Andy McDermott - The Tomb Of Hercules

He had to enter the base and sabotage the bomb.

He used the camera to take a picture of the room below anyway-if he couldn’t get to it, at least he would have proof to send to Alderley. Then he swam downwards, heading for the concrete base.

He passed the third level and took a glow stick from his belt, bending it to mix the fluorescent chemicals within. Something loomed out of the blackness below in the murky orange light.

The base.

Chase quickly located the air lock hatch, right where Trulli had said it was. He brushed away a thin layer of silt and turned the protruding wheel to unseal it. The chamber below, barely large enough for a single person with a scuba tank, had flooded automatically when he started opening the hatch. He dropped into it.

Once the hatch was closed, he checked the air lock controls. A heavy lever was in the up position. He shoved it down, and air bubbles immediately surged up around him. The water drained away as air was pumped in. The hissing noise echoing around the small chamber was almost earsplitting.

Chase endured the din with a grimace, waiting until the water was down to his ankles before facing the inner hatch. Another locking wheel awaited him. As soon as the hiss of compressed air stopped, he turned it until the seals were released and the hatch opened.

Beyond lay a dimly lit concrete corridor, dripping with water-not from leaks, but from condensation. The passage was cold, this part of the habitat being unheated. He quickly stripped off his scuba gear and laid it out ready for when he left, keeping only the knife and the camera. He wished he had a gun, but that was something Trulli hadn’t been able to provide.

Metal hatches led to side rooms, but Chase ignored them, heading along the corridor to a circular chamber. A ladder led up to a hatch in the ceiling: access to the central core. He shook off as much of the water from his body and wet suit as he could, then climbed the ladder and cautiously raised the hatch.

The cross-shaped compartment above reminded him of the interior of the control room, sleek and curvaceous despite its functionality, the futuristic space station vibe back in full effect. Hatches at the end of each arm opened into the connecting spokes leading to the bottom deck’s habitation modules. Two of the bulkheads, Chase knew, housed power lines and life support systems. A third contained an elevator.

He went to the fourth-the emergency ladder-and carefully opened the hatch, listening intently for any sounds of activity above. All he could hear was the rumble of machinery.

There were at least eight people inside the habitat-Sophia, Komosa, the nuclear technician, the four men he’d seen, and presumably the tilt-rotor’s pilot. Possibly more. And all he had to face them with were a knife and his fists.

“Doddle,” he told himself, starting his ascent.

The central chamber of the next deck was a carbon copy of the one below. He cautiously stepped through the hatch and padded to the door leading to the spoke adjoining Corvus’s quarters. Drawing his knife, he opened the door a crack and looked through.

The tubular passage was empty. So far, so good.

Chase hurried down the corridor. A small porthole at the end looked out into the sea, with more doors to the left and right. He went right, the knife poised ready to strike…

Nobody was there. The gold ingots gleamed under the bright light clusters set into the ceiling.

So did the steel casing of the nuke. Apart from the addition of the arming device, the bomb was just as he remembered it from Switzerland.

He looked down into the base, between the three steel rails supporting the cap. A faint silver-gray sheen of uranium showed at the bottom. That was the slug, which would be fired up into the larger mass of uranium in the cap-but its path was currently blocked by two thick steel bolts. A safety measure, to prevent the slug from moving during transit and getting too close to the other uranium-which, while not triggering a nuclear explosion, would still release a lethal burst of radiation. Presumably the bolts would retract before detonation.

The whole thing was designed to be foolproof in function. What would be the best way to sabotage it?

The answer came to him in an instant, as brutally simple as the bomb itself. “Just smash the fucker!”

Placing the tip of the knife against the timer’s screen, he prepared to pry it off and rip out whatever wires he found beneath-

The door through which he had entered flew open.

Chase jumped up as two men rushed in. One with black-framed glasses carried a crowbar; the other was unarmed.

Chase ran at them, the knife raised.

“Get him, Gordon!” yelled the unarmed man. The man with the crowbar drew back his arm to swing it-leaving himself open to a strike at his lower body.

Chase delivered one, smashing the ball of his heel against the man’s kneecap. Cartilage crunched. The man shrieked, the crowbar’s swing suddenly abandoned.

Chase ignored him, already turning on the second attacker without skipping a beat. This man had received better combat training than his companion, balanced more lightly on his feet to dodge any kicks, arms raised to deflect a knife strike.

Chase stabbed the knife straight at his face, a crude and direct attack. The man almost mockingly swept up one forearm to knock the blow aside-only for Chase’s other hand to snap forward like a cobra and clamp around his wrist, pulling it towards him.

Before the man had a chance to realize what had happened, the blade plunged down into his forearm, passing between the bones to burst through the bottom of his sleeve with a spurt of blood. Chase twisted the knife as he yanked it back out, ripping apart the muscles and tearing through tendons and arteries. More blood poured from the wounds.

Even before the second man started screaming, Chase swung around and slammed his elbow into the first man’s face, breaking his glasses in two and flattening his nose into mush. His head snapped back and banged against the compartment’s outer wall. He slumped nervelessly to the floor, leaving a bloody trail down the bulkhead.

The other man was now desperately squeezing his arm to stem the bleeding, howling in pain. Chase didn’t care, completing his turn by driving the knife deep into his throat. The howling stopped abruptly. With no emotion beyond contempt, Chase twisted the knife again to sever the carotid artery. The man was involved in a plot to set off a nuke; he deserved whatever he got.

He pulled out the bloodied knife, and the man collapsed, twitching and gurgling.

The whole fight had lasted mere seconds. Maybe he still had time to destroy the arming device before the rest of the habitat’s occupants arrived-

Clap. Clap. Clap .

“Oh, Eddie,” said Sophia in mock sorrow from the compartment’s other entrance, “he was only two days from retirement!”

Chase whirled to see her giving him a slow hand clap. Komosa stood beside her, his Browning aimed at Chase. The nuclear technician was behind them both.

The knife was still in Chase’s hand. He could throw it-

“Don’t,” Komosa warned, quashing the thought before it could be completed. The gun’s laser sight flicked on and danced across Chase’s face, dazzling him. Reluctantly, he dropped the knife to the deck.

“Check the bomb,” Sophia ordered the technician before stepping farther into the room. “I have to admit, Eddie, I’m genuinely surprised and impressed to see you again. Did Nina survive as well?”

“She’s fine,” Chase said coldly.

“What a shame. Still, lesson learned-next time, I won’t assume that you’re dead until I’ve actually seen your body.”

“There won’t be a next time, Sophia. This is over.”