Shadow Tyrants (Oregon Files 13)

“Cozy and warm,” she replied.

“Water is up to one hundred and twenty and still rising, but your core temps are steady and normal,” Julia said, who was monitoring their body temperatures from the sensors embedded in the suits. The deep rumble of the flowing lava added to the sense of urgency.

“I trust Max’s cooling suit design,” Juan said. “We shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll stay right here until you come back,” Eric said. He had Nomad hovering near the bridge wing’s outer door.

When Juan reached the door, he said, “Let’s see what’s in here.”

He pressed down on the handle, but it didn’t budge. He tried twice more. Nothing. He pulled as hard as he could and got nowhere.

“The mechanism must be rusted shut,” Linda said. “All this heat.”

“We better hope all the doors aren’t like this or we’re going to have to break out some explosives to get in. There’s another door two decks down. We’ll try that one.”

They swam down to the door, and Juan tried the latch. It gave slightly. He kicked at the handle with his prosthetic foot, and the mechanism finally snapped free. He yanked at it, but it only came open a few inches. It took both of them pulling on it to make the gap wide enough for them to go through. Juan led the way in.

There were no windows on this level, so he turned on his headlamp. No wildlife had penetrated the crew areas, and the corridor was free of growth, which meant they might come across intact information about the ship.

Most navigation and other work would be done on a computer, but even a ship as advanced as this one would have written checklists and maps as backups. If he and Linda could at least find out the name of the vessel, they would be able to track it back to its owner and manufacturer.

“There’s a set of stairs,” Juan said, and swam toward them. They went up two levels and entered the bridge.

The bridge was a high-tech operation consisting of dozens of flat-panel screens, interspersed with keyboards, control buttons, telephone handsets, and joysticks for maneuvering the ship. The only loose items he noticed were several coffee mugs scattered on the floor. Just a few pinpoints of dim light penetrated the thick growth of algae on the windows. The leather of the captain’s and helmsman’s chairs hadn’t begun to decay.

“Chairman,” Linda said. “We’ve got a name.”

He turned to see her pointing at a brass plaque fastened to the back wall. He swam over and could make out the name COLOSSUS 3 emblazoned across the top.

“Project C,” Juan said. “And I’ll take a wild stab that there are at least two more Project Colossus ships.”

“Look at the launch date,” Linda said.

“Eighteen months ago. Right around the time that Xavier Carlton’s A380 was hijacked.”

At the bottom of the plaque was a symbol he recognized: a circle with nine spokes with a clockwise swastika at its center.

“Eric,” Juan said, “we now have confirmation that the Nine Unknown Men are connected to Project C, which apparently stands for Colossus.”

“That must be a nod to the first programmable computer,” Eric said. “Colossus was built to decipher the Nazi Lorenz cipher during World War Two”

“It’s also part of this ship’s name. Colossus 3.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Julia said, “but it’s over one hundred and twenty-five out here. I recommend you start heading out of the wreckage.”

“Two more minutes, Hux,” Juan said. “Don’t want to come out of here empty-handed.”

“I’ll give you two, and not a second more.”

“Roger that.”

Next to the plaque was a row of shelves with manuals and rolled-up maps.

“Start gathering those up to take with us,” Juan said to Linda. “I’m going to see if I can find the captain’s log.”

Linda nodded, unfurled a drawstring net bag, and began stuffing books and maps into the sack. Juan swam through an open door at the back of the bridge, where he expecte

d to find the captain’s private office.