Deep Storm

55

"Hui!" he shouted again.

She moaned, her cheek cold and wet against his.

"Hold on! Tight as you can! I'll try to climb out of this!"

He steadied himself on the rungs, the muscles of his calves and arms screaming under the extra weight. Summoning all his energy, he freed one hand and reached up, feeling for the next rung. With her arms around his neck, it was torture; his fingertips touched the rung, then slipped away. With a grunt of effort he tried again, grabbing it this time. He half pushed, half jerked himself upward with his legs, grabbed another rung. He felt her knees press hard against his hips, her ankles lock around one of his knees.

Another grab for the next rung, another heroic thrust upward. And suddenly he realized that the awful torrent of water was ebbing slightly. This brought renewed hope, and he pulled upward again. Now his head and shoulders were above the jets of water. He paused to rest-chest heaving, every muscle dancing and jerking-then he pulled the two of them up another couple of rungs.

Now they were above the water, which ran like a surging river a few inches beneath their feet. Anchoring himself as best he could, Crane took Hui's hand in one of his and guided it to the nearest rung. Slowly, gently, he helped her gain her own footing.

And then they stood there-gasping, sobbing-as the cataract screamed directly beneath them.

It seemed that hours passed while they clung to the side of the Facility, motionless, without speaking. Yet Crane knew it could not have been more than five minutes. At last, he forced himself to stir.

"Come on," he shouted. "We're almost there, we must be."

Hui did not look at him. Her clothes and white lab coat were plastered to her narrow frame, and she was shivering violently.

He wondered if she had even heard him. "Hui! We have to keep going!"

She blinked, then nodded absently. The fear in her eyes was gone; shock, and exhaustion, had driven it away.

Slowly they continued to climb. Crane felt almost stupefied with cold and weariness. Once-only once-he looked down again. The rungs led into a perfect chaos of water. Nothing else could be seen. It seemed impossible they had managed to climb through that hell.

Above him, Hui was saying something, but he couldn't make it out. Languidly, as if in a dream, he looked up. She was pointing to a spot ten feet above her, where another small platform had been set into the wall of the Facility.

With the last of their strength they pulled themselves onto it. There was another hatch here, unmarked. Crane raised his hands to open it, then stopped. What if it was sealed? If they could not get back inside, they were dead. If the rising water didn't drown them, they would die of cold.

He took a deep breath, grabbed the bolts, and bore down hard on them. They turned smoothly. He spun the access wheel, then threw his weight against the hatch. With a squeaking of rubber, the seal parted and the door opened inward. Crane helped Hui step into the small airlock beyond, then he followed her, sealing the hatch securely behind them.

They were back inside.

56

They stepped out of the airlock into a narrow, dark chamber. Crane paused a minute to catch his breath. From beyond came the whoop, whoop of an alarm.

Crane opened the door and they emerged into an empty hallway. Here, the cry of the alarm was much louder.

"Deck eleven," Hui said, taking a quick glance around. "Staff quarters."

"We need to get to the conference center on twelve," Crane said. "Dr. Vanderbilt's waiting for me there."

At random, Crane ducked into a stateroom, plucked a towel from the bath, and wrapped it around Hui's shoulders. Then they ran for the nearest stairwell. The floor seemed deserted, and only once did they pass someone: a man in a maintenance jumpsuit who stopped to stare, openmouthed, as they went past, drenched and dripping.

Reaching the stairwell, they dashed up a flight to the top level of the Facility. Unlike 11, deck 12 was crowded: people stood in the corridors and in open doorways, faces tense and drawn.

The conference center consisted of a central space that resembled a lecture hall, surrounded by a few small breakout rooms. Half a dozen people stood huddled together in the central hall, talking quietly. When Crane entered, they fell silent. One man detached himself from the crowd. He was tall and thin, with red hair and a closely cropped beard. A pair of black glasses poked out from the pocket of his lab coat.

He stepped toward them. "Dr. Crane?" he said.

Crane nodded.

"I'm Gene Vanderbilt." The oceanographer gave them a quick once-over. His eyes widened a little at their appearance, but he made no comment. "Come on-I'll introduce you to the others."

They walked over to the group. Crane waited impatiently through the introductions, then quickly shook hands.

"Frankly, I'm surprised to see you at all," Vanderbilt told him. "I didn't expect you to make it."

"Why is that?" Crane asked. He wondered if Vanderbilt already knew he was a wanted man, that he'd never make it past the Barrier.

"Because deck eight is completely flooded. The watertight doors are all sealed, the elevator shafts closed down."

"Completely flooded?" Crane felt shocked. So the Facility was breached, after all, he thought. Now there was no way for anybody on the classified floors to reach the upper levels.

"Some compartments of deck seven, as well. Isn't that right?" And Vanderbilt turned to a short, swarthy machinist who'd been introduced as Gordon Stamper.

Stamper nodded vigorously. "About sixty percent of deck seven is underwater at present. Compartments seven-twelve through seven-fourteen flooded in the last five minutes."

"Seems you found a different route," Vanderbilt said to Crane, with another appraising glance.

"And that's inaccessible now, too," Crane replied. "One of the pressure spokes has ruptured, and water's flooding in between the Facility and the dome. The emergency exit on deck two is already underwater."

"Yes, we know about the spoke," Vanderbilt said. "Containment crews are on their way."

"It's a pretty serious breach," Crane said dubiously.

"Tell me about it," Stamper replied. "If you all will excuse me, I need to rejoin my team."

"Get back to me in fifteen with another report," said Vanderbilt.

"He's reporting to you?" Crane asked.

Vanderbilt nodded. "I'm the ranking science officer on the decks above eight."

"What about the military?"

"Fragmented. At work trying to contain the breach and ensure hull integrity."

Crane glanced back at Stamper's retreating form. "You said you know all about the breach. Any idea what caused it?"

"Sabotage," Vanderbilt said.

Crane looked back at him. "You're sure?"

"It seems Roger Corbett stumbled upon the saboteur as she was placing the explosive."

"She? You mean the saboteur was a woman?"

"Michele Bishop."

Hui Ping gasped.

"No," said Crane. "It's not possible."

"Corbett managed to dial his cell phone while he was confronting Bishop. Called his own intern, Bryce. He heard it from her own lips."

Too much had happened, too quickly, for Crane to even begin absorbing such a terrible shock. He felt a deep chill that had nothing to do with his sodden clothes. Michele? No, it simply can't be.

"Where are they now?" he asked mechanically.

"Neither one escaped deck eight. We think they were both killed in the explosion."

As if from a great distance, Crane realized he could not think about this. Not right now. With a tremendous effort, he pushed it aside, then took a deep breath. "The breach isn't our only problem," he said. "In fact, it may not even be the biggest."