Atomic Coffin

by Benedict Anning

Genres: Horror

Synopsis

A British spy in East Germany, codename Thistle, uncovers a hidden USSR underwater base with a terrifying secret, blending deep-sea dread and psychological horror in a high-stakes thriller that will captivate fans of S.A. Barnes and Daniel Kraus.

December 1984. SIS field asset Heidi Sperling (codename Thistle) exfiltrates from East Berlin with the sole copy of a critical intelligence leak: a naval log containing a solitary message received from a previously unidentified Soviet submarine.

Incredulously—impossibly—it seems the vessel, known only as TK-15, has been sitting motionless and undetected in the waters between Scotland and Iceland for three whole years. And now this latest message reads: ACTIVE.

Picked up by the Royal Navy’s submarine HMS Viking, Heidi is thrust into a black ops mission: find TK15 and neutralize it at any cost. But as her only ally on board the Viking falls sick, she realizes this modified vessel is far more than a Soviet experiment to gain an upper hand in the nuclear arms race. Here, in the crushing depths of the North Atlantic, it seems something darker has awoken—something that cannot be contained by any superpower.

As Heidi’s own reality twists around her, an unknowable force cripples the Viking’s defenses and drives its crew to madness. Trapped in the deep, Heidi has no choice but to find a way to save the remaining crew and stop TK-15 for good, before it steals what’s left of her mind…

Release date: October 6, 2026

Publisher: S&S/Saga Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter 1 1
FLASHES OF RED IN THE dark. Echoed creaking.

Dull aches, throbbing temple. It’s another dream and another memory again, something in between. Heidi opens her mouth to call out to the dark but a sharp sting pronounces her split lip—gluey and crusted with blood.

Am I still here? she wonders.

But what the fuck does here mean now? The present is a swimming state of somethings and maybes. Here is nowhere, there is nowhere.

“Still with us, Miss Sperling?”

The voice startles her, pinches the ache behind her eyes. It’s a distorted voice—tinny. A speaker? No, somehow it feels more immediate.

Fuck, her head—it’s pounding into oblivion. She looks to her fingers but the darkness has swallowed them. That glare of red continues to flash from somewhere above, barely illuminating the ceiling corner and a sheet of glass below.

Glass. Or is it a mirror? A mirror for her, maybe, but for them?

“I would like you to answer my question.” He’s a Soviet. Russian. The voice is deep, has to be in the same room—but she still can’t make out where. Can’t be behind the glass. What’s the point of the glass if it’s not a two-way mirror?

“Who the fuck is that?” she spits.

She tries to stand up but can’t move. Can’t feel her limbs outside of the pain. Maybe they’ve drugged her, shot her up with the KGB’s own brand of scopolamine, primed for interrogation.

The voice comes again, behind her now. He’s circling like a shark.

“Tell us how you escaped the vessel.”

Her temple throbs and she seethes through gritted teeth. “Where am I?”

Whispers back and forth. There’s another person in the room. This room, that room.

“She’s cracking.” They’re still speaking English. She can understand Russian well enough, but maybe they don’t know that. That should tell her something. They want her to hear. “Doesn’t understand what is real.”

There’s a cold feeling in her gut upon hearing that. Can’t feel her fingers. This isn’t right.

No, she knows what’s real. It’s familiar now. That question—this room. She’s not insane. But that question… the rest?

“I don’t remember…” she says to herself, itch worsening, panic rising. How did she escape? When did she get here? Concussion, she must have suffered a concussion when they grabbed her. Short-term memory loss. Makes sense.

Make sense of the rest, Heidi. Pay attention.

“Time is running out, Miss Sperling.” The other voice again. A nasally German woman. “Tell us what happened on the TK-15.”

German. Stasi? Has to be—it’s the only thing that makes sense. They must’ve taken Heidi from her apartment while she was sleeping. Every night she’d worry it might be the final night, the moment they’d actually grab her.

But that was before. She couldn’t remember going back. Hell, why would she go back, even if she were able to? Her cover was blown as soon as she left Berlin, no shred of a doubt about that. That’s right, isn’t it?

“We’ll let you die, if you answer our questions.”

“I said I don’t—” She stops. That sense of gut panic deepens, twists inside her in some horrible, sickly manner. “What did you say?”

“We’ll let you kill yourself. Just like you wanted, Miss Sperling.”

“No… No, I don’t—”

“Instead, we can start with Sabine Richter, twenty-eight years old, lives with her mother in Biesdorf, Berlin.”

Oh God, they found her. They know.

Heidi isn’t meant to be here, not meant to be part of this—she’s not a patriot, not a special ops agent. Never trained to withstand this.

“Listen, I promise I’ll cooperate. Just, please, give—”

“Nguyen Vickers, thirty-three years old, lives with her infant child in Horsell, Surrey.” Vickers. That sheer, pressing guilt smothers her. After everything. “Which would you like us to kill first?”

“Scheiße, I’m talking! I’m talking! I don’t know what you want!”

“We need you to tell us how you escaped the vessel designated TK-15.”

TK-15… Heidi remembers TK-15—she’ll never forget it so long as she lives. How long since then? Years, surely. An impossible time. She searches her memories, scrambles through the endless fog for its endpoint, the last piece. But it’s all a fever sludge, every piece without place. Canterbury. Berlin. Rügen. Viking. TK-15.

“I’m trying to remember,” she says. “What day is it, can you tell me the date? If I work backwards, I promise—”

“We cannot go backwards.”

“Ground her with another,” the Russian whispers. Why can she hear him so clearly?

“Please, please—you don’t have to inject me with anything. I’m listening, I’m talking.”

The Stasi bitch whispers to the Russian. “Only forwards.”

“Miss Sperling,” the Russian says, “when did you leave the GDR?”

GDR. DDR. Focus.

Picture it, go back.

Berlin. Several years in. Broken radiator again. Hissing, crackling in the pipes. Nursing a beer alone. Getting better, maybe.

Late-night delivery.

Even in her memories, she’s panicked. A new panic, though. Doesn’t quit after this crucial moment.

Phone calls. Print checks.

Out the door, watch the corners. Run a few blocks.

Pay phone.