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  He had left school early to go to sea: an ambition shared by many of his friends in the small town of Spiddal at the edge of Connemara. It was a pretty coastal village that was home to some near-shore fishing trawlers. A short, physically-demanding stint as a crew member on one of these boats convinced him that he should move to a bigger vessel and study for his marine qualifications. His slight frame didn’t suit the duties expected of a fisherman, where brawn was more important than brain. Hard work, long hours, practical experience gained and a risk-averse frame of mind saw him progress slowly but surely up the chain of command.

  He looked the part and took pride in his appearance. If he could, he would wear his beloved captain’s cap and uniform at home. He had a ruddy, freckled face that was weather beaten from years exposed to Atlantic gales, and almost sallow skin, thanks to constant exposure to the sun reflecting off the water. In his earlier career he had smoked like a trooper, but doctor’s orders and an enlarging tummy convinced him that one of his bad habits had to stop. Captain Killen was comfortable in his own skin: until now.

  In an exception to his daily routine he had invited his wife Orlaith to join him. He was so traditional in his views that he usually disapproved of women in pubs, never mind the privacy of the snug at Doheny’s, which he had frequented for the best part of forty years. The snug was his refuge.

  ‘Why am I here?’ His wife was a straight talker.

  She was an affable Mayo woman with a strong rural background who, unlike her husband, was extroverted and optimistic. She enjoyed company and being sociable. It was these characteristics that had attracted him to her. Given his job, Killen knew he would be away sometimes for half the year, or on monthly rotations. He needed someone dependable to look after the children and their modest house in the outskirts of Galway. She didn’t disappoint in that regard.

  ‘The first time you brought me here was the time we went to see the movie Grease. I think you had a fancy for the young one, what was she called? Yes, Olivia Newton-John: I remember, see?’

  Killen decided he had no option but to put his cards on the table before a predictable rant developed. Orlaith never stopped talking. He used to joke that she was vaccinated with a gramophone needle.

  ‘As you know, the research vessel I captain does really routine stuff. I enjoy the work. It is a stress-free job navigating scientists around Irish waters. However, my next voyage has me puzzled and a bit apprehensive.’

  ‘Puzzled? You? I’ve never known you to worry about work. Why?’ His wife certainly cut to the chase. ‘What’s that got to do with my rare invitation into your downtown residence?’

  Killen took a large single sup. Almost half the black and creamy contents of the glass disappeared. He loved his pint.

  ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve a sense of unease and foreboding about this trip. Call it my sailor’s instinct, but I feel apprehensive and I never felt this way before. I feel it could be my last voyage.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of retiring? That would be awful! What would you do rattling around the house all day? Far better for both of us that you continue at sea.’

  ‘No, you misunderstand. I’m worried I may not return. Would you miss me if I was lost at sea?’ asked Killen.

  ‘Don’t be so melancholy Enda,’ replied Orlaith, showing the sense of frustration she usually experienced if they discussed anything serious for any length of time.

  ‘Sure. But remember my words should anything happen,’ said Killen.

  ‘You’re being a bit melodramatic. Buy me a brandy and ginger and stop talking nonsense.’

  ‘Barman, the usual for the wife please,’ said Killen with a touch of irony.

  The following morning, just after dawn, Killen was the first to board the RV Celtic Explorer – the Irish Government’s multi-purpose ocean research vessel – at its berth on Mulvoy Quay, in Galway Harbour. At seventy-five metres in length, it could accommodate twenty-five crew and twenty scientists. The ship was equipped with a full complement of survey equipment, communications and navigation systems, dry and wet laboratories, cranes and winches suitable for coring, trawling and camera operations. It also had the latest dynamic positioning system that was critical for the deployment of the state-of-the-art remote operation vehicles (ROV) that were used for deep dive research activities. The vessel had been modified in a recent re-fit to facilitate the launch of both an ROV and a manned submersible. At sea the RV Celtic Explorer was a busy place with various research projects being carried out at all hours of the night and day. The crew and the scientists typically worked twelve-hour shifts.

  He went to the galley, as he did early every morning to brew a pot of Barry’s loose leaf tea. He poured the tea through a strainer into a china cup, one of his small luxuries. A drop of milk, no sugar. Perfect! He climbed the steps to the bridge and sat on the captain’s chair. This seat was the centre of activity when at sea and it had the best view possible when in harbour. He watched as Galway woke to a new day. He loved the peace and quiet of the early morning.

  He looked out forlornly across the harbour and further to Mutton Island and the expanse of Galway Bay. There was a light wind and good visibility to the far horizon. This was where he felt most comfortable. The harbour was small – it served a regional hinterland – but had all the modern facilities, including a heavy-duty mobile crane, tugs and storage. The Port of Galway Company gave the RV Celtic Explorer first preference as Galway Harbour was its home base. Killen and the Harbour Master were drinking buddies in Doheny’s, so he usually got what he asked for.

  The day before he had studied the mission brief on the conduct of seawater salinity tests with growing concern. Its contents prompted the conversation with his wife in Doheny’s. He was suspicious. An experienced mariner with twenty years’ experience with the Irish Marine Institute, and before that in ships of varying characteristics and sizes all over the world, he knew this voyage was going to be quite different. Over the past days, not only had new scientific instruments been loaded, in sealed unlabelled cases but the usual mix of Irish scientists and young enthusiastic marine researchers had been replaced by new older faces and, judging by their accents, they came from several countries.

  Also, without consultation, two burly new crew members had been added to the passenger manifest. With their casual clothes, they looked more like boxers than sailors. In fact, he wasn’t too wide off the mark. They were experienced (and armed) navy marines as he would soon discover. Two other uniformed and armed navy marines stood guard at the gangway to the ship. All very strange. This was a research vessel not a navy ship.

  Someone – he was told not to ask questions – had installed an upgraded communications package the previous week. The perennial problem they’d had with poor internet connectivity over many years had been resolved in less than a day. Bandwidth was no longer an issue.

  ‘Why all this investment?’ he wondered.

  He was due to sail on the full tide the following afternoon and so had limited time to get the vessel ship shape.

  A crew member approached him. ‘The Chief Scientist, Professor Gerard Gilmore, has boarded and wants to speak to you.’

  He wasn’t on the passenger manifest either, nor did he know why he wasn’t told about his presence. As a point of principle, he ignored his mobile phone when not on active duty and never checked his voice messages, so had missed the call the evening before from the Marine Institute’s Chief Executive that would have alerted him to the arrival of his VIP passenger. He didn’t know Gilmore but had seen him on television whenever there was a scientific problem that needed a plausible explanation. The puzzle got ever more mysterious.

  ‘Thanks. Please bring him to the bridge after he settles in.’

  Gilmore was brought to his quarters, a small functional single berth cabin – the only suite on board – and, having unpacked quickly, he made his way the bridge.

  ‘Ca
n I have a quiet word, Captain? Preferably in your cabin,’ said Gilmore.

  ‘Sure, come with me,’ replied Killen.

  Killen’s cabin – located directly under the bridge – was also modest. He had a small desk, TV and a bookcase where he stored his precious library of books and maps. The walls were decorated by the ensigns of the many ports the ship had visited.

  ‘Sit down please, Professor. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks, Captain. Call me ‘Gerdy’ as we’re going to on board for quite a few weeks.’

  ‘I gather.’

  The Professor opened a map on the table showing the eastern side of the Atlantic Ocean.

  ‘I’m afraid that I can’t tell you much more than what is in your mission brief.’

  He put his finger at a point that was circled in red. ‘We’re to sail around four hundred kilometres due west to the edge of the Irish Continental Shelf, beyond the Hatton Bank to the Eriador Seamount, south-west of the Rockall Plateau.’

  Rockall, whose ownership was still a matter of dispute between Ireland and Scotland, was a Norse name meaning ‘spraying stormy sea’. It was a single rock atop a vast submerged plateau, some four hundred kilometres in length. The waters around Rockall are relatively shallow at between five hundred and a thousand metres. It is separated from Scotland by the three kilometres deep Rockall Trough.

  ‘We’ll be operating along the one-hundred-kilometre-long mountain that comprises the Eriador Seamount.’

  ‘Why the Eriador Seamount?’ asked Killen.

  Gilmore explained. ‘It’s an extinct underwater volcano. The seismic activity around this area is the main focus of the mission. I know you were planning a short research voyage to test seawater salinity levels at more or less the same location. These experiments can proceed but the main job at hand is quite different.’

  ‘I just knew something was up,’ said Killen.

  His instinct had been right. A knot started in his stomach as his anxiety mounted.

  ‘We won’t be returning to port until the scientific observations that I’ve been asked to supervise have been completed,’ added Gilmore, in a by-the-way fashion.

  ‘I should also tell you that the naval vessel LÉ Michael D. Higgins will rendezvous with us once we’re clear of the coast and will escort us to our destination.’

  ‘I never had a navy escort in all my life,’ laughed Killen nervously. ‘And what about the equipment and the strangers that I’ve taken on board?’

  ‘At this stage, I’m not at liberty to tell you more than you and your crew need to know to get us to the first identified rendezvous. Be prepared not to ask too many questions in the meantime. I’ve hand-picked the scientists and will look after that side of things. I assume we can rely on you, Captain, to do the sailing bit of the business.’

  ‘All a bit of a mystery, but that’s in order. I will talk to the crew.’ Killen was frustrated by the lack of information. He accepted that there was nothing he could do about it.

  Within the hour Killen briefed his small team of senior officers as they stood around the worktable that was the centrepiece of the bridge.

  His Chief Engineer, Vinnie Crowley from the seaport of Malahide, a prosperous suburb north of Dublin, was less than impressed that a two-month mission was in prospect. He stood out with his shock of thick blond curly hair. He was the tallest person on board at almost two metres. As the ship’s ceilings were not designed for his height, he spent most of the time he was indoors in a crouched position. He and the regular crew of the RV Celtic Explorer were used to shorter scientific trips of no longer than a month. Like Killen, he was also uncomfortable with so many new faces settling into their quarters in the lower and mid-sections of the ship.

  ‘Captain, the vessel is at its limits; we’re packed to the rafters. Should I install bunks on deck?’

  His poor attempt at humour went unnoticed.

  ‘Vinnie, there is not much I can do about it,’ said Killen. ‘My hope is that we’re not stuck in the middle of the Atlantic for an even longer period.’

  The chef spoke. He was a man who clearly liked to taste what he cooked. ‘But we’re not provisioned for a long voyage captain. I only have four week’s supplies.’

  ‘I asked that question and was told the Irish naval vessel that will join us once we cast off is fully stocked with fuel and supplies for six months.’ responded Killen.

  Crowley muttered and growled as he tried to digest the information. ‘What’s the weather forecast?’ he said.

  Gilmore responded and tried to sound confident. ‘Not too bad over the coming week, with two to three-metre swells but, as you know all too well, we can’t be certain beyond that. It may be the middle of summer, but we should be prepared for the worst.’

  ‘Jesus, I fear we’re in for a long haul,’ said Crowley, as he filled his pipe expertly for his second smoke of the day. The more agitated he was, the more he smoked. The ship’s rule was that smoking wasn’t allowed, except for the habit of the Chief Engineer, a veteran smoker since his teens, and only on the bridge near the aft door.

  ‘Aye to that,’ said Killen.

  There was a routine to be completed before every research voyage and the crew knew their respective roles and responsibilities. Machinery had to be repaired. The sonar equipment was re-calibrated. The laboratories, stores and works areas had to be restocked and provisioned. The winches were oiled and tested. They got on with the tasks to hand unsupervised.

  Twenty-four hours before the scheduled departure a large transport truck arrived at the berth and parked noisily beside the ship. Captain Killen was on the bridge talking to Gerdy Gilmore as the driver and his three passengers dismounted from the high cabin and walked towards the gangplank.

  ‘I don’t have space for any more scientists,’ snapped Killen, his sense of frustration boiling over.

  Killen knew he was wasting his time complaining.

  ‘They are the most important of all your passengers, believe it or not,’ said Gilmore.

  ‘What do they do?’

  ‘They dive,’ replied Gilmore with a smile on his face.

  ‘Watch.’

  Killen looked out to see the two navy marines taking off the tarpaulin covering what turned out to be a three-person manned submersible: a twenty-tonne underwater behemoth. Painted bright yellow with black trim and the size of a large SUV, it shone like a beacon in the afternoon sun. It was like a giant bumble bee. He had never seen anything like it before. A large steel box the size of a garden shed was also positioned on the trailer.

  Seeing his quizzical look, Gilmore explained.

  ‘It’s called PLU. Why the name I don’t know, but it is the very latest in underwater technology. It can descend rapidly to fifteen hundred metres in under two hours, which is perfect for what we’ve got in mind. Our American friends lent us PLU and its experienced operator and support technicians for a few weeks. It needs to be handled with care so the plan is to store it at the stern of the ship where it can be winched into the sea using the ship’s main crane.’

  ‘What’s in that big black box?’ asked Killen.

  ‘That’s the PLU shack. It contains the controls and all the monitoring equipment for the PLU’s operations.’

  ‘OK, get it all aboard,’ he sighed, resignedly.

  The Galway Harbour Company did a great job lifting the PLU and the steel box off its transporter onto the ship. The PLU and the shack control centre were expertly positioned and secured at the stern. The deck hands could only stare at the PLU in awe. It dwarfed their ROV.

  As he watched the winching operation, Killen’s sense of foreboding went up a notch.

  The following late afternoon, as planned, they sailed west on the high tide. Having passed through the lock gate, the RV Celtic Explorer was soon sailing into the vast expanse of Galway Bay at a
steady pace of ten knots an hour. Killen was in his element: steering his ship out of port was one of his few remaining pleasures in life. ‘And I get paid for this,’ he smiled to himself.

  Later, he watched the sun go down on Galway Bay, humming the song of the same name to himself. The coastline of Ireland soon disappeared as night shadows fell across the skyline.

  The corvette LÉ Michael D. Higgins appeared off the port side as they went around the Aran Islands and was soon a few hundred metres astern. Killen used his Steiner binoculars to study the navy ship. He could not see anybody on the sleek grey deck. There were several people on the bridge, including one who was viewing him with a pair of binoculars. Officers are always on duty.

  The LÉ Michael D. Higgins, named after Ireland’s recent President, was the newest patrol vessel of the expanding Irish navy. At 100 metres, she was the largest and most modern of the fleet and had a helipad platform astern that was also used to deploy surveillance drones. She carried a small remotely operated submersible and a decompression chamber for the navy divers. Her twin 16-cylinder W16V26F Wärtsilä diesel motors gave her a top speed of 23 knots.