Colony by Benjamin Cross (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

pointing to another wound behind its ear. “You see. This is bullet hole too!”

She stomped back to her rucksack, grabbed a digital camera and began to photograph every last inch of the swollen carcass as if it were a homicide victim. “I will show these to Mr Volkov and make him find out who is murdering this creature!”

As she strode around the animal, muttering to herself in Russian that even Callum could understand, a tendril crept its way down the shore and out over the surf-line. Before he had time to react, it was followed by another, thicker tendril and then by a dense blanket of grey-white, which poured over the top of the cliffs encircling the beach and tumbled towards them like an avalanche. Within seconds the sudden mist had reduced the daylight to a haze overhead and visibility to no more than a few metres. In her fury, Darya seemed not to notice.

“Oh, great! Come on,” Callum ordered her, “we need to leave before we get stranded.”

She looked up at last, face shrouded in white. “You are right,” she said. “We must be quick, before it goes too far out.”

The temperature had dropped and only small pockets of visibility remained. Callum shouldered her rucksack and they raced along the beach to the canoe. Barging the vessel down into the surf, he slung himself back into the front seat and felt a thud as Darya leapt into the back. Then he punted the canoe back out into deeper water and began to paddle.

As he fought against the current, he could feel the mist overtaking them. It was riding the wind out across the water and thickening by the second. “We need to break through it or we’ll lose the ship!”

At that moment a mechanical splutter sounded behind him. He turned around to see that Darya had dislodged a wooden cover to reveal a concealed outboard motor. She had thrown the propeller over the back and was now tearing at the pull-cord. A final yank and it roared into life.

“I think that we should not fuck around any longer,” she shouted, noticing the look of disbelief on Callum’s face.

“Fuck around? You mean we’ve been paddling all this time for no reason?”

“Not for no reason,” she shouted. “You needed a distraction!”

Callum gripped onto the gunwale as the canoe burst forward.

Chapter 5 Zero Hour

1

Everything was ready.

The improvised explosives.

The remote detonators.

A route through the engine room.

All of it.

Zero hour was meant to be the following night, but the last half hour had changed everything. Mist had descended around the Albanov. In an instant it had turned the entire outside world into one large smoke chamber.

With the help of Finback’s intelligence, Ptarmigan’s every movement had been meticulously planned. The only element that relied more on luck than judgement was the very first: accessing the observation room. It was from here that security surveillance was maintained for all areas of the ship, making it the necessary first port of call for anybody wishing to sneak around with a pack full of explosives. To access the room, he would have to make his way to the door at the front of the deckhouse and punch in the code. This was an immense gamble in plain view, so the cover of mist was an opportunity not to be wasted.

Ptarmigan had waited patiently over the last few weeks, maintaining his cover during the day and constructing his devices late into the night. But even now he found himself dogged by the same reservations. Innocent people were going to die as a result of his actions. Whatever the intention, whatever the outcome, that was the reality. He was going to deprive parents of children, destroy families. But then, he consoled himself, it was like Finback had said: Those who die for this cause will have died well.

Now that the time had finally come, his adrenaline production had gone into overdrive. He turned from the grey swirls churning up against the porthole and seated himself on the rug in the centre of the room. He crossed his legs and placed his hands, sweaty palms upwards, on his knees. He drew a deep breath in through his nose… one… two… three… four… five… and released it through his mouth… one… two… three… four… five…

He repeated the breathing pattern, feeling his heart rate slow.

“Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, Nam Myoho Renge Kyo…”

Ten minutes later, Ptarmigan placed his explosives into a small rucksack, left his cabin and took the stairs down to Deck 1. The only person likely to be up at this hour was Doctor Lebedev. He’d never warmed to Lebedev. In fact, she bugged the shit out of him. She was like the energiser bunny for one thing, up at all hours, never seeming to need sleep. In a word: unpredictable. For another, she seemed to spend half her time in a surly silence and the other half flirting with the goddamn archaeologist. But thankfully she was nowhere to be seen.

Outside, the mist enveloped him, suffocating his senses. He had heard the others talking about what a strange sensation it was. But, so far, he had managed to avoid being out in it himself, and the sudden realisation that this really was some heavy-duty vapour stopped him in his tracks. It made the skin on his face feel oily, and the cloying bitterness tickled at the back of his throat making him want to cough.

It’s just mist, he told himself, forcing his mind to refocus. He closed his eyes and listened. There was the sound of the wind and the lapping of the ocean at the side of the ship. Somewhere in the distance there was a groan and a faint splash as the top of another iceberg bit the big blue. But nothing else. No conversation. No footsteps. He carried on around the deckhouse, feeling his way along the railing at the side of the walkway until he reached the door to the observation room.

He checked his