She leant forward on her knuckles on the desk. Last option was a rapid decon – scrub and remove the contaminated debris, work around the clock, and forget about making it habitable, instead just make it bearable. It would mean they could get back in there within a few months.

“Fuck it!” She swept a pile of folders and pens from her desk. It had been her job to screen the submersible crew, and somehow a switch had taken place. She screamed her frustration, and snatched up a heavy crystal clock, drawing her arm back and preparing to throw it.

Sonya stopped her arm – Valery was still alive, but he had days and hours, not months. She dropped the clock and sat heavily, closing her eyes and feeling her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She used her training to ease it back, like a racing car driver throttling down as they came into a bend – if not there would be an imminent crash.

“Who are you?” She mentally ran through the list of Valery Mironov’s known enemies. It was a long list, but only a handful wanted him dead. Her brows furrowed. But only one she knew of wanted him punished first, and then dead. Her eyes flicked open.

Brogidan Yusoff, head of the Russian Ministry of Resources and Agriculture – could it be him? Only he had the resources, the reach and determination, and also the psychology to undertake such an attack… and he had tried before.

She sat stone still for a moment, her ice blue eyes unblinking. “I can’t contact you, Valery, but if you urgently wanted to contact me, you would make your way to…” her eyes widened. If they knew about the mission, then they’d soon know about the communication silos. She launched back from the desk so quickly the chair flipped backwards several times.

She pulled open her desk drawer and reached for the gun – a Glock 27 – small compact, and deadly. She tucked it into her belt and then sprinted for the door.

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

The Prusalka hovered at the edge of the chasm. No one spoke, or seemed to even breathe. Cate stood behind Jack and Yegor, and everyone else crowded up behind her to stare out through the curved glass window at the darkness beyond the submerged cliff drop-off.

She knew there were things down there that wanted to attack, and if given the chance, eat them alive. Not that that was likely to happen, because once at depth, any puncture to the hull, and they’d all be dead in a few seconds, compacted down to the size of soda cans by the thousands of pounds of pressure that relentlessly worked on the skin of the vessel. She was staring trance-like, until Jack’s voice made her start.

“The first communication silo is directly under Hobart Bay, fifteen miles eastward. But to get there we’ll need to go deep this time,” Jack said.