she’s never been run for long before.” He added, “There’s one more warning—a final one. A siren. When that sounds you throw the switches off fast as you can and beat itl That’ll only go if the dials are faulty and under-reading.”
“Uh-huh. These danger indicators weren’t put in just in case this particular situation arose—I mean, this clogging-up fault?”
“Oh, no, sir. They’re just a general indication that she’s getting to the end of her safe running time, that’s all, but they’re all we’ve got to go on—except for a bell which rings if any activity’s released, and that’s a different thing altogether.”
“So, in fact, she could go up at any time, really?”
“She could go up this minute for all anyone knows for absolute certain, sir,” the technician said simply, “but I don’t think that’s likely! I think we can rely on those indicators.”
Shaw drew a deep breath. “I hope to God you’re right,” he said heavily.
He knew he hadn’t much time now. Ackroyd and that missing part—if it really was missing, and Shaw felt that that technician was right—had to be found before the red mark was reached, before the H-bomb power-unit reacted to the AGL Six, before that light brightened to a beam of death. . . .
After that Shaw’s policeman guide took him down towards the eastern end of the main tunnel and then past a Security Police guard into a recently blasted footway leading to a cavern which had been christened Admiralty Cave, and which when completed was to be the fuelling base for the nuclear-powered submarines. This footway sloped fairly sharply downward. No steps had yet been cut into it, and descending to the cavern itself was an eerie and rather frightening experience, a groping forward in torchlight down a damp and slithery rock slope so low overhead that Shaw had to bend all the way along, with the torch glinting on still water, deep and dark ahead of them. Admiralty Cave was an enormous underground harbour, with a long channel leading out to the main berths beyond which could be seen, faintly, quite a small entrance open to the sea. Narrow rock ledges ran round the sides of the water, ledges which would in time become the fuelling wharves. The cavern had, of course, existed before blasting operations started; but its extension was an almost incredible feat of excavating skill, and Shaw, walking through to the main berths, could visualize easily enough what this vast place would be like when the atomic submarine base was fully established. There would be, he estimated, room to berth at one and the same time over a hundred big underwater missile-firing craft, with all their ancillaries in the way of stores and offices, rearming and repair yards. He found Project Sinker coming breathtakingly alive now.
When they were coming back up the footway Shaw told his guide that he wanted to have a look at Sandy Bay; walking right along the main tunnel, he went out into the open, down to the beach, looked for a moment thoughtfully at the water where Ackroyd had gone to swim, examined the beach itself in case anything had been dropped or any clues left; failing to find anything, he turned back and they went straight through westward into the dockyard. Soon after Shaw was in the mortuary looking at the corpse which had been found that morning above Europa Point, at the southern tip of the Rock. Somebody, he thought, had done a good job on it. The head was missing, the trunk gaped wide open. Shaw fancied there was already the sickly-sweet smell of decay. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Karina was responsible for this—the man whose body this had been had probably been pushed off Windmill Hill after it was already dead. The body was, as Staunton had said, totally unrecognizable, and only those papers (apart, apparently, from a general similarity of build) had provided any means of identification. Unreliable evidence—the papers were more than likely phoney—Karina
“Uh-huh. These danger indicators weren’t put in just in case this particular situation arose—I mean, this clogging-up fault?”
“Oh, no, sir. They’re just a general indication that she’s getting to the end of her safe running time, that’s all, but they’re all we’ve got to go on—except for a bell which rings if any activity’s released, and that’s a different thing altogether.”
“So, in fact, she could go up at any time, really?”
“She could go up this minute for all anyone knows for absolute certain, sir,” the technician said simply, “but I don’t think that’s likely! I think we can rely on those indicators.”
Shaw drew a deep breath. “I hope to God you’re right,” he said heavily.
He knew he hadn’t much time now. Ackroyd and that missing part—if it really was missing, and Shaw felt that that technician was right—had to be found before the red mark was reached, before the H-bomb power-unit reacted to the AGL Six, before that light brightened to a beam of death. . . .
After that Shaw’s policeman guide took him down towards the eastern end of the main tunnel and then past a Security Police guard into a recently blasted footway leading to a cavern which had been christened Admiralty Cave, and which when completed was to be the fuelling base for the nuclear-powered submarines. This footway sloped fairly sharply downward. No steps had yet been cut into it, and descending to the cavern itself was an eerie and rather frightening experience, a groping forward in torchlight down a damp and slithery rock slope so low overhead that Shaw had to bend all the way along, with the torch glinting on still water, deep and dark ahead of them. Admiralty Cave was an enormous underground harbour, with a long channel leading out to the main berths beyond which could be seen, faintly, quite a small entrance open to the sea. Narrow rock ledges ran round the sides of the water, ledges which would in time become the fuelling wharves. The cavern had, of course, existed before blasting operations started; but its extension was an almost incredible feat of excavating skill, and Shaw, walking through to the main berths, could visualize easily enough what this vast place would be like when the atomic submarine base was fully established. There would be, he estimated, room to berth at one and the same time over a hundred big underwater missile-firing craft, with all their ancillaries in the way of stores and offices, rearming and repair yards. He found Project Sinker coming breathtakingly alive now.
When they were coming back up the footway Shaw told his guide that he wanted to have a look at Sandy Bay; walking right along the main tunnel, he went out into the open, down to the beach, looked for a moment thoughtfully at the water where Ackroyd had gone to swim, examined the beach itself in case anything had been dropped or any clues left; failing to find anything, he turned back and they went straight through westward into the dockyard. Soon after Shaw was in the mortuary looking at the corpse which had been found that morning above Europa Point, at the southern tip of the Rock. Somebody, he thought, had done a good job on it. The head was missing, the trunk gaped wide open. Shaw fancied there was already the sickly-sweet smell of decay. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Karina was responsible for this—the man whose body this had been had probably been pushed off Windmill Hill after it was already dead. The body was, as Staunton had said, totally unrecognizable, and only those papers (apart, apparently, from a general similarity of build) had provided any means of identification. Unreliable evidence—the papers were more than likely phoney—Karina
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