd. He was tall and thin, with red hair and a closely cropped beard. A pair of black glasses poked out from the pocket of his lab coat.

He stepped toward them. "Dr. Crane?" he said.

Crane nodded.

"I'm Gene Vanderbilt." The oceanographer gave them a quick once-over. His eyes widened a little at their appearance, but he made no comment. "Come on-I'll introduce you to the others."

They walked over to the group. Crane waited impatiently through the introductions, then quickly shook hands.

"Frankly, I'm surprised to see you at all," Vanderbilt told him. "I didn't expect you to make it."

"Why is that?" Crane asked. He wondered if Vanderbilt already knew he was a wanted man, that he'd never make it past the Barrier.

"Because deck eight is completely flooded. The watertight doors are all sealed, the elevator shafts closed down."

"Completely flooded?" Crane felt shocked. So the Facility was breached, after all, he thought. Now there was no way for anybody on the classified floors to reach the upper levels.

"Some compartments of deck seven, as well. Isn't that right?" And Vanderbilt turned to a short, swarthy machinist who'd been introduced as Gordon Stamper.

Stamper nodded vigorously. "About sixty percent of deck seven is underwater at present. Compartments seven-twelve through seven-fourteen flooded in the last five minutes."

"Seems you found a different route," Vanderbilt said to Crane, with another appraising glance.

"And that's inaccessible now, too," Crane replied. "One of the pressure spokes has ruptured, and water's flooding in between the Facility and the dome. The emergency exit on deck two is already underwater."

"Yes, we know about the spoke," Vanderbilt said. "Containment crews are on their way."

"It's a pretty serious breach," Crane said dubiously.

"Tell me about it," Stamper replied. "If you all will excuse me, I need to rejoin my team."

"Get back to me in fifteen with another report," said Vanderbilt.

"He's reporting to you?" Crane asked.

Vanderbilt nodded. "I'm the ranking science officer on the decks above eight."

"What about the military?"

"Fragmented. At work trying to contain the breach and ensure hull integrity."

Crane glanced back at Stamper's retreating form. "You said you know all about the breach. Any idea what caused it?"

"Sabotage," Vanderbilt said.

Crane looked back at him. "You're sure?"

"It seems Roger Corbett stumbled upon the saboteur as she was placing the explosive."

"She? You mean the saboteur was a woman?"

"Michele Bishop."

Hui Ping gasped.

"No," said Crane. "It's not possible."

"Corbett managed to dial his cell phone while he was confronting Bishop. Called his own intern, Bryce. He heard it from her own lips."

Too much had happened, too quickly, for Crane to even begin absorbing such a terrible shock. He felt a deep chill that had nothing to do with his sodden clothes. Michele? No, it simply can't be.

"Where are they now?" he asked mechanically.

"Neither one escaped deck eight. We think they were both killed in the explosion."

As if from a great distance, Crane realized he could not think about this. Not right now. With a tremendous effort, he pushed it aside, then took a deep breath. "The breach isn't our only problem," he said. "In fact, it may not even be the biggest."

"I gather that's what you're here to tell us about."

Crane glanced around at the assembled scientists. "How many of you here have classified clearance?"

Two-Vanderbilt included-raised their hands.

Through his shock and weariness, Crane realized he was about to break all the security protocols he had signed. He also realized that he did not care in the slightest.

Quickly, he sketched out their current situation: the true nature of the dig; Asher's suspicions; the medical problem and its solution; the decrypted messages. Hui interjected here and there, clarifying a point or adding an observation of her own. As he spoke, Crane watched the faces of the scientists. A few-including those who had classified access-nodded now and then, as if some of their private suspicions were being confirmed. Others looked astonished, even incredulous, and-in one or two instances-a little skeptical.

"Korolis has taken military command of the Facility," he concluded. "I don't know what he's done with Admiral Spartan. But Korolis is in Marble Three now, hell-bent on penetrating the Moho. From what I understand, it could happen during the current dive-at any moment, in fact."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Vanderbilt asked.

"We need to contact the surface. AmShale, or even better, the Pentagon. Get in touch with the people in charge, the ones that can put a stop to this madness."

"That's going to be difficult."

Crane glanced at the oceanographer. "Why?"

"We can't contact the surface. Not at present. I've already tried."

"What's wrong?"

"The Facility-to-surface communications gear is on deck seven. It's underwater."

"Damn," Crane muttered.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

"The escape pod," Ping said.

Everyone looked in her direction.

"What about it?" one of the scientists asked.

"If we can't contact the surface, then we'll just have to deliver the message in person."

"She's right," another scientist said. "We can't stay here. Not if what Dr. Crane says is true."

"And there's something else," Hui added. "If they're unable to repair the breach, the water level will keep rising outside."

"The Facility wasn't built to withstand the pressure at this depth," someone added. "It'll implode."

"The pod will hold a hundred people, give or take," said Vanderbilt. "That should easily accommodate everybody on the upper decks."

"What about the people in the classified areas?" Crane asked.

"Another reason for us to get to the surface as quickly as possible," Vanderbilt replied. "Communications are down. The faster we get topside, the faster they can get back here to effect rescue and repair."

Crane glanced around the group. People were nodding.

"It's settled, then," said Vanderbilt. "Let's start transferring personnel to the escape pod. I'll need some volunteers to make sweeps of decks nine through eleven, send any stragglers here."

"I'll take deck nine," Crane said. "I know it better than I know the others."

Vanderbilt nodded. "Meet us back here as quickly as you can."

Crane turned to Ping. "You'll help with the boarding?"

She nodded.

"I'll be right back." He gave her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze. Then he turned, jogged quickly out of the hall, and vanished from sight.