'Nothing in particular.' Vanderbilt made an apologetic gesture. 'I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It's all so unnecessary. We shouldn't be arguing. The whole darned thing is ridiculous.'
Johanson didn't reply. Vanderbilt and Anderson were getting closer. He took a step to the side. They stopped.
'Is there something you wanted to discuss?' asked Johanson.
'I was rude to you earlier,' said Vanderbilt. 'I apologise.'
Johanson raised his eyebrows.
'That's very noble of you, Jack. Apology accepted. Can I help you with anything else?'
Vanderbilt faced into the gale. His thinning pale blond hair quivered in the wind like beach grass. 'Pretty darned cold out here,' he said, moving forward. Anderson followed his lead. A distance opened between them. It looked as though they were trying to close in on Johanson. There was no longer any room for him to slip between them or dodge to either side.
What they were intending was so obvious that he didn't even feel surprised. He was gripped by fear, – fear, mixed with desperate fury. Without thinking he took a step backwards, and knew he had made a mistake. He was very close to the edge now. Their job was almost done for them. A sudden gust could knock him into the nets or over the top and into the water. Jack,' he said slowly, 'you wouldn't be planning to kill me, would you?'
'Whatever gave you that idea?' Vanderbilt assumed a look of mock-amazement. 'I only want to talk.'
'Then why bring Anderson?'
'Oh, he was just passing. Pure coincidence. We thought-'
Johanson rushed towards Vanderbilt, ducked and darted to the right. He was away from the edge. Anderson leaped towards him. For a moment it looked as though the improvised tactic had worked, then Johanson felt himself grabbed and dragged backwards. Anderson's fist flew towards him and landed in his face.
He fell and skidded across the platform.
The first officer moved towards him without any urgency. His powerful hands disappeared beneath Johanson's armpits and hauled him up. Johanson tried to prise his fingers under Anderson's grip and loosen it, but it was like grappling with concrete. His feet left the ground. He kicked out wildly as Anderson carried him towards the edge where Vanderbilt was waiting, peering down at the sea.
'Quite a swell today,' said the CIA agent. 'I hope you won't mind if we cast you off now, Dr Johanson. I'm afraid you'll have to swim.' His teeth flashed. 'But don't worry, you won't be going any great distance. The water's pretty chilly – two degrees at most. It will be quite relaxing. The body just slows down, the senses go numb, the heart packs up, and-'
Johanson started to shout. 'Help!' he screamed. 'Help!'
His feet were dangling over the side. The net was beneath him. It only extended two metres beyond the platform. Not far enough. Anderson could easily throw him over the top.
'Help!'
He heard Anderson groan as suddenly he was yanked towards the safety of the platform. The sky came into view as Anderson thudded on to his back, pulling Johanson with him, then letting go. Johanson rolled to the side and jumped up. 'Leon!' he gasped.
A grotesque scene was unfolding before him. Anderson was trying to clamber to his feet. Anawak had fastened himself on to him from behind and was clutching his jacket. They'd fallen to the ground together. Now Anawak was attempting to free himself from the man's weight without releasing his grip.
Johanson was about to intervene.
'Stop!'
Vanderbilt barred his path. He was holding a gun. Slowly he walked round the bodies on the floor until he was standing with his back to the exit.
'Nice try,' he said. 'But that's enough now. Dr Anawak, please be so kind as to allow Mr. Anderson here to get up. He's only doing his job.'
Reluctantly Anawak let go of Anderson's hood. The first officer shot up. He didn't wait until his adversary was on his feet, but hoisted him into the air like a sack of coal. The next instant Anawak's body was flying towards the edge.
'No!' roared Johanson.
Anawak slammed down on to the deck then slid to the edge of the platform.
Anderson's head turned towards Johanson. One arm shot out, grabbed him, and a fist rammed into his stomach. Johanson gasped for air. A wave of pain spread through his guts. He folded like a penknife and fell to his knees.
The pain was almost unbearable.
He crouched there, retching, as the wind whipped through his hair, waiting for Anderson to punch him again.
PART FOUR
SINKING
Research shows that human beings are incapable of discerning intelligence beyond a certain micro or meta-threshold. For us to perceive intelligence, it has to fit within our behavioural framework. If we were to encounter intelligence operating outside that framework – on a micro-level, for instance – we would fail to see it. Similarly, if we were to come into contact with a far higher intelligence, a mind vastly superior to our own, we would see only chaos, as its reasoning would elude us. Decisions taken by a higher instance of intelligence would prove inscrutable to our intellect, having been made within parameters beyond the reach of human understanding. Imagine a dog's view of us. To the dog, a person appears not as a mind, but as a force to be obeyed. From its perspective, human behaviour is arbitrary: our actions are based on considerations that canine perception fails to grasp. It follows therefore that, should God exist, we would be incapable of recognising him or her as an intelligent being, since divine thought would encompass a totality of factors too complex for us to comprehend. Consequently, God would appear as a force of chaos, and therefore scarcely the entity that we would like to see governing the outcome of a football match, let alone a war. A being of that kind would exist beyond the limits of human perception. And that in turn prompts the question as to whether the meta-being God would be capable of perceiving intelligence on the sub-level of the human. Maybe we are an experiment in a petri-dish after all…
DEEPFLIGHT
Anderson's punch never came.
A few seconds earlier the crew of the Independence had been thrown into a state of red alert: the dolphins had reported an unknown object. Now the sonar systems detected it too. Something of unspecified size and shape was approaching at speed. It didn't sound like a torpedo, and there was nothing on the sonar to show what could have launched it. What made the crew on the bridge and at the consoles particularly nervous wasn't merely its silent and rapid ascent, but that it was coming at them vertically. They stared at the monitors and watched as a round, bluish patch emerged from the darkness. A rippling orb was rushing towards them, at least ten metres in diameter, gaining in size and detail on their screens.
By the time Buchanan had given the order to shoot it down, it was already too late.
The sphere exploded directly beneath the hull. Over the last few minutes of its journey, the gas inside it had continued to expand, accelerating its ascent. As it raced upwards, the cocoon's thin skin of jelly had stretched to bursting point, then ripped open from top to bottom. The scraps hung in the water. The gas continued upwards, surging towards the surface, carrying a large rectangular object.
Spinning on its axis, the lost Deepflight raced towards the Independence, striking it bow-first and ramming its torpedoes through the hull.
An eternity elapsed.
And then the explosion.
BRIDGE
The enormous vessel quaked.