Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

'Spot on Jim! Now can we see how she’s resting?'

'Right boss.' Jim glanced at the display. 'She's at 450 metres.'

'That's only just inside their theoretical crush depth.'

'Yeah. I bet they were shitting themselves on the way down.'

'Show some respect Jim.'

'Sorry boss.' As Jim repositioned the PRM over the downed sub he continued his running commentary. 'She's canted slightly to port… the rear escape hatch appears good — clear of debris and intact.' He adjusted the zoom to get a better view of the hatchway and the surrounding hull. 'Yep, looks fine. I'm moving up to the bow. Some dents to the exterior, but nothing… wait!'

'What have you got?'

'Take a look at this boss.' Jim pointed at the monitor. It showed a tangled mess of steel where the conning tower should have been.

'Good God! Take the PRM up a bit so we can get a better assessment from above.'

Jim tapped the keys, releasing a little ballast. The image drifted away. 'Got a current here.' Jim made careful adjustments to the external thrusters and the picture steadied.

'Looks like someone stomped on the sail!'

Jim's boss was grim. 'Somebody did. Can you make contact with the crew?'

'Yep, but I really should do a full check of the hull integrity first. I need to find out how much of a hit the forward section took.'

'OK. Give me a shout when we're ready.'

Jim's boss pulled a piece of paper and pen towards him. He murmured to himself as he made notes. 'Twenty minutes the first occasion — that includes the time to locate the sub. Let's say subsequent descents take 15 minutes now we know where it's located. Docking, transferring crew and un-docking will take about quarter of an hour each time, and the journey up is another 15 minutes.'

He added up the total. 'That makes 45 minutes for a round trip. Then we hoist the PRM onto the deck and transfer the crew. We’ll have to arrange for the wounded first, which will delay things. Say, 30 minutes to disembark the injured. We might get that down to 20 minutes on later trips.'

He drew a second column. 'There’s a total of 134 crew. We know five died, so they have to come last. Let me see.' He jotted more figures, and glanced across at Jim.

'I make it nine trips to get them all out. Say a minimum of 10 hours at least, providing there are no delays.'

Jim assented. Both were accustomed to holdups; shifting currents, movement of the submarine and the weather top-side had all delayed previous operations. Often the only thing they could do was to wait out until the situation stabilised. Jim worried about the increasing strength of the wind across the deck.

'What's the status?'

Jim pushed back from the console. 'Pretty much what we expected. The bow took the brunt of the impact with the sea bed. You can tell from the pictures.' Jim thrust some photographic stills across the table. Several showed the front of the sub driven hard in to the sea floor, as if it had tried to bury itself.

'That's bad' remarked the boss. 'Thankfully there's a lot of sediment down on the bottom which should have provided a bit of a cushion.'

'Yeah. Even so, they would have felt it,' replied Jim soberly.

'Let's give them something to cheer about Jim — let them know we’re here.’

Sean watched the road from his car, parked across the street from the flats. It was 7:55 am and the mother had left for work an hour ago. He turned to Lomax. 'Coast clear.'

Lomax got out of the car, opened the boot and took out a carpet bag. He moved towards the gate and tipped out his collection of home-made hedgehogs. He had fashioned the tyre puncture spikes by hammering inch-long nails into short pieces of dowelling. Slinging the empty sack away, he drew a gun from an inside pocket. Holding it close to his side and pointing to the floor, he calmly checked his wristwatch. It would be a pity if another car came out now, before Levushka and his guards arrived.

He didn't have long to wait. As the electric gate swung open, Lomax moved, keeping one step behind them.

Sean got out. One or two pedestrians were about, too far away to be a threat. He walked over to the spot where he estimated the Mercedes would come to a halt. The car came through the gate, accelerating as it turned right into the road.

Things started to happen fast. Sean heard a distinct 'pop' as the tyres hit the hedgehogs. Nevertheless the car kept on going, spikes flying off in all directions as the rubber spun. The car passed Sean. He could see the boy sandwiched between two men in the back. The Merc weaved against the kerb, but Lomax was already on the move. He held his gun out, running at the vehicle. It mounted the pavement and stalled. As he approached, the driver restarted the engine and the car jerked forward a few metres.

Lomax dropped to a crouch as the chauffeur opened his door and rolled out. Even before he stopped rolling he let off a round which went wide. Lomax aimed from a crouching position and shot him. The man dropped immediately.

The back doors flew open and Sean lined up the sights at the guard on his side. He was unable to fire for fear of hitting Levushka.

The second man crawled out of the Mercedes, letting off several rounds at Lomax. One of them must have connected, because Lomax fell.

Sean caught the drumming of leather shoes on hard ground. He glanced behind as two men appeared through the gate. Diving into his car, he closed the door fast. They hadn't seen him; their eyes remained focused on the gun-play on Lomax's side.

The man who shot Lomax ran to the Mercedes and got into the back to ensure the boy stayed put.

One of the men who had just appeared returned to the gate and kicked away the remaining hedgehogs. The other headed back down to the garage, appearing a minute later with a second car. They drew up behind the Merc, and the driver got out, waving his gun to ward off a second attack. They dragged Levushka out of the Merc and forced him the back of the second car, and drove off at speed.

Sean glanced at the fallen body of Lomax. There was no time to pick him up. He turned the key in the ignition and accelerated after the second car.

Despite the flashing blue light clamped to the roof, the car containing Levushka got bogged down in a traffic jam. Those in front didn’t have enough room to manoeuvre and get out of the way.

Sean was not surprised. In a city of over 11.5 million inhabitants he had had first-hand experience of Moscow’s rush hour. He swerved off into a side street, parked quickly and jumped out.

While the cars were at a standstill, he ran along the pavement to move ahead of the target. He crossed the road diagonally, making a line towards the car. Sean was confident he had not been seen by anyone inside.

He retrieved his gun and dropped to the ground, taking aim. Squeezing the trigger, he put a hole in the nearest front tyre and then holed the second. There was no point in shooting the driver since the car’s screen was security glass and would stop any of the rounds from his handgun. It was also quite possible the tyres were self-healing, but it was the best he could do.

Sean crouched low and retreated rapidly. Even with the silencer, some might have heard the sound above the noise of the traffic. Any astute motorist would have felt the rounds thudding into the wheel rims.

Sean reached the pavement and found a doorway with an excellent view. He checked the busy pavements to see if anyone had noticed. There were some puzzled glances from pedestrians nearby, but no-one was taking a particular interest in him.

The traffic began to creep forward and the car crawled on flat tyres. The driver halted as realisation dawned. He put on his hazard warning lights and cars behind started to flow around him.