Noah's Ark: Encounters (11 page)

“What’s with the winch?” Jake asked. “It’s gigantic. It looks like they’re transporting the Eiffel Tower!”

“For trawl nets, I expect,” Coote said. “Research vessels like this are all about surveying fish stocks. Sometimes that means catching the blighters. I tell you what though, that looks rather handy!” He pointed to a bright orange lifeboat suspended from the side of the helipad rigging. It was fully enclosed, and apparently in perfect condition.

“My dad worked on ships with lifeboats like that,” Jake said. “Given the size, the
Lance
must have a crew of what…fifteen? Twenty?”

“Twenty,” Ewan confirmed. “Two rotating crews of ten each, so it can work around the clock. According to our data. Which is not saying much. I don’t trust that computer.”

“Now, now, Mr Sledge,” Coote said. “What would the Admiralty say if they heard you questioning their work?”

“They never will hear me, will they? And you know as well as I do, that database is well out of date.”

“If you are referring to the incident with the Portuguese fishing boat, then I will concede that yes, the information available could have done with a freshen up. An embarrassing moment for all concerned indeed.”

Jake looked behind him to the
Spirit of Arcadia
. It had been decided that nobody be allowed on the outside decks during the meeting of the ships, a safety precaution mainly brought about by their experience with the mutated virus. That didn’t stop the masses from lining the windows though. As ambassador, representing all of those faces looking down at proceedings, Jake began to feel the pressure of the situation.

Coote must have read his mind. “Don’t let it get to you, old boy. History won’t record the words you speak today, only that you were here.”

Behind them, the propellers of the cruise ship spun up in reverse, bringing their already glacial progress to a graceful halt. They were sliding up alongside the
Lance
. Those on the
Arcadia
looked down at her; those on the submarine looked up.

“I know she’s only small, but she looks quite impressive from here,” Jake said, his voice shrinking away. “For once, I’m glad you two are armed.”

“Must say, bit odd that there’s no welcoming party!” Coote boomed, not in the least bit intimidated by the looming hulk of the blue-and-white hull. His voice resonated between the
Lance
and the massive side of the cruise ship, fading with every echo until finally there was complete silence.

Coote and Jake stood shoulder to shoulder, flanked by Eric and Ewan on either side, with Brian standing behind. Coote took a step forward, cleared his throat, and addressed the faceless, lifeless craft.

“Hello there!” The words once again bounced back and forth across the cavern created by the parallel ships. “Do come out and say hello! My name’s Coote, captain of HMS
Ambush
. Terrible name, but don’t let that—”

Before he could finish, a single gunshot rang out, and a tiny hole exploded in his breast pocket. A trickle of red seeped down his chest. “Oh!” he said weakly.

Coote dropped to the floor, and then all hell broke loose.

Eleven

T
HE
SUBMARINERS
ACTED
on an instinct honed by years of training and regular drills. It was that instinct that saved Jake’s life. He heard someone scream “Down!”, but whoever it was didn’t wait for him to follow the instruction. A hand on the back of his neck pushed him firmly towards the ground.

His knees buckled beneath him. At the same instant, the world around him exploded in a cacophony of noise. Even before he hit the deck his senses were bludgeoned by pounding detonation after pounding detonation. He was vaguely aware of gun barrels being pointed towards the
Lance
. With every deafening shot the weapons appeared to spit fire.

By the time he crashed to the floor of the conning tower, Jake’s ears had surrendered entirely. Whatever was happening now, they supplied only a high-pitched buzzing sound to his brain.

The floor underneath him moved and groaned.

Coote.

The man was trying to breathe. He was also bleeding profusely. Jake rolled onto his back, freeing the captain. He placed a hand over the wound and applied pressure, recalling Grau Lister’s words from the regular first-aid courses he had been obliged to attend. Overhead, the submariners’ rifles pumped out shot after shot. With no visible targets at which to aim, it was difficult to judge the efficacy of their actions.

More shots rang out, fired from the
Lance
. A bullet whistled past Jake’s left ear, ricocheted off the tower and flew out to sea. Another ripped through the flesh of Eric’s shoulder, sending him flailing backwards, his weapon still discharging, a streak of bullets flying into the sky.

Brian and Ewan were on their knees now, sheltering behind the rim of the conning tower. Rounds from the hostile ship clanged into the huge black fin, but the seven-inch-thick steel hull shrugged them off like flies.

Jake reached to his belt with his free hand and found his radio. He still couldn’t hear, but he didn’t need to. He pressed the transmit button and shouted as loud as he could: “Get us out of here! Move!” He suspected the order was redundant, but he had to do something. The bridge had a perfect view of what was happening and he knew Lucya would already be doing everything in her power to get them away.

Coote coughed. Blood spilled from his mouth, splattering across Jake’s perfectly prepared dress uniform.

His hearing began to return. He became aware of sounds, although it was as if someone was holding pillows across his ears. There was the rumble of an engine. He chanced a glance over the rim of the tower and saw the tip of the
Lance
’s giant winch turning away from them. With no frame of reference he had no idea if they were retreating, or if the
Lance
was pulling away. Either way, the gun battle was becoming less intense. There were discernible pauses between shots.

He looked down at Coote. The man was unconscious, and losing blood fast. Jake made a snap decision. He sprang to his feet but remained low, crouching below the level of the tower’s surround. He released his hand from the chest wound, and put both hands under Coote’s shoulders.

“Ewan!” He screamed as loud as he could. Ewan heard, and saw immediately what Jake was trying to do.

“Too dangerous!” he mouthed. Jake was not deterred. With his back to the
Spirit of Arcadia,
he heaved the older captain towards the walkway that connected the vessels. Ewan shook his head violently. A bullet smacked into the handrail of the connecting ramp, narrowly missing Jake’s neck. Ewan span on his heels and fired three rounds towards the
Lance
. He steadied himself on his knees, targeted the bridge, and fired again. Three more shots. Blood misted one of the windows, and at the same moment the engine of the research ship roared. A swirling torrent of wash erupted from the rear and the blue boat lurched forwards, picking up speed.

Jake heaved Coote onto the walkway and began dragging him backwards. To reach the relative safety of the
Arcadia
meant crossing open water. It was a risk he was willing to take, if there was a chance of saving the man’s life.

The three navy men, one wounded, held their guard atop the submarine. With every shot that was fired at them, they could better target the enemy. The battle was far from over, but they were evening up the score.

“Jake!”

He heard his name, but his muffled senses gave him no idea where the voice was coming from. The walkway began to vibrate and bounce. For a second he feared the submarine was diving, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was pulled to one side and two men squeezed past him. They carried some kind of makeshift shield — he couldn’t see what, and neither did he care. The person who had held him to the side also squeezed past and grabbed Coote’s legs.

It was Max.
 

“Go!” he shouted, although Jake saw the word more than he heard it.

Between them they carried Coote over the walkway, Jake walking awkwardly backwards, still crouching. The two security officers stayed close in, protecting them. More than one bullet bounced off their shield, and Jake realised he had been foolhardy to try and cross on his own.

It took them a full minute, a minute that felt like an hour, but they reached the sanctuary of the cruiser. Jake fell through the door, dragging Coote behind him. The second they were the other side of the wide hatch, two sailors started retracting the ramp.

Max barked orders at his security guards, who collected up Coote and carried him towards the lift.

“Eric!” Jake cried. “Eric is shot! We have to go back for him.”

Max put out a hand and held him back. “Nobody’s going outside.”

• • •

Getting from the deck-two hatch up to the medical suite on deck five was something that happened in a bit of a blur. Jake was still disoriented from the sounds of the guns, although his hearing had begun, slowly, to return to normal.

He was aware of other people as he made his way through the ship, but he saw them through a haze, hardly taking in what was happening around him.

What was happening was a kind of calm panic; an ordered chaos. Those who had been watching the encounter from the windows had fled from their vantage points and sought refuge in the inner areas of the ship. Many of those people had been watching from cabins, which meant when they ran, it was to public areas. They took with them their stories of what they had seen, and the news swept through the thirteen decks faster than a wildfire. Security had a presence on every deck, but with little more than one officer per level they would have had their work cut out to keep order, had a real panic set in. Yet for all the mass movement of people, for all the tales of horror being discussed in every corner, there was still a prevailing calmness. It was as if the population had collectively decided that given what they had all overcome thus far, a few men with guns on a strange ship weren’t going to get to them. If anything, the community was pulling together in yet another time of need.

But Jake was oblivious to all this. His mind was full of the sound of gunfire and the sight of blood. His priority now was Coote. Max had convinced him that the other submariners could take care of themselves. It would be over soon anyway. The
Lance
was pulling away, and the
Arcadia
and
Ambush
were also fleeing in the opposite direction.

The door to the inner treatment room was closed when he arrived, but Jake entered without knocking. There were five people inside. Captain Gibson Coote was laid out on the treatment table. His upper body clothing had been cut away and lay discarded on the pristine white tiled floor. He had an oxygen mask secured to his face, and a drip line was already inserted into his arm.

Surgeon Lieutenant Russell Vardy was stooped over the captain. He didn’t look up when Jake entered, and made no attempt at a greeting. His concentration was too intense.

Assisting Vardy was the nurse, Carrie. She was relatively new to the team, having been recruited during the outbreak of the deadly virus. As far as Jake could tell she was sterilising instruments in preparation for emergency surgery.

On one side of the room, standing shocked, were two people Jake didn’t recognise. One look told him they must be Dan and Vicky Mitchell; the young lady was very obviously pregnant.

“I can see the bullet,” Vardy announced. “He’s lucky. It didn’t go deep. Can’t be sure it hasn’t severed a blood vessel though.” The doctor looked up at last, and caught sight of Jake. “You’re all going to have to leave. You too,” he said, looking at the Mitchells. “No time to get this place properly sterile, but I’m not taking unnecessary risks. I need to remove this bullet.”

Jake nodded, and ushered Dan and Vicky towards the door.

“Wait!” Vardy’s cry stopped all three in their tracks. “He needs blood. Jake, get his blood, from the sub.”

“I don’t think we can get to the sub, Russell. The walkway was removed, and there’s a gun fight going on out there.”

“Jake, listen to me. If I can’t get blood into him soon, he’s dead, got it? You’re the captain. Order the walkway to be put back, get over there, and get his blood.”

“Excuse me?” Carrie held her hand in mid-air, as if wishing to ask a question in school. “Didn’t you use his blood when you were testing vaccines? I remember Mandy telling me about it.”

Vardy stamped a foot and yelled at the wall. “Sorry. Yes, you’re right. But there’s more blood on the
Ambush
, not just Coote’s. He’s type A positive. There’s no shortage of that on board.”

“Russell, I can try, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to get over there and back in time.”

Then Dan piped up. “If it helps, my blood type is O negative. I think that means I can donate to anyone?”

Vardy eyed the young man suspiciously. “Have you given blood before?”

“No.”

“So how do you know your blood type?”

“I worked in the kitchens at Buckingham Palace. A blood test is part of the security check. And as a category one terrorist target, all personnel must know their blood group in case there is an incident that necessitates medical intervention.” Dan repeated the words mechanically, as if they had been drilled into him.

Vardy nodded, satisfied by the explanation. “Do you suffer from any heart condition? Any history of heart conditions in your immediate family?”

“No.”

“Have you had any illness or infection in the last three weeks?”

“No.”

“Have you taken any antibiotics in the last month?”

“Nope.”

“Had any piercings or tattoos in the two months before coming aboard?”

“None.”

“Hepatitis in the last year?”

“No.”

“Ever had a sexually transmitted disease?”

He glanced at Vicky. “Never.”

“Hmm. Two more. Sorry, I have to ask. Have you had sex with a man in the last twelve months? And have you taken any illegal drugs in the last year?”

“No. I’ve never done either of those things.”

“Come on, Russell,” Jake urged. “He has to be a better option that trying to get to the sub.”