The other man, Yegor Gryzlov, was taller; six-two, six-three, maybe, which surprised Greg as he expected someone who spent his life working in a submarine would be more… compact. The big man had experience piloting a Priz class deep sea submersible, albeit an older model, and he would support Jack Monroe who was to captain the vessel. He didn’t talk much and didn’t seem capable of smiling at all. In fact Greg picked up nothing but an air of dour, ill-humor, and of wanting to be anywhere else but here.

Perhaps working with Americans was not his ideal job, Greg thought, not warming to him at all.

Yegor’s saving grace was that he was polite, and seemed to take a shine to Abby, bowing and offering his hand to shake. He held onto hers as a basement-deep voice rumbled out.

“I once have parakeet called Abby. You like birds? Like little pretty sparrow, I think so.”

She looked bemused, but smiled and continued to shake his huge hand. He hung on until she answered. “Yes, Yegor, I like birds.”

Greg turned to the submersible. It currently sat in a huge wooden cradle, with rails tracks leading to the edge of the newly-excavated drop pit. The biggest crane Greg had seen in his life sat idle just a few dozen feet back from the dark hole, waiting to lift and lower the submersible into the void. The crane would then remain there, waiting for them to return, hopefully within twenty-four hours. As Greg watched, men still crawled over the sub’s hull, checking seals and banging on the superstructure.

There was a name written on its side in Cyrillic lettering – Русалка

“Hey, easy with Prusalka,” Dmitry yelled up at them.

“Prusalka?” Greg’s brows shot up.

Dmitry nodded and grinned. “Da, Prusalka; is big fish, but…’ He leaned closer. “…name means, mermaid.” He winked, and then pulled back on seeing Greg’s expression. “You got anything better?”

Greg thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I got nothin’. So, Prusalka it is then. Hey, do we need anything?”

Dmitry rubbed his chin. “Tools we have, cranes, welding, supplies, and once all checked should be air and water tight.” He grinned again. “Hopefully.”

Greg grimaced. “Only hopefully?” He turned to the dour Yegor. “Anything else you need, big guy?”

“Big luck.” The big man turned away.

Greg nodded deeply. “Ooookay, well, we all need that – big and small.”

Abby cleared her throat. “This is going to be in a subterranean environment – it’ll be totally dark. You’ve piloted this type of submarine in those conditions before, right?”

“In deep water, always dark.” Yegor nodded. “As long as rivets hold, chemical adhesives and welding holds, instruments work and dozens of other life-sustaining operations do their jobs, then we probably be okay. Don’t worry, little Abby sparrow.”

“Probably? Still not building confidence, Yegor.” Greg sighed and turned away just as Cate and Jack pushed into the tent.