They looked over the sub, a small stubby thing of unusual design, and Bjarnsson nodded his gaunt shaggy head.
"These suits of leaded fabric," he said. "One big, for me. The other smaller, for Kashimo, perhaps. Can you get into it?"
Fallon grunted. "I guess so. Hey! Look there."
"Ha! A depth charge, held in the claws I use for picking specimens from the ocean floor. They have prepared well, Fallon."
"You know what that means!" Fallon was aware of a forgotten, surging excitement. His palms came together with a ringing crack.
"I was right! Kashimo was going to hold you here until the Government capitulated. Then he was going out to shut off the power. There's no projector, Bjarnsson. It was the volcano. If we can close that fissure while there's still resistance, we'll have 'em licked!"
Bjarnsson's ice-blue eyes fixed Fallon with a sharp, unwavering stare, and he spoke slowly, calmly, almost without expression.
"It will take about three days to get there, working together. One fit of cowardice or indecision, one display of nerves or temper may destroy what slight chance we have."
"You mean," said Fallon, "you wish you had someone you could depend on." He smiled crookedly. "I'll do my best, Bjarnsson."
They struggled into the clumsy lead armor and shuffled into the small control room of the submarine. Everything had been prepared in advance. In a few seconds, automatic machinery was lowering the sub into its slip.