Текст книги "Deep Fathom"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

As he waited for the full assault, tiny fish nibbled at his toes, drawn by the blood of his abraded feet. He kicked them away.

Then he remembered the story Karen had told him about the construction of Darong Island. A sea tunnel connected the lake to the sea beyond the reef, she’d said, allowing fish to enter. He looked back; the breakwater lay only thirty yards away. A tough swim, but not impossible.

He heard the scuffle of stone.

Of the two risks, he knew which was the less dicey.

He dropped his rifle and, tugging the backpack over both shoulders, slid into the lake. Its bottom fell away steeply. He tread water for a few breaths, taking deep lungfuls of air. Usually, he could hold his breath for up to five minutes, but this was going to be a long dark swim.

With a final deep breath, he dove down into the depths. The fresh wound in his ear burned in the saltwater, but at least the pain kept him focused.

His hands reached the silty bottom. Curling around, he searched the edges of the artificial lake, struggling to find the sea tunnel opening. He swam first along the section facing the breakwater, believing this the most likely place. It quickly proved true: his arm disappeared down the throat of a stone tunnel.

Fixing its location in his mind, he rose to the surface and refreshed his lungs with rapid, deep inhalations. As he readied himself, he listened. It sounded like the jet skis were leaving. But the sounds echoed strangely around the lake. He couldn’t be sure, especially with so many. Then closer, he heard whispers, arguing, and the rattle of loose rocks, the word “bomb.” That was enough for him.

He dove with a clean scissor kick and reached the entrance to the tunnel. Not pausing, he ducked into the coral-encrusted hole and pulled and propelled himself down the chute, using hands and toes. There was nothing to see. Scooting blindly, his legs and arms were scraped and cut by the sharp coral. But he no longer felt the pain. He pushed past it, concentrating on one thing – moving forward.

As he wiggled and kicked, his lungs began to ache.

He ignored this pain, too.

Reaching forward, his hand touched stone. A moment of panic clutched him. He frantically reached out with both palms. A wall of stone blocked his way forward. He struggled, gasping out a bit of air, before he forced himself to calm down. Panic was a diver’s worst enemy.

He searched the walls on either side and realized the way opened to the right. It was simply a blind turn in the tunnel. He reached it and pulled himself around the corner.

Though relieved, he was also concerned. How long and torturous was this tunnel? Darong Island lay only thirty yards from the edge of the reef, but if the passage twisted and turned, how long did he really have to swim?

By now he was running out of air. The hours of exertion were taking their toll. His limbs demanded more oxygen. Small specks of light began to dance across his vision. Ghost lights of oxygen deprivation.

Jack increased his pace, refusing to let panic rule him. He moved quickly but methodically. The passage made two more turns.

His lungs began to spasm. He knew that eventually reflexes would quickly kick in and make him gasp. But blind, with no idea how far he had yet to traverse, he had no choice but to squeeze past his animal instincts.

Jack’s head began to pound. Lights swirled in multicolor spectrums.

Knowing he was close to drowning, he slowly exhaled a bit of air from his lungs. This gave his body a false sense that he was about to breathe. His lungs relaxed. The trick bought him a bit more time.

He kicked onward, periodically blowing out a bit more air.

But eventually this last ruse failed him. His lungs were almost empty. His body screamed for oxygen.

Jack strained to see, searching for some clue to how far he had to travel. But darkness lay all around him. There was no sign of an end to the tunnel.

He knew he was lost.

His arms scrabbled but he had no strength. His fingers dug at the rock.

Then a flicker of light appeared far ahead. Was it real? Or was he hallucinating, close to death?

Either way, he forced his leaden limbs to move.

He heard a muffled explosion behind him, the noise reverberating through his bones. He glanced over his shoulder just as the shock wave struck him. He was shoved roughly by a surge of water, tumbled in the tide, bumping along the walls. Water surged up his nose. With the last of his air, he choked it back out. Blindly, he pawed around him. It took him a second to realize walls no longer surrounded him.

He was out of the tunnel!

Jack crawled toward the surface. Air, all he needed was one breath.

He stared up and saw starlight…and a moon!

Kicking, writhing, he fought upward. His fingers broke the surface just as his lungs gave out and spasmed, sucking saltwater through his nose and mouth. He choked and gasped. His body wracked as it sought to expel the water.

Then his hair was grabbed and his head pulled out of the water. Into air, into light. Jack looked up. The moon had come down to the sea. A circle so bright. He twisted around…or was flung around.

“Get that light out of his face!”

Voices surrounded him. Familiar voices. The voices of the dead.

He saw a dark visage bent over him. It was an old friend, come to take him away. He reached numbly up as darkness again swept over him. In his head, he whispered his friend’s name: Charlie…

11:05 P.M.

“Is he going to be okay?” Lisa asked.

Charlie hauled Jack’s limp body into the pontoon boat. “You’re the doctor, you tell me.” He rolled Jack over, pulled off the water-logged backpack, and pumped a wash of saltwater from his drowned chest. Jack coughed and vomited out more.

“He’s breathing, at least.” Lisa bent over Jack’s form. “But we need to get him back to the Deep Fathom. He’ll need oxygen.”

The motor revved as Robert, at the stern, gunned the engine and spun the launch toward the waiting ship. The Fathomlay not far across the bay. Two other police cutters patrolled back and forth along the edge of the ruins.

Earlier, Charlie had spent half the evening trying to convince the local authorities to aid him in his search for Jack and the others. No one had listened, insisting he wait until morning. Then a frantic call had come in from Professor Nakano, relating an attack upon their party at Nan Madol. Now motivated, the police had converged on the location, arriving with the Fathomto find the place already deserted.

Apparently, Spangler’s assault team had been tipped off, for just as they entered the bay, a large blast blew apart one of Nan Madol’s tiny islets. Already in the Fathom’s launch, Charlie had aimed for the site, knowing there must be a reason for the explosion.

As they neared the reef’s edge, Robert spotted a bubbling surge. He aimed for it just as a pale hand broke the surface. Then the fingers sank back down. It would have been easy to miss.

The sea gods must have been watching over their captain, he thought afterward.

In the boat, Jack groaned and struggled to right himself. His eyelids fluttered but he did not regain consciousness. Charlie leaned down to his ear and whispered, “Rest, mon. We got you. You’re safe.”

His words seemed to sink in. Jack’s limbs relaxed.

“His color’s looking better,” Lisa said, but she herself was as pale as a ghost, bloodless with fear and worry.

If they had arrived even a minute later…

Robert spoke up from the rear. He had a radio pressed to his ear. “The police say they’ll search the ruins until sunup.” He lowered the radio. “But it looks like the ops team got clean away.”

“Damn those bastards,” Charlie swore. “If I ever get my bloody hands on them…”

11:34 P.M.

David stormed down the narrow stairs of the small commandeered police cutter. His team’s escape had been too damn close. Over the radio, he received word of the police at the same time his assault team found Jack.

Pressed for time, David had ordered explosive charges set around the islet, then ordered all of them to evacuate to the boat. For a black ops mission, exposure or capture was worse than death. Working efficiently, they left no trail behind. Gathering their dead, they quickly vanished into the maze of atolls and islands. All told, it took less than five minutes to evacuate the site.

Even so, it had been a close call. Running without his lights, David had watched the first police cutter, its sirens blaring, enter the bay just as he slipped away. The explosion helped cover their escape, distracting the arriving ships.

Still, never in his career had he come so close to capture.

Scowling, David reached the lower level of the ship and crossed to a steel door. He tapped in the electronic code and shoved into the small cell beyond. Though he had lost two good men on this mission, the sortie hadn’t been a total failure. Inside the cell, the Canadian anthropologist was tied, spread-eagled, to the bed. She struggled against her bonds as he entered. Gagged, her eyes grew large at the sight of him.

“Give it up. You can’t escape.” He slipped his diving knife from its thigh sheath and crossed toward her.

Instead of crying or struggling further, she just glared at him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out with the knife and cut her gag. She spit out the wad of cloth. “You bastard!”

David fingered the edge of his blade. “We’re gonna have a little chat, Professor Grace. Let’s hope I don’t have to free your tongue with this blade.” He spotted a trickle of blood running from her hairline down her neck, reached out and pressed his thumb against the lump there.

She winced.

It was the spot where he had bludgeoned her with the butt of his rifle after discovering her hiding place. Her ruse with the penlight had come close to working. He dug his thumb into the tender spot, eliciting a sharp cry from her. “Now are you done with your little tricks?”

She spat at him, the spittle striking his cheek.

He let it dribble down, not bothering to wipe it away. “Just so we both understand each other.” He grabbed her between the legs. She was still damp from the swim through the canals. He squeezed her, hard.

She gasped, her eyes growing wide, and tried to squirm from his touch. “Get away from me, you goddamn bastard.”

He held her tight. “Though my bosses may want you alive to pick your brain, that doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you in ways you never imagined. So let’s start again. Where’s the crystal you mentioned in your e-mail to Kirkland?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wrong answer,” he said with a hard smile.

A knock on the door drew him around from his play. He saw Rolfe standing at the threshold, still in his wet suit, half unzipped. The man eyed their prisoner, then his gaze returned to David.

“Sir, Jeffreys has continued to monitor the police bands. Some…um, startling news has come through.” Rolfe nodded to the prisoner. “Perhaps outside…”

The woman spoke from the bed. “Jack’s alive, isn’t he?”

David struck her with the heel of his hand. “Mind your manners, bitch.”

Rolfe nervously shifted his feet. “She’s right, sir. They’ve dragged Kirkland from the ocean. He’s hurt but alive.”

David felt a surge of heat. “Goddamn it! Can’t that man stay dead?”

“That’s not all.”

“What?”

“He…he’s aboard the Deep Fathom.”

David was too stunned to speak.

Rolfe explained, “I don’t know how, but his ship is here.”

Closing his eyes, rage swelled through David. At every turn, Kirkland had thwarted him. He swung to the bound woman. Kirkland had risked his own life so she could escape. Why? He studied her. He sensed an edge here, a way of turning this to his advantage.

David stood up and pointed back at their prisoner. “Haul her ass on deck.”

11:56 P.M.

Jack woke slowly. It took him several breaths to realize where he was. The teak paneling, the chest of drawers, the captain’s table and hutch. It was his own cabin aboard the Deep Fathom. It made no sense.

“Well, look who’s up,” a voice said.

He turned his head, noticing for the first time the oxygen mask strapped to his face. Tubes led to a portable tank. He lifted a hand to brush it away.

“Leave it.”

Jack focused on his bedside companion. “Lisa?” Beyond her, he saw Charlie Mollier standing over her shoulder. At the sound of his master’s voice, Elvis lifted his head from the floor and rested it on the bedside.

“Who did you expect?” Lisa straightened his pillow. “Do you feel strong enough to sit up?”

Jack’s mind fumbled, trying to recall his situation. He remembered the chase through the ruins of Nan Madol, the struggle through the underwater tunnel, but…“You’re all dead.” He coughed thickly as he pushed up, then groaned loudly.

“Careful.” Lisa helped him sit up, cushioning his back with pillows.

“Ow.” Every inch of him ached. He lifted his arms and saw an IV line trailing to a bag of saline. His arms were smeared with salve and bandages.

“ We’resupposed to be dead?” Charlie said with a toothy smile. “ Mon, you’re the lucky one to be alive.”

He coughed again. It felt as if someone had scoured his lungs with a Brillo pad. “But the bomb…?”

Charlie sat on the edge of his bed. “Oh, about that, sorry, but we needed to make everyone think we were sunk. The bomb is down in my lab, locked away.”

Jack shook his head, then regretted it, grimacing at the pain. “What the hell happened?” he barked with irritation.

Charlie related the events. The crew had found the bomb, and Robert recognized the trigger as a radio receiver. With Lisa’s skill at electronics, it was a simple matter to remove the receiver. But they knew whoever had set it would not be satisfied unless the ship blew up. So they placed a call to Jack and warned him about the bomb, knowing that if someone were eavesdropping, they would probably trigger the device. “Which they did,” Charlie explained. “When we saw the detached receiver blink, we knew the signal to blow the bomb was being sent, so we staged our own deaths. Dumped a bunch of oil and fuel, threw in some deck chairs and floaters, then lit the whole mess on fire.”

Jack’s eyes had grown wide by now.

“From there, we just hightailed it here to Pohnpei. Of course, we had to run silent. No communication of any sort or we’d blow the ruse.”

“But…but…” Jack felt his old anger returning, fueling his strength. He pushed off his oxygen mask and glowered at the two of them. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Charlie looked innocently at him. “So what are you saying…you’d rather we all blew up?”

Jack stared at Charlie’s hurt expression, then burst out laughing. He held his sides against the pain. “Of course not.” He glanced up at them; his eyes began to tear up. “You have no idea what it means to see you all here….”

Lisa reached over and gave him a quick hug. “Just rest. You’ve had a rough day.”

Jack suddenly remembered. “But what about Spangler? And the others?”

Charlie looked to Lisa, then back at Jack. “Spangler’s long gone. But I’ve been in contact with Professor Nakano. She was hoping you knew what had happened to Dr. Grace. They’ve been unable to find her.”

Jack felt a sick lump in his gut. “What does she mean? I left Karen with her.”

Charlie shook her head. “The police are still questioning Professor Nakano on one of their boats. She asked if she could join us here. I said it would be okay.”

Jack nodded, but his mind spun. Where was Karen? What had happened?

Running footsteps sounded in the hall. Robert burst into the room and eyed the others. “Thank God you’re awake, Jack.”

“What is it?”

“A radio call.” He was out of breath. “From David Spangler. He wants to speak to you.”

Jack swung his legs off the bed, moving Elvis aside. He motioned Lisa to the IV. “Unhook me.”

Lisa paused.

“Do it. I’m fine now. I’ve survived worse.”

Lisa peeled back the surgical tape and slid out the catheter, covering the site with a small Band-Aid. She glanced at Charlie with concern.

Jack stood, wobbling on his feet. Charlie reached out to steady him, but Jack waved him away. “C’mon. Let’s see what this bastard wants now.”

As a group, they climbed up to the pilothouse. Jack grabbed the mike to the VHF radio. “Kirkland here.”

Spangler’s voice crackled from the radio. “Jack, glad to hear you’re up and about. Rumor is you got pretty shook up.”

“And fuck you, too. What do you want?”

“It seems you have something I want, and I have something you want.”

“What are you talking about?”

A new voice came on the line. “Jack?”

He clutched the phone tighter. “Karen! Are you okay?”

Spangler answered. “She’s enjoying our company. Now let’s talk business. I have no need for this woman. All I want is that bit of crystal.”

Jack switched off the transmitter and looked at Lisa. “My pack?”

“It’s down in your cabin.”

Jack returned to the radio. “What are you proposing?”

“An even exchange. The crystal for the woman. Then we all part friends and forget this ever happened.”

Right, Jack thought. He trusted David about as far as he could throw him. But he had little choice. “When?”

“Just so no one tries to pull any stunts, let’s say dawn tomorrow. At sea. In the light of day.”

“Fine, but I pick the location.” A tentative plan began to gel.

“Agreed…but if I see a single police vehicle, the woman gets cut up into bite-sized pieces and fed to the sharks.”

“Understood. Then we’ll meet at dawn off the eastern coast of Nahkapw Island.” Jack spelled the name out. “Do you know where that is?”

“I can find it. I’ll see you there.” The radio went dead.

Jack rehooked the mike.

“You know it’s a trap,” Charlie said.

Jack slumped into the pilot’s seat. “Oh, yeah, no doubt about it.”

17
Change of Course

August 7, 5:30 A.M.

Off the east coast of Nahkapw Island, Micronesia

Half an hour before sunrise, Jack swam through dark water. He checked the glowing dial on his dive watch. So far he was on schedule. He had left the stern deck of the Deep Fathomten minutes ago. Outfitted in a Body Glove neoprene wet suit, fins, tanks, and buoyancy compensator, he had long ago worked out of his aches and pains. He swam steadily, kicking his fins slowly but deeply, sweeping rapidly along the seabed. He swerved cleanly around another stone column that loomed out of the darkness. Equipped with Robert’s night-dive gear – a small ultraviolet flashlight strapped to each wrist and a night vision mask – he had no difficulty seeing.

He glanced at his compass, maintaining his pace toward where Spangler’s police cutter floated. An hour before dawn, both men’s ships had arrived on the eastern coast of Nahkapw Island. Each party maintained a cautious half nautical mile between them, awaiting dawn.

But Jack was already in the water before his ship had even come to a stop. His plan required speed, stealth, and the cover of predawn. Earlier he had been faxed the layout of the Pohnpeian police cutter and the code to the cipher lock of this particular ship’s brig. If Karen was held anywhere, it was there. Or so he hoped.

Another stone column appeared, then another. Jack slowed. Ahead, walls and crumbled buildings appeared, all thickly coated with coral and waving fronds of kelp. Jack lifted his wrist lights. More structures and facades stretched into the distance.

Here was the sunken stone village of Kahnihnw Namkhet.

Karen had described the place yesterday on the way to Nan Madol. It was the reason he had chosen this spot. The police cutters were outfitted with sonar, and Jack needed as much cover as possible to swim up on Spangler’s ship undetected.

He dove along the bottom, sticking close to the columns, walls, and buildings. He wanted to cast as little sonar signature as possible. As he approached within an eighth of a mile of his target, he began winding in a circuitous path, attempting to keep stone walls between him and the ship.

Overhead, he saw the cutter’s searchlights basking over the waters. Through his night vision mask, the place was lit up like a Christmas tree.

He continued even more cautiously, pausing and waiting in alcoves and behind piles of tumbled stone.

Finally, he found himself directly under the keel of the ship. It floated thirty-five feet above. He checked his watch. He was now a few minutes behind schedule. The sun would soon be up.

Emptying his buoyancy compensator, Jack settled to the sea bottom, forty feet under the cutter’s keel. He hid in the shadow of a thick-walled fortification. Wriggling, he wormed out of his tanks, kicked off his fins, and dropped his weights. He kept a bite on the air regulator as he did, taking a few good breaths for the swim up. Bent over, he unstrapped the second, smaller reserve tank from his hip. The thermos-size pony tank was for Karen. He placed it beside his own gear. All was in order.

Straightening, he patted his belt and double-checked that the two waterproof plastic bags were still in place. Satisfied, he switched off his UV lights. Darkness closed around him.

Ready, Jack spit out the regulator and shot toward the surface, kicking to aim for the stern. As he raced upward, he slowly exhaled, compensating for the change in pressure. He was rising too fast for safety, but could not risk being exposed for too long.

Within a few seconds his palm touched the smooth underside of the hull. He worked toward the rear, careful of the idling prop. In the shadow of the stern, he surfaced and pushed back his mask. He had painted his face and hands with engine grease to limit any reflection.

He spotted one of Spangler’s men leaning on the rail. A cigarette hung from his lips. Jack listened. He heard no others, but couldn’t take any chances. Sliding to the starboard side, he pulled out a mirror attached to a telescoping pole from his belt and extended it toward the rail. In the mirror’s reflection, he surveyed the stern deck. There was only the single guard. Good, he thought. With the cutter’s bow pointing toward the Fathom, they had posted little security at the rear. He twisted the pole, searched the ship’s forward section and spotted movement. Two men. Maybe more.

Jack quickly lowered and secured the mirror, then sidled back to the stern ladder. He tested it with a hand. The safety ladder was permanent, secured with bolts, so it shouldn’t rattle.

From his belt, he removed one of the clear plastic bags. His hand settled around the grip of the pistol inside. Raising it above the water, he poked his finger through the thin plastic to rest a finger on the trigger. The safety was already off. He waited for an opportunity.

As he did, his eyes flicked to his watch. The eastern horizon was already beginning to glow with the approach of dawn. C’mon, damn you…

Overhead, the guard flicked his cigarette into the sea. The glowing butt arced over Jack’s head and hit the water with a sizzle. Yawning, the guard turned and leaned his back against the rail. Fishing in a pocket, the man pulled out a pack of Winstons. He tapped it, trying to free one of the cigarettes.

One-handed, Jack pulled himself up on the ladder, planted his feet – then pointed his gun and fired. He covered the dull sound of the pistol’s silencer with an inconspicuous cough. Gore splattered the white deck. Jack reached out and grabbed the man’s body as it fell. Using the man’s dead weight for leverage, he clambered over the rail, then lowered the limp body to the deck.

In a crouch, he ran to the cutter’s external reserve fuel tank, freed the second plastic bag and pressed a red button. Swallowing hard, he checked his watch, then tucked the package beside the steel barrel.

He twisted around and darted to the door leading to the lower deck stairs. Gun pointed forward, he peeked around the open door. No one was there. Swinging it wide, he raced down the dimly lit stairs to the lower deck. At the end of the passageway lay a stainless steel door with a single tiny window.

Jack entered the passage cautiously. Crates and rolls of tarpaulin were stored in the lower passage, creating potential hiding places. He continued carefully, gun pointed ahead of him, searching corners and blind spots. No one was about. Reaching the far door, he glanced through the tiny window and bit back a sigh of relief. Karen was tied to the thin bed inside.

Jack quickly tapped in the code to the electronic cipher lock and heard the telltale click of the lock releasing. He grabbed the door and yanked it open. Taking no chances, he rolled into the room, ready for an ambush. He spun, weapon ready. No guards.

Karen struggled in her bonds, eyes wide with surprise. “Jack!” As he stepped toward her, Jack realized that it was not surprise in her voice – but fear.

He heard a rustling behind him, from the doorway, and turned around. In the hall, David stood with a gun pointing at his chest. The crumpled tarpaulin he’d been hiding under was now a cape about his shoulders.

“Drop your weapon, Kirkland.”

Jack hesitated, then lowered his weapon and placed it on the floor.

David shrugged off the tarpaulin. “Kick your gun here.”

Hands raised, scowling, Jack did as he’d been ordered.

“You are so predictable, Jack. Always the hero.” David moved into the room. “With the right bait, I knew I could lure you here. But I must say you haven’t lost your training. You got past my own men without alerting any of them.” He lifted the pistol. “Luckily, I trust no one but myself.”

“You never were a team player, Spangler. That’s why I was promoted over you.” As his opponent’s face reddened with anger, Jack spoke more slowly. “That’s what’s really got a corn cob up your ass about me, isn’t it? It’s not your sister. It’s not Jennifer’s death. You couldn’t stand a commoner like me beating a purebred Aryan stud like yourself, could you?”

David took an angry step toward him, leveling the gun at his head. “Don’t ever speak Jennifer’s name again.”

Jack risked a glance at his watch. Fifteen seconds. He had to keep David angry and close. “Quit the act, Spangler. Your sister and I had long talks about you. I know about you and your father.”

Sputtering, David pointed the gun. His face was almost purple. “What did she tell you…whatever it was, it was all lies. He never touched me.”

Jack crinkled his brow. Long ago, Jennifer had mentioned that David had been physically abused by his father. But had it gone further? Jack lowered his voice conspiratorially. “That’s not the way I heard it.”

David stepped nearer. “Shut the fuck up!”

Five seconds…

Jack braced his legs. His hands formed fists.

Spittle flew from David’s lips in rage. “He never touched me!”

One…

Jack swung a fist as the explosion roared through the ship. The deck bucked underfoot. His fist glanced off David’s jaw, knocking him aside.

The pistol went off, a wild shot. The bullet dug into the wall behind Jack. He spun and kicked the gun from David’s hand. It went flying across the floor.

David lunged. Jack instinctively dodged to the side, and as he swung back around realized the mistake. His reflexes had betrayed him. David might have been an asshole, but he was a keen killer. He landed near Jack’s discarded pistol, which had been his intent, and David rolled toward the weapon.

Karen yelled from the bed, “Run, Jack!”

He froze. “He’ll kill you—”

“No! His superiors want me alive! Go!”

Jack paused. David reached to the gun.

“Run!” Karen screamed.

Swearing, Jack darted through the door, slamming it behind him. Ahead, smoke filled the hall. Flames danced at the top of the stairs. Jack tore into a neighboring cabin. The bomb, primed with a small bit of C-4 from David’s own bomb, had been meant as a distraction so he and Karen could escape.

Jack crossed the cabin and tugged down the folded emergency ladder. Cinching down his diving mask, he mounted the ladder and twisted the release to the aft deck’s hatch.

An alarm sounded.

Flinging back the small door, he dove out. He rolled across the deck and to his feet. Men were running with buckets and hoses. One stopped and blocked his escape, mouth open in surprise.

As the man dropped his bucket and reached to a holstered pistol, Jack ran at him, elbowing him across his Adam’s apple. The guard fell back, gagging. His way clear, Jack dove over the starboard rail.

Holding his mask, he struck the water, then kicked and dug his way toward the bottom. He flipped on his ultraviolet wrist lights just as bullets began to ping and zing through the water around him. He ignored the threat and searched for where he’d stored his equipment.

He quickly found it. Hidden in the shadow of the crumbling wall, Jack took a quick drag from the pony tank’s regulator, then tossed it aside. Karen would not be needing it. He looked up.

The cutter remained topside, but it wouldn’t be there for long. The exploding fuel tank was the signal for Charlie to call in the police. The original plan was for he and Karen to hide down here until the police chased them off.

As he fit his feet into his fins, Jack spotted movement from the corner of his eye. He twisted around, glancing up.

Small metallic objects, no bigger than soda cans, were sinking into the water around him. A dozen, maybe more. As he watched, one of them struck a tall column fifteen yards away. The explosion threw Jack to the sand, slamming the air from his lungs. His ears flared with pain. Bits of rock pelted him. Blind for a moment, he rolled across the sea floor.

As his vision snapped back, he spotted a dozen other charges falling around him. Another trap. He had less than five seconds until the area was blown to fragments.

Grabbing his buoyancy vest and attached air tank, he twisted the vest around and jammed his arms in the wrong way. The tank, instead of on his back, lay upside down on his chest. Swinging with his hips, he jammed the tank against a nearby stone wall and the valve snapped off. Compressed oxygen exploded out.

The tank, now a rocket, jetted away.

Hugging the tank tight to his chest, Jack rode it away from the cascade of depth charges. Fighting for control, his back slammed into the side of one of the submerged ruins. A rib snapped with a jolt of fire. He bit his lips against the pain and twisted his arms more snugly in the tangled buoyancy vest. Using his fins and legs, he roughly guided his trajectory through the maze of columns and walls, shooting like a pinball through an underwater arcade game.