The Abyss

Sixty knots? No way, Barnes. The Reds don't have anything that fast.

Checked it twice. I mean, it's a real unique signature--

no cavitation, no reactor noise.

It doesn't even sound like screws.

- -

What the hell is it?

I'll tell you what it's not. It's not one of ours.

Sir, contact changing to heading 2-1-4.

Speed:

eighty knots.

Eighty knots.

Still diving. Depth, 900--

Still diving. Depth, 900 feet.

Port clearance, 150 feet from the cliff wall, sir.

- It's getting tight in here. - Yeah?

We can still give 'em a haircut.

Helm, come right to 0-6-niner, down five degrees.

Coming right 0-6-niner, down five degrees, aye.

Port side clearance, 120 feet. Narrowing to 75.

- - Sir, we have a proximity warning light.

It's too damn close. We gotta back off.

Sir, range to contact, 200.

Contact just jinked to bearing 2-6-0 and accelerated to--

to 130 knots, sir.

Nothin" goes 130.

Sir, range to contact, 100 yards.

Eighty yards, sir!

Sixty!

It's turbulence. We're in its wake.

Helm, all stop. Full right rudder.

Hydraulics failure. Planes not responding, sir.

Hydraulics restored, sir.

Oh, my God.

- -

Collision alarm! Collision alarm!

Fire control to sonar!

Let's get out of here!

- Lighten her up, Charlie! - Torpedo room is flooded, sir!

Blow all tanks! Blow all the tanks! Blow everything!

- All back full! - Answering. All back full.

Give me a damage report. What's our depth?

Passing 1,400, sir.

Main's forward tanks are ruptured!

Still descending, sir.

1,450.

Passing 1,500, sir.

Still descending.

We're too deep to pump auxiliary.

- Passing 1,650. Still descending, sir. - We're losin' her.

- Passing 1,600, and still descending. - Launch the buoy.

- Passing 1,650. Passing 1,700, sir. - Launching!

Benthic Explorer. Salvor 1 on final.

Copy you, Salvor 1. This is Benthic Explorer.

You're cleared to land.

Hey. They're coming.

- This, uh, could get pretty ugly. - Yeah.

It does not look good at all.

Oh, no. Look who's with 'em.

Queen bitch of the universe.

Sonny, how you doing?

I got two more welds on this bypass valve.

No light from the surface.

How deep are they?

- McBride? - 1,700 feet.

I need them to go below 2,000.

No problem. They can do that.

So that's it?

You just cheerfully turn the whole thing over to the goon squad?

Look, I was told to cooperate. I'm cooperating.

Kirkhill, you're pathetic.

Get Brigman on the line.

Deep Core, this is Benthic.

If Bud goes along with this,

they're gonna have to shoot her with a tranquilizer gun.

- Roger. - Hippy, get me Bud.

Catfish. Get them old buns up here and give me a hand.

Hang on. I'll be up there in a second.

You guys are milkin' that job.

It's 'cause we love freezin' our butts off out here for you so much.

- Hey, Bud! - Yeah?

Hippy's on the bitch box.

It's a call from Topside. Benthic company man.

- Kirkhill? - Yeah.

That guy don't know his butt from a rat hole.

Harry, do me a favor. Square away this mud hose.

Get rid of these empty sacks. This place is startin' to look like my apartment.

You got it, boss.

Bud, pick up the topside line, urgent.

I'm comin'. I'm comin'. Geez, keep your panty hose on.

Brigman here.

Yeah, Kirkhill, what's goin' on?

Yeah, I'm calm. I'm a calm person.

Is there some reason why I shouldn't be calm?

What?

All right, I'm on land speed now.

Can you get that goddamn hippy shit music off the com line, please?

Almost done with the shutoff valve.

- Sonny, I'm right behind you. - Hang on a second.

- Okay, give it to me. - Here you go.

Thanks, sweetie.

All divers, drop what you're doin'. Everybody out of the pool.

I mean everybody, right now. Sonny, One Night, let's go.

Damn it. We just got out here.

There was a time when I would've asked why.

- Get a move on! - Shit, woman!

Deep Core, this is Flatbed preparing to surface.

Roger, Flatbed. Come on up.

All rig personnel, assemble at the moon pool.

Everybody get something, A.S.A.P.

Come on. Get his hat off.

What the hell's goin' on? How come we got recalled?

- Hell if I know. - got it.

So, what's the drift, partner? Why are we up?

Just follow standard procedure.

Flog the dog till somebody tells you what's happening.

- What's the story, boss? - Folks, listen up!

We've just been told to shut down the hole and prepare to move the rig.

- What? - We've received an invitation to, um,

cooperate in a matter of national security.

- Shit. - Now you know as much as I do.

Get your gear off and get to control. We've got a briefing in ten minutes.

Come on, come on! Let's move it.

At 0922 local time today,

an American nuclear submarine, the USS Montana,

with 156 men aboard went down about 22 miles from here.

- Damn. - Been no contact with the sub since.

The cause of the incident is not known.

Your company's authorized the Navy's use of this facility for a rescue operation.

Code name: "Operation Salvor."

- You want us to search for the sub? - No. We know where it is.

But she's in 2,000 feet of water and we can't reach her.

We need divers to enter the sub

and search for survivors, if any.

Don't you guys have your own stuff for this kind of thing?

By the time we get our rescue submersibles, storm front will be on us.

You can get your rig in under the storm and be on site in 15 hours,

and that makes you our best option.

Why should we risk our butts for something like this?

I have been authorized to offer special bonuses...

equivalent to three times normal dive pay.

Yes, sir, buddy!

Hell, for triple time, I'd eat Beanie.

They could set me on fire and put me out with horse piddle.

I don't know what kind of deal you made with the company,

but my people are not qualified.

- We're oil workers. - This is a paycheck, man!

Shut up! Hold it down.

This is Lieutenant Coffey.

He'll transfer down to you with a SEAL team

and supervise the operation.

You can send down whoever you like, but I'm the tool pusher on this rig,

and when it comes to the safety of these people,

there's me and then there's God, understand?

If things get dicey, I'm pullin' the plug.

I think we're alll on the same wavelength, Brigman.

Now, let's get the wellhead uncoupled, shall we?

All right, let's get ready to move.

Let's take it about five degrees left, all right?

Roger. Five degrees left, Bud.

Plot these numbers to our position. I need to know when--

Well, it's official, sports fans. They're calling it Hurricane Frederick.

And it's gonna be making our lives real interesting in a few hours.

Fred, huh? I don't know, man.

I think hurricanes should be named after women, don't you?

I can't believe you're letting them do this.

Hi, Linds. I thought you were in Houston.

I was. Now I'm here.

Only here isn't where I left it, is it, Bud?

Wasn't up to me.

Jesus! We were that close to proving

a submersible drilling platform could work.

I can't believe you let them grab my rig!

- Your rig? - I designed the damn thing.

And Benthic Petroleum paid for it, so as long as they're holding the pink slip...

...I go where they tell me.

I had a lot riding on this, and they bought you, didn't they?

More like rented you cheap!

I'm switchin' off now. Bye-bye.

Oh, okay, Virgil, you wiener! You never could stand up to a fight.

Bye-bye.

Virgil?

God, I hate that bitch.

Probably shouldn't have married her then, huh?

Try to get it settled!

Roger, Cab 3. You're clear to launch.

- Hang on, gentlemen. - She's clear!

Touchdown. Crowd goes wild.

Explorer, this is Cab 3. We are styling.

- How are you boys doing back there? - Great.

Explorer, this is Cab 3 starting our descent along the umbilical.

- Roger that, Cab 3. Good luck. - Luck is not a factor.

One Night, how you doin?

- Got white line fever, baby. - Yeah, I heard that.

>)

2 Driven every kind of rig That's ever been made J)