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The cash had sealed the deal.

As the scientists lined up on the jetty at ten thirty, clad from head to toe in thermally insulating neoprene suits Roscovitz was pleased to be able to teach them something for once. The induction for the military and crew had taken place in Norfolk, Virginia. Most of them were navy SEALs, who were so used to the water that they'd practically grown fins. But Roscovitz was determined to ensure that the scientists were capable of deep-sea flying and fighting as well. He knew that things could happen during an expedition that meant civilians had to play a decisive role.

He instructed his chief technician, Kate Ann Browning to lower one of the four submersibles from the rail overhead. Deepflight 1 descended slowly towards them. The underside of the boat resembled a larger-than-life Ferrari without wheels, equipped with four long, thin cylinders. He waited until it was suspended at eye-level, four metres above the deck and directly over the basin. Seen from that angle, it had little in common with a conventional submersible. Flat, wide and almost rectangular in shape, with four thrusters mounted at the rear and two partially transparent body pods sloping up towards the front, the Deepflight looked more like a spaceship. Below the transparent domes, a pair of articulated arms protruded from the bow. Most noticeable of all were the vessel's stubby wings.

'I expect you're thinking it looks like a plane,' said Roscovitz, 'and you'd be right. It is a plane, and it's every bit as manoeuvrable. The wings serve the same purpose as they would on a plane, only they're angled in the opposite direction. The wings of an aeroplane generate lift. The wings on a Deepflight generate a downward force that counteracts the lift. Even the steering system is modelled on aeronautical principles. You don't sink like a stone; you move at an angle of up to sixty degrees, so you can bank elegantly from side to side or shoot up or down.' He made swooshing noises as he demonstrated the movements with the flat of his hand. He pointed to the pods. 'The main difference from an aeroplane is that you don't sit down. You lie prone. That way the height of the vehicle is kept to just one point four metres for a surface area of three by six metres.'

'How deep can it dive?' asked Weaver.

'As deep as you like. You could fly straight to the bottom of the Mariana Trench in less than ninety minutes. This baby can fly at twelve knots. The pressure hull is ceramic and the transparent domes are acrylic, enclosed in titanium. It's safe at any depth. It also provides a fantastic panoramic view, which will help us decide whether to turn tail or take aim.' He pointed to the underside. 'We've equipped our Deep-flights with four torpedoes. Two are loaded with a small amount of explosive – enough to seriously injure a whale, or maybe even kill it. The other two will do even more damage. You can use them to blast through rock or get rid of an entire pack of whales. But please leave the missiles to the pilot, unless, of course, he's dead or unconscious, in which case you won't have much choice.'

Roscovitz clapped his hands.

'You can fight among yourselves for the chance to be first for a test flight. And there's one more thing you should know. The fuel will give you eight hours' flight time. If you get stuck anywhere, the life-support system wall provide you with sufficient oxygen for ninety-six hours. Either way, there's no need to panic – by then God's very own taskforce, the US Navy, will have come to your rescue. So, who wants to go first?'

'Without any water?' asked Shankar, casting a sceptical look at the basin.

Roscovitz grinned. 'Would fifteen thousand tonnes be enough?'

'Er… well, I guess so.'

'Here goes, then. Let's flood the deck.'

COMBAT INFORMATION CENTER

Two radio operators had been detailed to fill in for Crowe and Shankar while Roscovitz was instructing the scientists. The guys were killing time. Strictly speaking, they were supposed to keep their mouths shut and their ears open, but they knew they could rely on the computer, as well as on Shankar's SOSUS team back home in the States. If any noise were to emerge from the depths, it would be picked up onshore by countless electronic systems and human brains, then filtered out and sent back to the Independence with a full analysis and report. Crowe's message had been sent from the vessel, and the Independence was listening for a reply, but she was only one of many listening posts. If the yrr were to answer, the sound would be picked up by the Atlantic Ocean's hydrophone array. Using the distances between the hydrophones and the time taken for the signal to reach each one in turn, the computer could calculate the position from which the signal had been sent. The information would be forwarded to the CIC, where the operators would be bound to see it.

Trusting in the power of technology, the men were engaged in an impassioned musical debate. They were so caught up in white hip-hop that it didn't occur to them to glance at the screens. Eventually one reached across to pick up his coffee and glanced round. He stared.

Jeez! What the hell is that?'

Coloured waves were flickering over two screens.

The other man stared too. 'Since when have they been there?'

'Dunno.' The radio operator peered at the lines. 'We should have been notified by the onshore team. How come they're not calling? They must be receiving it too.'

It's that the frequency Crowe used for the message?'

'Don't ask me. I'm not getting any audible noise, though – must be ultrasound or infrasound.'

The other guy thought for a moment. 'The nearest hydrophone is off the coast of Newfoundland. Sound takes a while to travel, but no one else has picked up the signal, which means…'

'It's coming from here.'

DEEPFLIGHT

The hydraulic system set to work noisily as the vast ballast tanks flooded. The Independence's stern sank slowly through the water as seawater rushed inside.

'There's also the option of admitting water via the sluice,' Roscovitz shouted above the noise, 'but that would mean opening the hatches simultaneously, which would breach our security, so it's something we're keen to avoid. We get round it by using a specially designed pump system. A closed loop of pipes feeds water up to the deck. It's filtered several times before it gets here. The basin is lined with sensors, like the sluice, so you can be sure the water's safe before you jump into the pool.'

'Will we be testing the boats in the basin?' asked Johanson.

'Hell, no – we're going to fly them outside.'

Now that the dolphin fleet had reported the retreat of the orcas, Roscovitz felt satisfied that they could risk a few dives.

'My God.' Rubin was staring at the frothing water in the basin. He appeared to be frozen to the spot. 'It looks as though we're sinking.'

Roscovitz grinned at him. 'I've been on a sinking warship and, trust me, it's nothing like this.'

Metre by metre, the stern of the enormous vessel sank deeper into the water. The Independence was too large for anyone to feel her tilting. The change was minimal – it would have taken a spirit level to detect it – but the effect on the well deck was astonishing. The water level rose until it was lapping the edge of the jetty. Within a few minutes, the deck had been transformed into a four-metre-deep pool. By now the dolphin tank was underwater, which allowed its occupants to swim the full length of the deck. The Zodiacs drifted on the surface, moored securely to the embankment. Deepflight 1 bobbed gently on the waves.

Browning let down another submersible from the rail overhead. She was standing at the control panel, operating the joystick. One by one she manoeuvred the boats along the monorail until they were lined up next to the jetty. Then she opened the pods. They clapped open like fighter-plane cockpits.