Free No Remorse by Ian Walkley Page B

of the Princess Aliya, Captain Jergah, steered the submarine away from the megayacht and tilted the joystick forward to take the craft down. The cabin was constructed of clear acrylic Plexiglas so passengers could see everything underwater, and as they cruised out to the headland, a shimmering curtain of sun’s rays pierced the crystal water, unveiling a magnificent forest of giant kelp that swayed rhythmically with the ebb and flow of the waves.
    Despite the tablets he had taken to calm himself, Khalid was finding it difficult to appreciate the beauty of the undersea forest as he concentrated on maneuvering the craft. He remembered only too well what it was like to drown. The pulse pounded in his neck and surged hot inside his skull as his mind went back to when he was strapped to a table and American interrogators poured water on the towel covering his face. Choking, gasping for air, the trickles of water catching in the back of his throat and panic before they took away the towel. Then they started all over again. Unimaginable terror—except for him it had been real.
    Using a technique Sheriti had shown him, he took shallow breaths. It helped, but not much. After ten minutes, he turned the sub towards the precipitous cliffs of the half crater that rose almost vertically out of the water for a thousand feet. Brightly colored reef fish darted into shadows of coral as they passed, and a pod of spinner dolphins meandered by closely, as if curious at the alien vessel.
    “Almost there. I will take over now if you wish, Highness” Captain Jergah suggested.
    Khalid nodded, and Jergah lurched the submarine down and switched on the two powerful spotlights to light a wide arc ahead. Just before a rocky wall, the sub turned sharply left. They were in the tunnel. Khalid gasped as the craft bumped against the side, showering pebbles and sand in a soupy mix that cut visibility to a few feet. Past the bend, the force of the ocean eased. A sheer rock wall loomed in front of them.
    “We’ve reached the staging area,” Fanning explained, as Captain Jergah pushed two small levers. Two metal arms shot out and slotted into holes in the wall. The submarine shuddered and stopped. “The submarine is now secured by powerful electro-magnets. Now watch the camera at the stern.”
    As they watched, a gigantic metal grate shot up from the floor, ramming against the ceiling of the tunnel, blocking escape and preventing anyone following from gaining access to the staging area.
    “Once the sub has anchored to the wall, this grate shuts before the entry hatchway will open,” Fanning said. “Upon leaving the fortress, it opens only after the hatchway has fully closed.”
    “Just get us in the fortress,” Khalid said, fighting the discomfort threatening to overwhelm him.
    Jergah pushed a third lever and pointed to the ceiling above where the hatchway began to roll back. When it was fully open, pumps blasted water out the ballast tanks and the sub rose to the surface.
    Finally, inside! Khalid climbed out quickly, hungrily sucking in the thick air. Basalt pillars the height of a ten-story building reared up behind the dock, towering over piles of rubble from the excavations. Two guards greeted him as they maneuvered a small crane beside the dock to unload a crate of equipment the sub had carried.
    Fanning continued his commentary. “Apart from the security tunnel to the resort, we have blocked off all external access points, other than the ventilation shaft and power and gas lines, which are well-hidden. Being concrete, the buildings will last for centuries. There’s sufficient gas for twelve months’ emergency power, and food and water for twelve months’ occupation by up to thirty people. Even so, we’re only using ten percent of the cavern, it’s really a giant lava tube.”
    “You must know the cavern intimately, Bill,” Khalid said in a lighthearted voice.
    “Every inch, I’d say.” Fanning laughed and walked on ahead.
    Khalid