Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021), A BATEMAN [urban books to read TXT] 📗

than Mount Everest. Imagine putting Mount Everest, everything from peak to sea level into the ocean and not being able to see its summit.”

King glanced at his watch. On the face it showed that it was rated to 1000ft or 300m. He’d always marvelled at that fact and wondered if it would work at that depth, then supposed he would find out soon enough if the docking procedure didn’t go according to plan.

The submersible craft was more robot than vehicle. An umbilical cord made up of a cluster of tubes fed a clean air supply down from the support boat, along with their power supply and communication cable. Onboard, air tanks and a separate electric motor meant they could take control and make it back to the surface in the event of the umbilical cluster being severed. Rashid had remained on deck and had asked to be involved in the electric winching process, not least so he could keep an eye on the crew and provide them both with top-side security and with it, the peace of mind that he had their backs. With foreign agents in the mix, nothing was out of the question. King was seated directly behind Grainger, who was naturally at the controls and seated within the bubble, which was made up of three bulbous Perspex windows, which looked in appearance like a giant old-fashioned deep-sea diving helmet. Grainger used what looked like a bicycle handlebar to control the direction of the submersible, with a throttle lever for the electric motor. Compressed air vented from the external bladders at regular intervals to provide the sink they needed, and compressed air tanks would be siphoned into the external bladders to create float. Unlike the military submarines, the craft did not take on water for ballast.

Behind King the bags of explosives and equipment he needed filled the cramped space, and below him the hatch he would need to open and close behind him. Beneath the hatch was the diving chamber and external hatch. King was desperately trying to remember the procedures Grainger had told him on the way down, because Grainger would have to remain at the controls and make subtle adjustments for movement and any current that they encountered, although he assured King that it was never rough at depth and the currents in the Barents were worse nearer the coast where several oceanic currents met the Gulf Stream and gave a conveyer belt ride into the Northern Sea Route.

Grainger started the submersible on its descent once more. King could feel the pressure in his ears and was grateful for the brief pause. Outside two curious sharks cruised slowly past the bubble windows. Each shark was around eight feet in length and swam effortlessly. Their grey bodies with white underbellies were uncannily close in appearance to Great Whites. “Porbeagles grow larger here than in the South Pacific,” said Grainger. “Usually around ten feet in length as opposed to approximately six. The waters are extremely rich in plankton here. Which provides food at the beginning of the food chain, going all the way up. This is the issue with ocean health, it all starts with plankton. Plenty of that and everything benefits. Even the quality of the air on the surface.”

King nodded, transfixed on the two sharks. He had thought they were Great Whites but now felt foolish and didn’t tell Grainger his first thoughts. He wondered if Madeleine would ever see her coveted Greenland sharks this closely. All at once, the two sharks thrashed their tails and were gone. Several squid replaced the sharks, and a shoal of glistening fish blocked their vision entirely as they were engulfed in silver and blue, reflecting in the powerful lights like disco balls. The shoal was immense and stayed with them for most of their descent. They disappeared as suddenly as they arrived, and the silhouette of a large rock was visible at the end of the light’s range ahead of them.

“That’s strange,” said Grainger. He controlled their descent and powered forwards. The seabed looked muddy and devoid of life. There were perfect skeletons of fish reflecting white in the lights, then as they progressed perhaps a dozen metres, King could see thick blankets of crabs travelling across the seabed like lines of traffic. An army of seabed cleaners on their march to pick another carcass clean.

“What’s strange?”

“That’s the submarine ahead.” He checked the laminated notes clipped to a piece of string within easy reach. “We’re bang-on for coordinates and depth, but the outline is all wrong…”

King squinted against the light. There was no real colour, just the thick brown sludge of the seabed and the black void of the ocean beyond the beams of light. He frowned, taking in the sight of the submarine as it came slowly into view. He could make out the conning tower and the thick, bulbous prow, the elongated tail. “It’s too big,” he said. “It’s almost as if…”

“It’s carrying another sub…”

“Shit…” King caught hold of Grainger’s shoulder and said, “Don’t go any closer!”

“Why?” Grainger frowned. He pulled back and the lights moved with the slight change of course from his sudden movement. Then, answering his own question he said, “Oh my god, there’s a smaller submarine attached…”

King stared, transfixed on the submarine piggy-backing the British vessel. “Reverse back, come in on another course, directly from behind.”

Grainger did as King told him, and the powerful lights swept across the black void, then picked up another submarine suspended in empty space over a hundred metres away. It was utterly buoyant with no movement, part of it suspended over the ridge, with the stern above the void. “Christ almighty…” he said quietly.

“That’s a small reconnaissance vessel that has docked the Astute-class,” said King. “The bigger sub looks like a Russian diesel Kilo-class. The Iranians have another name for it, if indeed it is them, but I’m willing to bet that our