‘Look,’ he said patiently, ‘this isn’t a one-day operation. Titanic reached the bottom in a matter of minutes. It’s going to take days to lift her back to the surface. Perhaps weeks.’
‘May I make a point?’ said Parkinson, promptly doing so. ‘We have no intention of bringing our section of the wreck back to the surface. It’s always going to remain completely underwater, to avoid the risk of immediate corrosion. We’re not engaged in a TV spectacular.’ He carefully avoided looking at Craig; the studio camera was less diffident.
I feel sorry for Donald, thought Bradley. Kato should have been here instead: he and Parky would be well matched. We might see some real fireworks, as each tried to be more sardonically polite than the other — in, of course, the most gentlemanly way possible. Bradley wished that he could help Donald, toward whom he had developed a warm, almost paternal feeling, but he had to remember that he was now a friendly neutral.
Donald Craig wriggled uncomfortably in his chair, and gave Parkinson a hurt look. Kilford seemed to be enjoying himself.
‘Well, Mr. Craig? Aren’t you hoping to film the stern rising out of the water, with your synthetic iceberg looming over it?’
That was exactly what Kato intended, though he had never said so in public. But this was not the sort of secret that could be kept for more than a few milliseconds in the electronic global village.
‘Well — er,’ began Donald lamely. ‘If we do bring our section up above sea level, it won’t be there for long — ‘
‘ — but long enough for some spectacular footage?’
‘ — because just as you intend to do, Rupert, we’ll tow it underwater until it reaches its final resting place, at Tokyo-on-Sea. And there’s no danger of corrosion; most of the ironwork will still be enclosed in ice, and all of it will be at freezing point.’
Donald paused for a second; then a slow smile spread over his face.
‘And by the way,’ he continued, obviously gaining confidence, ‘haven’t I heard that you are planning a TV spectacular? What’s this story about taking scuba divers down to the wreck, as soon as it’s within reach? How deep will that be, Mr. Bradley?’
‘Depends what they’re breathing. Thirty meters with air. A hundred or more with mixtures.’
‘Then I’m sure half the sports divers in the world would love to pay a visit — long before you get to Florida.’
‘Thanks for the suggestion, Donald,’ said Parkinson amiably. ‘We’ll certainly give it a thought.’
‘Well, now we’ve broken the ice — ha, ha! — let’s get down to business. What I’d like you to do — Donald, Rupert — is for each of you to explain where your project stands at the moment. I don’t expect you to give away any secrets, of course. Then I’ll ask Jason to make any comments — if he wants to. As C comes before P, you go on first, Donald.’
‘Well — um — the problem with the stern is that it’s so badly smashed up. Sealing it in ice is the most sensible way of handling it as a single unit. And, of course, ice floats — as Captain Smith apparently forgot in 1912.
‘My friends in Japan have worked out a very efficient method of freezing water, using electric current. It’s already at almost zero centigrade down there, so very little additional cooling is needed.
‘We’ve manufactured the neutral-buoyancy cables and the thermoelectric elements, and our underwater robots will start installing them in a few days. We’re still negotiating for the electricity, and hope to have contracts signed very soon.’
‘And when you’ve made your deep-sea iceberg, what then?’
‘Ah — well — that’s something I’d rather not discuss at the moment.’
Though none of those present knew it, Donald was not stalling. He was genuinely ignorant — even baffled. What had Kato meant in their last conversation? Surely he must have been joking: really, it was not very polite to leave his partners in the dark. . . .
‘Very well, Donald. Any comments, Jason?’
Bradley shook his head. ‘Nothing important. The scheme’s audacious, but our scientists can’t fault it. And, of course, it has — what do you say? — poetic justice.’
‘Rupert?’
‘I agree. It’s a lovely idea. I only hope it works.’
Parkinson managed to convey a genuine sense of regret for the failure he obviously expected. It was a masterly little performance.
‘Well, it’s your turn. Where do you stand?’
‘We’re using straightforward techniques — nothing exotic! Because air is compressed four hundred times at Titanic’s depth, it’s not practical to pump it down to get lift. So we’re using hollow glass spheres; they have the same buoyancy at any depth. They’ll be packed — millions of them — in bundles of the appropriate size. Some may be put in the ship at strategic points, by small ROVs — sorry, Remote Operated Vehicles. But most of them will be attached to a lifting cradle we’re lowering down to the hull.’
‘And just how,’ interjected Kilford, ‘are you going to attach the hull to the cradle?’
Kilford had obviously done his homework, Bradley thought admiringly. Most laymen would have taken such a matter for granted, as a point not worth special attention; but it was the key to the whole operation.
Rupert Parkinson smiled broadly. ‘Donald has his little secrets; so have we. But we’ll be doing some tests very shortly, and Jason has kindly agreed to observe them — haven’t you?’
‘Yes — if the U.S. Navy can lend us Marvin in time. ISA doesn’t have any deep subs of its own, alas. But we’re working on it.’
‘One day I’d like to dive with you — I think,’ said Kilford. ‘Can you get a video link down to the wreck?’
‘No problem, with fiber optics. We have several monitoring circuits already.’
‘Splendid. I’ll start bullying my producer. Well, I see there are lots of lights flashing. Our first caller is Mr. — sorry, I guess that’s Miss — Chandrika de Silva of Notting Hill Gate. Go ahead, Chandrika. . . .’
24 ICE
We’re in a buyer’s market,’ said Kato with undisguised glee. ‘The U.S. and USSR navies are trying to underbid each other. If we got tough, I think they’d both pay us to take their radioactive toys off their hands.’
On the other side of the world, the Craigs were watching him through the latest marvel of communications technology. POLAR 1, opened with great fanfare only a few weeks ago, was the first fiber-optic cable to be laid under the Arctic ice cap. By eliminating the long haul up to the geostationary orbit, and its slight but annoying time delay, the global phone system had been noticeably improved; speakers no longer kept interrupting each other, or wasting time waiting for replies. As the Director-General of INTELSAT had said, smiling bravely through his tears, ‘Now we can devote comsats to the job God intended them for — providing service to airplanes and ships and automobiles — and everyone who likes to get out into the fresh air.’
‘Have you made a deal yet?’ asked Donald.
‘It will be wrapped up by the end of the week. One Russki, one Yank. Then they’ll compete to see which will do the better job for us. Isn’t that nicer than throwing nukes at each other?’
‘Much nicer.’
‘The British and French are also trying to get into the act — that helps our bargaining position, of course. We may even rent one of theirs as a standby. Or in case we decide to speed up operations.’
‘Just to keep level with Parky and Company? Or to get our section up first?’
There was a brief silence — just about long enough for the question to have traveled to the Moon and back.
‘Really, Edith!’ said Kato. ‘I was thinking of unexpected snags. Remember, we’re not in a race — perish the thought! We’ve both promised ISA to lift between seven and fifteen April ’12. We want to make sure we can meet the schedule — that’s all.’
‘And will you?’
‘Let me show you our little home movie — I’d appreciate it if you’d exit RECORD mode. This isn’t the final version, so I’d like your comments at this stage.’
The Japanese studios, Donald recalled, had a long and well-deserved reputation for model work and special effects. (How many times had Tokyo been destroyed by assorted monsters?) The detail of ship and seabed was so perfect that there was no sense of scale; anyone who did not know that visibility underwater was never more than a hundred meters — at best — might have thought that this was the real thing.
Titanic’s crumpled rear section — about a third of her total length — lay on a flat, muddy plain surrounded by the debris that had rained down when the ship tore in two. The stern itself was in fairly good shape, though the deck had been partly peeled away, but farther forward it looked as if a giant hammer had smashed into the wreck. Only half of the rudder protruded from the seabed; two of the three enormous propellers were completely buried. Extricating them would be a major problem in itself.