Going Dark

by Monica McCarty

  Figuring it could cut a good half hour off the travel time to go by boat, Dean looked around the harbor for something fast. He wished to hell he had access to one of the Special Boat Teams’ CCM Mk1 stealth speedboats, but there was a company that did speedboat rides around the harbor, and one of those would have to do. He hoped to hell it would be enough.

  The kid manning the booth recognized him. “Hey, people have been looking for you.”

  Dean ignored him, grabbed the key that was hanging from the board nicely marked, and hopped into the boat.

  “Hey, what are you doing? You can’t take that.”

  “Call the police,” Dean said. “Tell them that the woman they are looking for is on Harris diving the Stassa wreck. Tell them to get a chopper if they can.”

  Dean had already texted the information to the LC, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell the police twice.

  He knew the risk he was taking by getting the police involved, but it couldn’t be helped.

  What if he didn’t reach her—

  He stopped the thought from forming. He would get there in time. He wouldn’t consider any other possibility.

  Thirty-four

  When Annie surfaced after being pulled in, Martin was already motioning the riot act to Marie to never do that again. As a newbie, she apparently didn’t realize it was an unwritten rule that you should never touch another person’s dive equipment or pull someone in the water when that person wasn’t ready.

  Annie was glad she was partnered with Sofie and a university student from England named Joe. From the “hey, man” lazy smile and distinctive smell of Joe’s clothes, he enjoyed smoking quite a bit of pot. In Annie’s book, marijuana—like alcohol—and diving didn’t mix. She wouldn’t have gone down with just him to rely on as a dive partner, but with Sofie there, she let it go.

  The twenty-five-meter dive of the Stassa wreck was not considered difficult, but going inside to explore the wreck should only be undertaken by experienced divers—and even then it was dangerous. They were the only three in the group who qualified.

  They descended the buoy line with the rest of the group. The visibility was outstanding. The enormous ship was lying on its starboard side, and as advertised, it was virtually intact. Annie could see the funnel, masts, winch, railings, and catwalks. A small break in the hull in the middle of the ship was the only evidence of damage.

  The rusticles called to her. She couldn’t wait to go explore. She’d read about a rumor that the IRA had a secret shipment of illegal weapons on board, hidden under the cargo of timber. Maybe she’d be the lucky one to find it.

  When everyone was down, Sofie motioned to Martin that the three advanced divers were going to separate to start their exploration inside.

  Before they could, however, Joe motioned that he had a problem. Something was wrong with one of his air tubes. Sofie and Martin tried to help him, but eventually he just made the sign that he was going to head up.

  Annie couldn’t say she was sorry to see him go.

  She and Sofie broke off from the rest of the group and headed aft toward a few broken windows, which were one of the ways inside. Because of the clear conditions and multiple entry points, they weren’t planning to use a dive reel, but Annie had a finger spool just in case.

  Sofie motioned for her to go first, and Annie headed inside. They’d planned their general route on the boat ride over, and for the next twenty minutes they carefully explored the cavernous insides of the ship from the engine room, to the funnels, to the holds (where unfortunately she didn’t find any weapons), and eventually to the wheelhouse. They used a flashlight—or torch as they called it here—in the deeper sections and were careful to avoid anything that could shift or that they might get tangled on.

  The wheelhouse was a tight space with a danger of silting, so Annie set the finger spool and started to let out line.

  That was when the banging started. It was the faint sound of metal on metal.

  She and Sofie looked at each other. Annie checked her watch and her tank and realized she hadn’t lost track of time—they still had another twenty minutes or so before they had to start up. But it was clear, someone wanted their attention.

  Annie motioned to the other woman that they should head up. She started toward the doorway that led to the broken windows where they’d come in, but something pulled her back.

  At first she thought her tank or line had gotten caught on something. But when she turned her head and saw the knife coming toward her, Annie realized her mistake.

  • • •

  Dean cut the throttle as he approached the loch. He didn’t know what he would find, and he didn’t want to spook the woman into doing anything rash. He suspected she was planning to kill Annie and make it look like an accident—presumably to not draw any more attention to OPF—but he couldn’t count on it.

  He cautiously inched the boat into the mouth of the loch until he could see the dive boat. It was empty except for a slender-built male who he assumed was the charter captain.

  Dean swore. It would be too much to hope with their hour lead that he would have caught up with them, but he’d hoped.

  He tried to control his rising panic, but at the thought of everything that could go wrong down there, a cold sweat spread over his skin.

  Stay cool.

  He couldn’t recall ever having to tell himself that before.

  He glanced to the harbor and pier. There were a few docked boats, but no chopper and no blue-and-yellow police cars. If and when they showed up, they weren’t going to be much use, though—not out here and not unless they requisitioned a boat.

  He carefully steered the boat around the buoyed dive site and called out to the captain as he approached. The figure didn’t budge from his seat at the wheel until Dean was practically next to him.

  From the tapping foot on the rail, Dean figured out why.

  The kid broke out into a smile and pulled the headphones from his ears. “Hey, man. I didn’t hear you. What’s up?”

  Dean cut the engine. “How long have they been down there?”

  The kid was startled by his tone, and had probably gotten a look at Dean’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “How long?” Dean repeated.

  “Thirty minutes. What’s going on?” he repeated.

  Dean didn’t have time to explain. “Do you have an acoustic diver-recall system?”

  “A what?”

  That was a no. Dean wasn’t surprised, given the cost. “Find me a wrench.”

  Dean reached over to grab one of the dive boat lines and used it to draw his boat close enough to jump on board.

  The kid had hustled to do his bidding and was back in a minute with the wrench.

  “Start banging on the side,” Dean said. He took a sniper position, kneeling behind the port-side rail, and pulled out his gun. He didn’t want any of the divers to see him first.

  The banging stopped. “What the fuck?” the kid said, his voice shaky. “Who are you? What are you going to do?”

  “Stop someone from being murdered. The police will fill you in when they arrive, but until then bang like your life depends on it.”

  Dean wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the gun that convinced him, but the kid banged. And banged. One by one the divers surfaced. He counted six. It was hard to identify anyone with only mask- and hood-covered heads popping out of the water like seals—the animal kind—but Dean knew Annie wasn’t one of them.

  An older guy had swum over to the ladder and pulled off his mask as he came on board. “What’s going on?” he said to the kid.

  The kid turned to Dean, who stood and walked into the man’s view while sticking his gun in the waist of his jeans. He addressed the older guy. “Where is Annie?”

  The older guy turned and scanned the water. “She and Sofie must still be in the wreck. Why?�
��

  Dean wasn’t answering. “I need a tank,” he said to the kid.

  “They’re all being used.”

  “You don’t have a backup?”

  “We had one, but one of the divers had to use it. His hose got cut somehow.”

  Dean swore. The panic was starting to claw. He strode over to where the older man had just climbed aboard the boat. “Give me your tank.”

  “Not until you tell me—”

  He stopped when Dean pulled out the gun. Dean was out of patience. “Give me your tank now.”

  The old guy was defiant. “I’m not going to let you hurt one of those women.”

  Dean cursed. Of course, he had to be the English hippie who decided to play brave knight. “I’m trying to save one of them. The police will explain everything when they arrive, but you need to give me that tank.”

  Dean didn’t know whether it was him or the approaching sound of sirens, but the old guy shrugged off the tanks and handed them over.

  Dean checked the gauge, saw that there was still a half tank, put on the vest, and didn’t even take time to adjust the waist belt before grabbing the guy’s mask and jumping in.

  The shock of cold water was something you never got used to—no matter how many times he experienced it, it still sucked. It was pretty much like jumping into an ice bath. Although that might have been warmer. Fuck, it was cold. He knew he wouldn’t last long and his movements and reflexes were going to be shit, but there was nothing he could do.

  He spat in the mask, wiped it around, fitted the regulator in his mouth, and dove.

  Hold on, Annie. Just hold on.

  Thirty-five

  Thank God for physics, Annie thought. The resistance of the water gave her the time she needed to evade the knife blow that was meant for her neck.

  Sofie reached for her, swiping with the knife again, but Annie pushed off against her, sending them both backward in opposite directions. Annie felt one of the metal walls behind her and knew she had to think of something fast. Sofie had dropped the knife in the struggle, but she was reaching for something.

  Oh God, a gun. They were about ten feet apart. Annie had watched a MythBusters episode where they’d shot a couple of different-sized bullets underwater. One had died in three feet and one in eight feet. She wasn’t going to count on the right equation of distance, depth, and caliber.

  She’d lost hold of the finger spool in the struggle, but located it quickly. Swallowing the fear, she reached for the line with one hand while diving to the debris on the bottom to stir it up.

  An instant later, the water filled with silt, cutting off visibility completely. It was like being in a pool of mud.

  This was how people died, she thought to herself. A silt-out could create terror and panic in even the most experienced divers. Even with the line in her hand, Annie felt fear crawling up her throat, and her heart racing to escape.

  But she forced it back and slowly used the line to guide herself out of the wreck.

  Every second, she half expected Sofie to come lurching out of the murky water toward her.

  She really needed to stop watching scary movies.

  She thought she could sense someone flailing around near her, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She reached the end of the line and knew the broken windows were above her. The visibility was better, and she was able to feel around to find the opening.

  She started to go through but quickly realized she’d made a mistake. It was the wrong opening—a smaller one—and now she was stuck.

  But that wasn’t the only disaster. What she’d thought was panic whistling in her head was actually the sound of escaping air. She lifted her air pressure gauge to see the needle dropping way too fast. Her air tube had been cut or damaged. Sofie must have nicked it with the knife.

  She kicked again, trying to untangle herself or force her way through. But she could only move a few inches in either direction. Her tank was hooked on something.

  Don’t panic. Don’t think about how much air you have left. But the “stay calm” reminders weren’t working. She tried to reach around to untangle herself, but her efforts only seemed to make it worse.

  How long would the silt take to settle? Would it matter or would she already be out of air? Bullet or suffocation, in the end it didn’t matter.

  She fought against the urge to take deeper and deeper breaths of air, but she knew she was running out of time.

  She was going to die.

  The panic was harder to keep at bay, which was why at first she thought she imagined the person swimming toward her.

  She had to be imagining it because the person wasn’t wearing a wet suit.

  It was only when he was close enough for her to look into his mask that she realized she wasn’t imagining anything.

  It was Dan.

  Dean, she corrected. He was here. He’d come back. He’d found her.

  If she had any air left, she would have exhaled with relief. But she was literally sucking on fumes.

  He was trying to ask her what was wrong, but she was too panicked to remember any hand signals. Fortunately he grabbed her pressure gauge and figured out what was going on.

  Pulling the regulator from his mouth, he handed it to her. In her haste she almost took in a mouthful of water along with the air that she greedily sucked in. She tried to hand it back to him, but he shook her off and went to work on her tangled equipment.

  He unbuckled the waist belt and helped her shrug off the vest, eventually slipping the tank off her shoulders.

  Why hadn’t she thought of that? Panic had prevented her from thinking straight.

  He pulled her through the opening, and she was free. The relief was overwhelming. A million questions were racing through her mind, but the only thing she could think was that he was here, and she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

  She handed him the regulator again. He took a quick breath this time, shaking his head when she tried to force him to keep it for longer. He looked totally calm. Totally in control. As if he could hold his breath and go without air indefinitely. Maybe he could.

  SEALs, she thought ruefully. They were inhuman. And maybe that wasn’t always a bad thing. The world needed men like him. She needed him. Without him she’d be dead. Maybe there was something to be said for superheroes after all.

  The water was his territory. She knew SEALs were trained to be just as comfortable underwater as they were on the surface, and she was seeing proof positive of that.

  He made a few signals with his hand, and her head had cleared enough to know what he was asking. He wanted to know where the other woman was. Annie pointed down in the ship and put her hand in front of her mask, hoping to indicate a silt-out.

  He nodded, and they started to swim away from the wreck toward the surface. Dean was at her side, holding her arm as if he wasn’t ever going to let go of her—which was pretty much fine by her.

  He’d made her feel like that before, but somehow she knew this was different.

  He’d come for her.

  She felt a swell of happiness rise inside her before it was harshly jerked back. Someone had her by the fin.

  • • •

  Dean didn’t need to tell himself scary stories—he lived through enough real ones—but he couldn’t stop thinking what would have happened had he been a few minutes later.

  He could have lost her. He hadn’t. But knowing how close he’d been . . .

  He had a sick feeling in his chest that moved between panic and wanting to throw up. He was surprised to feel anything through the bone-numbing cold. He needed to get out of this water soon. His hands were already like clubs.

  The unbearable cold coupled with the overwhelming sense of relief at finding her turned his operational awareness to shit. That was how one minute Annie was at his side, and the
next she was yanked from his hold.

  He looked down to see the wild-eyed face through the mask of the woman from the photo. She was clearly in a rage and dragging Annie down with one hand while waving a gun through the water with the other.

  Oh, fuck. She’s going to shoot.

  That was the only thought he had as he dove between them, putting his body between the gun and Annie.

  He heard the shot and then felt the impact. But he didn’t feel pain, and realized from a pinging sound that the bullet had hit his tank. As the tank didn’t shoot off like a missile—or explode if you believed Jaws—the bullet must not have penetrated the metal.

  He pushed Annie out of the way as the woman waved the gun around wildly toward him again. But he’d already reached for the gun he’d tucked in his pants.

  It wouldn’t have been a contest if he wasn’t so fucking cold, but his icy fingers and frozen brain made it closer than he would have liked. His bullet hit her right between the eyes a split second before she fired. She might have hit him, if Annie hadn’t distracted her. Annie had lunged toward the woman with her dive knife, but it was too late. The last signs of life were already fading from the woman’s frozen-forever-in-surprise eyes.

  Dean quickly located the regulator and held it out to Annie. She took a few breaths before pushing it back toward him. He’d been without air for a couple of minutes and didn’t argue.

  He forced himself to breathe normally. Having been here too many times before was the only thing that prevented him from sucking it in. He handed it back to her and slowly they ascended, stopping once to trade breaths.

  When they finally broke through the surface, Dean half expected them to be surrounded by police. He was relieved to see that they were alone. His “borrowed” transportation had floated toward a small islet, but the dive boat and Annie’s fellow divers had returned to shore. He could see why. The police chopper had finally arrived and must have radioed the kid to come get them to bring them out.