“All okay?” Cate had a quizzical look on her face, as if picking up on some uneasiness in the room.

Greg tilted his head towards Yegor. “Our crew friends were just telling us that we’ll probably be safe as long as we have some luck.”

“He’s right,” Jack said. “The Priz Class is designed to be broken down and then reassembled. It’s big, but it was created to be a rapid-response submersible.” He straightened to his full height, looking the big Russian in the eyes. “Should be ready to go. Are you telling me this isn’t the case?”

Yegor just stared from under bushy brows, and Greg could feel the tension go up a few degrees. That’s just great, he thought; they’d have two big guys, who might not like each other, trapped together in a tin can, in water thousands of feet deep and blacker than night. What could possibly go wrong?

Dmitry waved a hand. “No, no, not any real problems. My big friend is just overly cautious. We will be fine.” He turned to Yegor and his jovial expression hardened momentarily, before turning back to Greg. “But we must do final checks now if you wish to launch soon.”

Greg exhaled, but still felt the awkwardness remain.

“Please, you show us where we can work. We assume the hydraulic lifts are all in place.” Dmitry waited.

Cate nodded. “All just waiting on you two gentlemen.” She strode forward, sticking out a hand. “I’m Cate Granger, mission leader.”

Dmitry’s brow went up. “Is not Valery Mironov…?” He then quickly grinned. “Oh yes, of course, of course. Sorry to not greet you, but things are moving so quickly.” He gave a huge theatrical shrug. “You are in charge; we are ready when you are.”

“I got this,” Jack said. “Let me show them the way. I might like to hang around for the final system’s check; I might learn something.” He turned to wink at Greg.

“Well okay, all good then.” The three men left, and Greg stood staring at the tent flap, his mind whirling. “Is it too late to tell you I suffer from claustrophobia?”

“It sure is, little buddy.” Cate smiled. “Besides, where would I be without you, Gilligan?”

“Thanks, Skipper.” Greg turned to Abby. “That makes you Mary Anne.”

“Ginger.” She lifted her chin and smiled.

*   *   *

The temperature outside the colossal tent was near freezing, and cutting winds carrying furious snow stung exposed skin and seemed to cut right through the thickest of materials. It moaned and battered the canopy walls and roof as Cate, Greg and Abby stood at the edge of the massive pit, staring down, noses running as the three thawed out.

There was no heating in the tent, but inside it was an unbelievable 60 degrees. The temperature differential was achieved solely by the rising warm air from the massive, underground body of water.