Return to The Deep (From The Deep Book 2) (11 page)

He wanted to stay sober enough to hear what else they had to say. Already, he was starting to formulate an idea.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was the morning after the night before. After being transported by Helicopter from The Pentagon back to his apartment in Portland, Rainwater had spent the rest of the night much like every other - getting absolutely shitfaced on whatever drink he could lay his hands on. It took a few moments to realise that the steady thumping he could hear wasn’t just the onset of a hangover, but someone pounding on his door. He was pretty sure he'd paid his rent, and couldn’t think of anyone else he owed money to. He considered ignoring the door until they went away, and yet, every crash of fist against wood only further aggravated his headache.

"Alrightimcoming," he slurred as he rolled out of bed, sending the empty bottle of scotch rolling across the hardwood floor as he stumbled past it.

Pulling on a pair of jeans, which barely fastened anymore due to his ever expanding waistline, he staggered to the door, intending to give whoever was on the other side of it a piece of his mind for waking him so early. He yanked the door open.

"What?" he grunted.

Clara stood on the other side of the door; not doing anywhere nearly as good a job as Andrews about hiding her shock at his appearance. "Can I come in?" She said.

"I didn’t expect to see you here," Rainwater said, scratching at his thick, matted hair. "It's a bit early for visitors."

"It’s almost four in the afternoon," she said, frowning. "Jesus, you look like shit."

"Thanks," Rainwater muttered, still leaning across the doorframe.

"So…can I come in or not?"

"Whatever," he said, opening the door to allow her access.

She wrinkled her nose as she looked around the room, which was littered with empty bottles, dirty washing and empty plastic ready meal trays for one.

"When was the last time you opened a damn window in here?" she said as she strode across the room, yanking open the curtains.

"I like my privacy," he muttered as he sat on the edge of the bed to roll a cigarette.

Clara opened the window as far as it would go then turned to Rainwater.

"Sit down over there if you like," he said, pointing to the armchair that was piled high with clothes. "Just throw those on the floor."

"I’m fine."

"Alright, then what
do
you want?" He said, angry at how good she looked, and for the first time ashamed of his own appearance.

"You know why I’m here. It's about last night."

"Andrews?" Rainwater said as he lit his cigarette, enjoying the first hit of nicotine of the day.

"Yeah. He told me all about what had happened. About the creature."

"I hope you told him to go fuck himself. That's what I did."

"Actually, I didn’t. That's why I’m here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I accepted his offer. I’m leading the team to hunt it down."

"You can’t do that," Henry said, standing and taking a step towards her. Clara took a compensatory step back, face twisting in disgust.

"I can do what I want. You don’t control me," she hissed.

"I’m not trying to control you, but you know what we went through before. What Mackay went through."

"Mackay did what he had to," she fired back, cheeks flushing as she grew angry.

"If you go out there, you're pissing on his memory, on his sacrifice."

"Me?" she said with a disgusted sneer. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look at you. You're a mess. Do you think Mackay would want to see you living like this? A worthless hermit who’s slowly drinking himself to death."

"He’d understand. I lost everything."

"We both lost a lot!" She screamed. "I saw Dexter murdered, I lost my credibility in the science world, I lost my
career
. Do you see me moping around feeling sorry for myself?"

"Don’t try to sell me that self-pity shit. You gained more than anyone from what happened."

"You mean the book?"

"Of course I do. I pleaded with you, begged you not to write it, that no good would come of it, and you just went ahead anyway. That book of yours is what killed our relationship."

"No, Henry, that was all you," she snapped. "I couldn’t handle the drinking and the excuses and the misery. You didn’t want to let me get over it. You didn’t want to let me move forward. The book was my escape."

"No coincidence that it made you an overnight celebrity," he grunted, "all at our expense."

"So the book made money, so what? Writing it was the only way I could cope."

"You could have come to me, you could have talked to me if-"

"How? You were never there for me. Whenever I wanted to talk or tell you how I felt you didn’t want to know. We were together but I was alone."

"You profited from what happened to us, you profited on the death of Dexter, and Mackay, hell even Russo and his men. You were selfish."

"Selfish?" She said, striding towards him, teeth gritted. "You dare call me selfish? Who was the one who wouldn’t get a job? Who was the one who burned through all my money so he could sit around the house drinking himself into oblivion and feeling sorry for himself? Who was it who told me I couldn’t have friends over to the house?"

"I didn’t have friends over. Nobody wanted to know."

"That’s because you alienated everyone and became a recluse. Just look in the mirror for Christ’s sake. You're fat, you stink, and you look a mess. This was the only future I had to look forward to with you and yes, I’ll admit, I got out whilst I could, and you know what? It was the best thing I ever did."

"So you make a nice living for yourself off the back of something we were all involved with, don’t offer to spread the wealth and then blame me for being bitter?"

"Why would I give you money? To see you piss it all away and hammer another nail into your coffin?"

"I can handle it. I know what I’m doing," he muttered.

"That’s all you ever say. It’s always, I
know what I’m doing
, everything
will be fine
, or
I'll stop drinking tomorrow
. You're full of shit."

"I don’t need this," he said, striding across to the filthy kitchenette. He took a bottle of cheap vodka from the cupboard and unscrewed the cap, taking a drink straight from the bottle.

"Is this what you've become?" she said, striding after him. "I can see your hands shaking. You’re drinking yourself into an early grave."

"Like I said, I can handle it."

Without realising she was going to do it, she knocked the bottle out of his hand. It smashed on the hardwood floor.

"Why would you do that?" Henry shouted, disregarding the broken glass as he fell to his knees and started to suck the Vodka up straight from the floor. "This is my last bottle, I don’t have any more," he whined.

Despite her anger, a tremendous sadness welled up inside her at just how far Rainwater had fallen. She watched him trying to drink vodka from the filthy floor and thought it would be a miracle if he lasted another year.

"I have to go. I just wanted to tell you face to face what I was doing."

"Please, don’t do this," he said, watching as she walked to the door.

She looked at him on his hands and knees, beard wet and dripping onto the floor, eyes wild and yet somehow pleading.

"It's too late. I already agreed to work with Andrews. My publisher wants a second book. This will be perfect material."

"Remember what happened last time. You know how dangerous this thing is. Please… think about what you’re about to do. I don’t want to lose you."

Her eyes were stinging and her lip began to tremble. As determined as she had been not to show weakness in front of him, a tear rolled down her cheek.

"You lost me a long time ago, Henry," she said quietly, and then left the apartment, closing the door behind her. She waited in the hallway, half hoping he would rush after her and say something else. When he didn’t come, she took a deep breath and left the building, wondering when the call would come to say Rainwater had died. Based on his current condition, she didn’t think it would be too far away.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The custom built four man submersible glided through the chilly Antarctic waters. The silver structure was emblazoned with the initials C.D. on the side for its owner, billionaire, Charles Decker. Something of a playboy and wannabe adventurer, Decker had already invested millions into the project. Some would raise eyebrows at the astronomical costs involved, yet to Decker, it was pocket change. With a personal fortune of just over six billion dollars, he could afford to throw his millions around. The titanium sub neared its target as the pilot navigated closer to the imposing Ross Ice Shelf.

"We're approaching the location now, sir," the pilot said.

"Good, steady now," Decker said, barely able to hide his grin.

Nobody was surprised when Decker decided to go in the sub himself, despite the danger it posed. Those who knew him would have laughed and shrugged, and said it was 'just like Charles', which indeed it was. The thirty nine year old peered out of the porthole window at the icy waters beyond. Born in England in the mid-seventies, he grew up in a hardworking middle class home. Even as a young boy, he had a drive and determination to succeed, however, his fortune came quite by accident. As an eighteen year old university student looking for something to do between classes, he started to work for a local electronics company. Realising quickly the company wasn’t operating as efficiently as it could be, the outspoken Decker told his superiors where their failings were. When they didn’t act in his suggestions, he directly contacted the company CEO, and painstakingly told him where his company was performing inefficiently and how it could be remedied.

Not liking to be told how to run their family business of the last thirty years by a wet behind the ears new employee, Decker found himself out of a job. Rather than get angry, he set out to prove a point, and using what little savings he had, started his own rival company. Within three years, Decker’s company went from a staff of one and being run out of the spare bedroom of his family home, to purchasing its first factory. Now, some twenty one years later, Decker had factories all over the globe producing electronics and military grade weaponry. He had several exclusive and lucrative contracts with the British and American government to provide bespoke equipment. A millionaire by twenty, a billionaire for the first time by twenty seven, Decker had proven just how far drive and determination can take a person. He had grown his fortune wisely, investing in several businesses the world over, as well as an English Premier League football team and a Formula one team whose cars bore his company logo on the bodywork.

It was through his government contact that he had been told what may or may not rest beneath the Ross Ice Shelf. Sure enough, it wasn’t the agreed deal, as his informant was supposed to secure him a DNA sample of the creature, which the American government had in captivity. As happens sometimes, plans changed, and Decker was instead given precise coordinates as to where the original incident took place. He had seen the news of the collapse of course on television. However, unlike most, he had paid great attention to the sightings and reports of the alleged sea monster that had been responsible for several deaths. Then in a scene straight out of a Bruce Willis action movie - had been sealed into its lair by a controlled demolition of the Ross Ice Shelf.

Decker always had a great interest in the supernatural, or things that defied known sciences. He had recently funded ( and led) an expedition to the Congo to see if the local stories of Mokele Mbembe, and alleged living breathing dinosaur roaming the dense forests, were true. That mission brought no results apart from a few strange sounds heard in the night and a nasty case of dysentery. He was also funding research into proving the existence of life after death, and negotiating with the Turkish government to try to get permission to do a complete search and scan of Mount Ararat to prove once and for all, if the stories of Noah’s Ark coming to rest there after the great flood were true.

This particular mission, however, was the one he was most interested in, mostly because he had a very credible source who said the creature existed without question. The file provided by Decker’s contact was full of incredibly captivating information, and contained a full account of what had happened. As Decker read it, his heart sank a little. It read too much like a fictional story. It spoke of the project leader, a man called Russo, who lost his mind and went into business for himself, and of not one, but three creatures. The report said Russo wanted to capture one of the young, and it was at this point when things took a turn for the worse. A rival team - the contact said they were fishermen who were also seeking the creature - interrupted the plan and a scuffle broke out leading to an evacuation and the deliberate detonation of the roof of the cave, killing creature and young in the process. Decker was laughing it off when he turned the page and saw the photographs, which in an instant made him think that perhaps there was some truth to the story. There were three in all. One was obviously a still taken from a video. It showed an immense object launching out of the water about to intercept a breaching whale. The scale was unbelievable. It was clear the creature wasn’t anything known to science. Its body was a mottled greenish grey, and thick tentacles lined the edges of its frame. In the bottom corner of the photo, hand written in black ink was:

43505986BS44

PROJ BLUE

O/MIST ENCOUNTER

UNVERIFIED

With his heart trip hammering against his ribcage, Decker looked at the other photographs. Both were taken in what looked to be the creature’s lair. The grainy image showed a gargantuan bowl of water, and on the edge, a smaller version of the creature from the first photo. Due to his interest in the subject, Decker had seen his share of fakes. In a world of Photoshop, it was very easy to make realistic looking forgeries if someone had the skill. However, this photo looked...right. It looked real. It wasn't designed to show the creature in frightening pose or from deliberately arty camera angles. It looked exactly like it was - an obviously quick photograph taken in the heat of the moment without wanting to be detected.

The third photo was similar, but from a wider angle, and showed people in the cave, agents armed with weapons and clad in snow gear. The creature was still visible at the water’s edge, but also beyond a huge wake in the water. This photo had been written on in the same hand. Above the wake in the water, was written:
Adult female.

Even more interestingly, was the man at the forefront of the image. He was in profile, and looked to be shouting orders as he pointed at the creature. Above him, written in pen was a single word.

Russo.

The man who the government had insisted never existed when Decker had queried, the man who for all intents and purposes, was an enigma, a ghost.

It was enough to spur Decker into action. If the government were so unwilling to talk, then he would take matters into his own hands and go look for himself. The submersible had been specifically designed for this one project at a cost of almost three hundred million dollars. He had hired the best staff. The submersible pilot was a veteran of several high pressure dives including numerous visits to the wreck of the Titanic. Decker's plan was simple. He wanted to see if there was still a way into the alleged underwater cave, and if so, he wanted to go in and look for himself.

"I don’t see anything," Decker said, cupping his hands to see through the tiny window.

"Look on the screen," the pilot said, speaking perfect English despite being French.

Decker shifted position in the cramped sub, his arms brushing against the arrays of wires that covered the interior.

"See there?" the captain said, pointing to the screen.

Decker could see it. The video feed came from the high powered cameras mounted at the front of the sub. In missions that relied on greater depths, they were quite useless and couldn’t penetrate the blanket of darkness in the deep. For the shallows, however, they delivered a fantastic panorama of the crisp blue ocean. On the screen, the base of the Ross Ice Shelf met with the ocean floor. Majestic for its sheer size, Decker had to remind himself that he was underwater and not in outer space. In the centre of the screen, the evidence of the collapse was plain to see. Rocks dislodged from the seabed had been thrown away from the impact. Where the ice had fallen into the ocean, a ridge of rock was visible, and there, running down it and stretching up towards the surface, was the enormous crack in the rock face.

"If there's a cave entrance, that’s where it is, Mr Decker," the pilot said, rolling his 'r's as only the French could.

"Can we get inside?" Decker said.

"Not in the sub, no. It's not safe. With the R.O.Vs, I believe we can take a look."

The R.O.V was a unit first put into use during dives to the wreck of the Titanic. Piloted remotely from the safety of the sub, the small rectangular units were fitted with high resolution cameras, lights, and a retractable mechanical arm. A miniature sub in itself, it was a brilliantly efficient solution for going into those places humans couldn’t. For the Titanic missions, they had been able to venture deep into the superstructure of the wreck, exploring areas, which would have otherwise remained inaccessible.

Decker had taken the basic design and improved it. His version of the units had been reshaped for better aerodynamic efficiency and manoeuvrability. He had also managed to cut the weight of the units down by a third, and increase the battery life almost to double its initial capacity.

The unit was tethered to the sub by a thin fibre optic cable so that in the event of power loss, the units could be reeled back to the submersible manually.

"Mr Decker, should I release the R.O.V?" the pilot said, half turning towards the billionaire.

"Yes, but I want to pilot it."

"Mr Decker, I understand your excitement, but surely an experienced pilot would be better."

"I've trained. I had a simulator built at my home."

"Oui, Mr Decker, but I must stress how different a real world setting is. Ocean currents, unexpected rock falls, the chance of snagging the cable on something and getting hung up. The cost to replace these units is-"

"Something I can easily afford, Jacques. Remember, I’m financing this entire trip. If there's something in that cave, I want to be first to discover it."

"Oui, monsieur. My apologies," the Frenchman said.

Beneath the monitor display were two joystick controls used to pilot the R.O.V unit. One stick controlled pitch, the other lateral motion. There were also buttons to control forward or reverse thrust of the twin propellers at the rear of the unit. Decker took a deep breath and grasped the joysticks firmly.

"Okay, power up the unit," he said. The pilot complied, flicking an array of switches and referring to readouts on a small screen to his right.

"Unit is operational. Test rudder and thrust, please, Mr Decker."

Decker complied.

"Okay," the pilot said, “switching to R.O.V camera view."

The screen changed to a view of the belly of the sub covering the top two thirds of the screen, reminding Decker of the opening scene of the first Star Wars movie.

"Disengaging holding clamps," the pilot said, flicking another switch.

The image on screen shuddered, and then the belly of the sub started to drift off the top of the screen as the R.O.V was released.

"Okay, monsieur Decker, you have control," the pilot said.

"Understood," Decker replied, concentrating all his efforts on screen and remembering to remain supple and calm, teasing the controls and moving the unit towards the crack in the rock face.

"I’m impressed, Mr Decker, you have a skilled hand," the pilot said as he watched the screen.

"Just like playing computer games, Jacques."

"Only more expensive, no?"

Decker grinned and banked the unit towards the crack in the rock face.

"This looks like it's been here for years," Decker muttered. "I wonder if this is where our creature got in and out."

"You really think it's there?" Jacques said.

"I wouldn’t have spent so much money if I didn’t."

"I hope you aren’t too disappointed."

"Worth every penny to know one way or the other, my friend. Better than the great unknown."

Decker piloted the unit into the crevasse, switching on the lights as he did. "Just as I thought," he said as he dived deeper. "The cave entrance was through the rock rather than the ice. We might yet have a chance to see something."

The cave walls were wide, digging into the earth before tapering into the ice. Decker piloted the R.O.V to where the walls narrowed and brought it to a halt.

"Unbelievable," Jacques said, unable to help grinning. "You see how it opens again on the other side?"

"Yeah, it shows why our creature got in, but couldn’t get out if it's as big as they said. As soon as it reached maturity, it simply wouldn't have fit once it reached a certain size. It must have been trapped until the first collapse freed it."

"Can you pan up, Mr Decker?" Jacques said.

Decker did as he was asked. They could now clearly see the join between seafloor and ice, the sheer rock giving way seamlessly to the shelf. Directly above them, the evidence of the cave collapse was evident.