Trapped

 

Mariana Trench

 

Terry felt the eyes of the Benthos crew upon her as she sat alone at the small table, picking at her powdered eggs.  The excitement of being aboard had quickly turned to anxiety and a strange, foreboding sense.

The depths did not frighten her.  It was Benedict.  The man had changed, his entire persona undergoing a frightening metamorphosis since their arrival in the abyss.  A dark monomania had emerged, a hidden malignity freed within the confines of the Benthos.  Narcissistic rage was slowly being released in a fine madness, a madness she was certain was fueled by Benedict's true purpose for being in the Trench.

Terry knew she had stumbled on something vastly more important to Benedict when she had invaded the Goliath 's lab.  Although she still had no idea as to its significance, she now realized that Benedict had lured her into the deep.  He had baited the trap, and she had plunged in willingly, and now everything in her being told her that Benedict Singer was intent on keeping her captive.

The Russian stood over her, a sheepish grin plastered on his sea-worn face.

"Benedict wants you."

Terry recognized the scar slicing across the man's throat.  The drunk Russian technician aboard the Goliath.  She felt herself shudder.  "Where is he?"

"I take you."

Her heart pounded heavily in her chest.  She stood, nodding to the Russian to lead the way.  As he turned his back, she grabbed a steak knife from her plate, slipping it nonchalantly into the back pocket of her jeans.

The Russian pulled open the watertight door of the companionway, beckoning her inside.

He motioned down the steps.  She began descending the narrow stairwell, pausing at E deck.  He pointed downward with his index finger, smiling as if toying with her.

They exited on G deck, the lowest level of the Benthos.  The Russian led her through a brightly lit, antiseptic corridor.  Benedict was waiting for them at the end of the passage.

"Ah, there she is, an angel in the depths of hell.  Did you sleep well?"  The emerald eyes glittered down at her.

"Yes, thank you.  I'm actually anxious to get back to the sonar records.  Everything looks to be in order," she lied, "just as you said—"

"Of course, my dear, but first, a brief distraction before you continue your toil at the computer."  He pointed to the thick titanium door leading into the hangar.

"What's inside?" she asked, unable to disguise her fears.

"Are you nervous about something?"

"No, it's just . . . well, doesn't the hangar lead directly outside?"

Benedict smiled at the Russian and translated.  Both men laughed.  "Come with me," he said, pushing open the door.

The hangar was a circular chamber, sixty feet long and thirty feet deep, its concave ceiling rising twenty feet above the bowl-shaped flooring.  To their right was another door leading into a small control room sealed in nine feet of titanium and portholes of LEXAN glass.  Moving beyond the control room, Terry located two massive inlets constructed beneath the hangar floor, each of the five-foot openings covered by titanium grating.  An array of powerful air ducts lined the ceiling.

Benedict walked across the chamber to an immense titanium door.  "Come here, Terry, I want to show you something."

She joined him, aware that the Russian had entered the small control booth.

"Touch this door.  It's six-foot-thick titanium, paper-thin in these depths, and all that separates us from instantaneous death."  He pressed his face to the metal.  "Can you feel the pressure behind it?  It's searching—probing our technology for the tiniest flaw to exploit."

Benedict slapped his palm against the titanium.  Terry jumped.  He smiled, placing a heavy arm across her shoulder, pulling her ear close to his mouth.

"Look here," he whispered, pointing to the grating on the floor.  "With a flick of the switch, Sergei can vent this chamber."

The Russian smiled back at her from behind the control-room window.

"To hold such power over life, even for a moment, is to play God, is it not?"  Benedict could feel her shaking.  He smiled, releasing his grip on her shoulder, walking away.  "Quos dues vult perdere dementat," he mumbled to himself.  "Those whom a god wishes to destroy he first drives mad."

He strolled to the far end of the room where two dozen UNIS robots were lined up in rows of four.  "Your father's inventions, standing in line like little children, waiting to board a school bus.  Give me a hand," he said, his demeanor changing.

Terry joined him.  Using a specially designed forklift, they secured one of the five-foot-high by four-foot-wide titanium barrels and pulled it across the room, positioning it next to the hangar door.  Attaching a custom-made fitting to the end of a drill, Benedict unbolted the robot's watertight, pressurized seal as if removing lug nuts to change a tire.  Having removed the bolts, he proceeded to unscrew the two-and-a-half-foot titanium lid, pulling it aside to reveal the complex inner-workings of the hollow UNIS device.

Benedict motioned to the insides of the deep-water robot.  "Would you do the honors?"

Terry reached inside the shell, located the main control panel, and activated the sonar device.  Once buried within the seafloor, the Unmanned Nautical Submersible would begin recording and tracking seismic disturbances in the Mariana Trench.  By dispersing the twenty-five robots at selected intervals, the Japanese would have an array of seismic detectors providing them with an advanced warning system to predict and prepare for earthquakes along their island chain.

Benedict resealed the top of the UNIS.  "We'll leave the robot close to the hangar door.  The Prometheus will extract it from the flooded chamber using its mechanical arms, then transport it to the designated coordinates.  I'll be heading out this morning with the sub.  I'd invite you to come along, but I know you're anxious to return to your work."

She followed Benedict toward the exit.  "I have an idea," he said.  "Why don't you watch us extract the UNIS from inside the control room?  It really is quite fascinating, and I'm sure Sergei will enjoy your company."

Terry's pulse raced.  "Perhaps another time.  JAMSTEC really is waiting for—"

"Nonsense.  Seize the day."  Benedict pulled open the control room's heavy titanium door, motioning her inside.

Sergei grinned.

Benedict closed the hydraulic door behind them, then exited the chamber.  Terry watched the Russian unlock a large valve on the control console, turning it a half-dozen times in a counterclockwise motion.

On the other side of the LEXAN window, thousands of gallons of seawater blasted upward from one of the two circular gratings on the floor of the hangar.  Within minutes, the entire chamber filled with water.

Sergei turned to her.  With the hangar flooded, the two of them were trapped together in the control room.  "We must wait for the sub," he said, grinning.

Terry tried to make conversation.  "How is the Benthos able to drain the chamber so quickly?  It must take an ungodly amount of power to—"

"Water is not sent directly to sea.  From chamber, it is pumped into smaller catches, then pumped out over several hours using hydraulic rams on F deck."  He unbuckled his pants.  "Enough talk."

The pulse in her neck throbbed.  She reached behind her back, grasping the handle of the steak knife.  "Sergei, don't—"

Sergei lunged forward, grabbing her by the hair, pulling her face to his, and buried his tongue in her mouth.

Terry bit down hard, tasting his blood.  She spit it out onto his chest, then stabbed him above his knee.

Sergei screamed, swearing in Russian as he slumped onto the floor in agony, blood streaming from his thigh and mouth.  A hunting knife fell out of his hand.

Terry snatched it up.

"Prometheus to hangar control room, we are in position.  Open hangar doors."

Sergei stared up at her, his eyes burning.

"Open it," she said, brandishing a knife in each hand.

Sergei reached up and turned a small key two clicks to the right.  A red light flickered on.

The hangar door began opening.  The titanium walls inside the chamber groaned.

Bright lights from the Prometheus illuminated the inside of the flooded hangar.  A pair of mechanical arms extended from the sub, latching onto the UNIS robot.

"We have the UNIS.  Close hangar doors and depressurize."

Sergei continued staring at her, not moving, testing her resolve.

"Do it."

"Fuck you—"

Terry plunged the steel steak knife into the Russian's right calf muscle, retracting it quickly.  Sergei screamed in pain, pulling his wounded legs toward him.

"Want some more?  The one in the middle's next."

The Russian spat blood at her.  Then he reached up and closed the hangar door.  As it sealed, the red light turned green.

"Now empty the chamber."

The Russian pulled himself off the floor.  Leaning over the console, he closed off the open vent, activating another series of controls.  Pumps within the floor began draining water from the hangar bay, sending it on its way to dozens of holding areas throughout the ship.

Terry's and Sergei's eyes remained locked through the entire process.

It seemed to take forever for the chamber to drain.

Terry moved forward, a knife clasped firmly in each hand.  "The next time you get near me, I'll  reopen that wound along your throat.  You understand?"

His bloodshot eyes burned hatred into her soul.  He whispered a death threat in Russian.

Terry felt her resolve buckling.  She activated the control room door and backed out, then pulled open the door leading into the outer corridor.  Hustling to the companionway, she ran up the two flights of stairs leading to E deck and quickly located her cabin.  She locked herself in, then sat on her cot, her body trembling in fear and frustration.

A rancid taste filled her mouth—the slightest hint of vodka, mixed with blood from the Russian's tongue.

Terry ran to the toilet and retched.

 

*        *        *        *        *

 

An abrupt knocking woke her.  She sat up in bed, with a dull ache over her left temple.  Checking her watch, she was surprised to find she had only slept for an hour.  She heard the knock again on her door.

The Russian?

The thought sent her heart racing.  She reached into her boot and retrieved Sergei's hunting knife.

"Who is it?"

"A friend."

Terry cracked open the door and saw a well-built black man in his early forties.  He was looking up and down the corridor, appearing nervous.

"I don't know who you are—"

"Heath Williams.  Jonas and I taught together at Scripps.  Let me in before someone sees me talking to you."

She stepped back, allowing him to enter.

"I was in the galley when I overheard the Russian talking about what happened between the two of you.  Are you all right?"

"I'll be better when I get off this ship."

"Your life is in danger.  I came to warn you that Sergei is talking about killing you."

Terry went pale.  "Where's the captain?  I have to tell him what happened—"

Heath shook his head.  "Won't do any good.  I've only been on board a few weeks, but from what I've seen, I can tell you that on the Benthos, the only laws observed are Benedict's.  You and I may think we're guests, but as far as Benedict and his crew are concerned, we're outsiders who don't belong here."

"I kind of figured that out."

"It's worse than you think.  There's a hierarchy among the men.  Sergei is one of Benedict's personal staff, one of his piranhas.  They have access to all parts of the ship, especially the secured holds on G deck."

"So it's all right if that asshole Sergei rapes me?"

"Rape, murder, anything goes down here.  And don't expect Benedict to take sides with you against Sergei.  In fact if I were you, I wouldn't even confront him about the incident.  Don’t give him any cause to believe you might go to the authorities once you return topside.  Benedict considers himself above the law.  To avoid a mess, he may kill you himself."

Terry felt nauseous.  "My father knows I'm down here, so does JAMSTEC.  If they don't receive my report within the next two weeks, they'll shut down this entire project.  Benedict can't just . . . he can't just kill me."

"He can and will if he considers you a threat."

Terry took a long breath, trying to calm herself.  A thought occurred to her.  "Heath, have you ever heard the term 'Tokamak'?"

"No," he said, giving her a strange look.  "What's a Tokamak?"

"Never mind, I'm just scared.  I think maybe you're right.  What should I do?"

"Try to stay calm.  You're scheduled to return topside in six days.  It'll be difficult, but you have to avoid Sergei."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"He'll try to find you when you're alone outside of your quarters.  There are certain areas he won't attack you.  Most of the technicians in the command center are decent guys, so you'll be safe while you're collecting your data.  Try to avoid the galley, you may find yourself eating among a small group and then everyone abruptly gets up and leaves."

"What am I supposed to do for food?"

"My lab is on the same level as the galley.  I'll bring food up to you after the piranhas have eaten.  Oh, and whatever you do stay away from the lower two levels."

"Why?"

"Sergei spends most of his time there, working in the high-security areas on G deck."

"Okay.  What about you?  What brings you aboard the Benthos ?"

"I'm a paleo-biologist, just like your husband, except my area of specialty involves ancient marine reptiles.  Benedict contacted me at Scripps about a week before the Proteus went down."

"Why?"

"The seafloor of the Trench dates back hundreds of millions of years.  I guess Benedict decided he needed a paleo-biologist on board to examine fossils his subs will be dredging up during the UNIS burial process."

He checked his watch.  "I'd better go."

"Heath, what should I do once my report to JAMSTEC had been completed?"

"Talk to Benedict.  Maybe he'll allow you to come with him aboard the Prometheus.  At least you'd be away from Sergei.  Right now, I suggest you clean yourself up and get back to your workstation on the bridge.  Try to act as if nothing happened."

Heath opened the door, checking the corridor.  "Terry, do you have a weapon of some kind?"

"Sergei's knife."

"Good.  Keep it on you at all times.  If you should find yourself alone with the Russian, don't hesitate to use it."

Terry felt the knot of fear return to her stomach.  "Heath, what do you think—I mean, how far will the Russian really take this?"

Heath gave her a dead-serious look.  "If you have to, kill the mother fucker, because after he rapes you, that's what he'll do to you."

 

*        *        *        *        *

 

The bridge, control room, and ship's computers were all located on level B.  Lining the circular walls of the enormous oval room were high-tech navigational computers and electronics.  Forward, a dozen manned stations formed a small arc around the captain's plotting area, the central feature of which was a floor-to-ceiling computerized bathymetry map highlighting the topography of the underwater canyon.  Closed-circuit television monitors lining one wall revealed high-resolution images taken from cameras mounted along the Benthos 's hull.  Next to these monitors was the helm, a navigational station that looked like the driver's side of a stripped-down automobile.  A large steering wheel rose out of the console along with several pedals which controlled the ship's single screw and rudder.  Next to the helm were the ballast control panels and communication system, linking the Benthos to the Goliath via fiber-optic cable.  Both systems were monitored around the clock by the chief of the watch.

To the right of the ballast controls were four sonar stations, the ship's eyes.  Terry sat at one of the stations.  Popping in a floppy disk to a computer that had been jury-rigged to the station, she listened through headphones as she formatted yet another set of sonar recordings displayed on the console before her.  In addition to the acoustics coming over her headphones, the B2Q5 echo sonar system's monitor presented her with a graphic visual of any object that had been detected within the Benthos 's sonar convergent zone.

Terry closed her eyes.  As much as she tried to relax, she couldn't stop her hands from trembling.  Her mind was overwhelmed with one consuming thought:  She was trapped within an escape-proof prison with an insane guard who wanted to rape and murder her.

And the warden had encouraged it.

Each breath brought an acrid taste of stress.

She opened her eyes as the sound of an approaching object echoed in her headphones.  A light vertical line representing the unidentified object materialized on the solid green monitor.  Numerical coordinates indicated the object's range to the Benthos.

Twenty thousand yards.  She heard a rapid series of strange sounds . . . and then the acoustics simply disappeared.

What the hell . . .

"Excuse me," she said, tapping the shoulder of the sonar operator seated closest to her.  "Can you help me?"

The technician removed his headphones and rolled his chair toward her.

"What's the problem?"

She rewound the sonargram.  "Do you recognize this?"

The technician listened for a brief moment, then removed the headphones.  "Forty-two hertz.  It's the Proteus."

"That's what I thought.  But why does its signature suddenly disappear?"

"According to the catalog date of this sonargram, this recording was made just prior to the sub imploding.  Keep listening and you'll hear it."

Terry watched the digital chronometer on the blank screen.  The sonarman watched for a moment, then wheeled himself back to his station.

Seven minutes and forty-seven seconds elapsed in utter silence, and then a sickening detonation reverberated in her ears.

"I don't get it," she said.  "Why all the dead space before the implosion?"

"The Proteus went down in an area heavy in black smokers.  The mineral stacks often interfere with our sonar's reflective waves, limiting the convergence zone.  The pilot probably hit a black smoker head-on and lost integrity of the hull."

"Still, the Proteus was close enough to the Benthos to have left some kind of signature.  This sonar recording sounds blank."

The man shrugged, returning his headphones to his ears.

Terry looked up in time to catch stares from the other men.

She rewound the tape to the series of strange sounds occurring just before the recording had gone blank.  Then she programmed the computer to break the signature down into smaller segments so she could analyze what few clues were on the tape.  Instead of completing her request, the screen flashed a warning:

 

"THIS PROGRAM HAS PERFORMED AN ILLEGAL FUNCTION AND WILL BE TERMINATED."

 

She rolled her chair next to the technician.  "Sorry to bother you again, but my terminal just shut down and—"

"Miss, are you aware that the Benthos is presently following the Prometheus through the Trench and it's my job to keep us from smashing into the canyon wall?  Or would you actually prefer to end up like the Proteus 's crew?"

"I'm sorry.  Just tell me, is my computer capable of breaking down these sonargrams into smaller bites?"

"No.  Only this terminal or the one aboard the Prometheus can perform that function.  Now, please—"

"Okay, okay."  She returned to her station.

Terry removed a blank disk and recorded the sounds that appeared on the sonargram just before the mysterious gap.  When she was finished, she nonchalantly slipped the recording into her boot, then left the bridge and returned to her quarters.