He opened his eyes wider and looked again for Krogstad, whose gray silhouette was no longer moving. He was older than Clay, which meant he most likely was drawing his breaths faster. Clay reached out with his foot and bumped the captain. There was no reaction from Krogstad. He simply floated silently a few feet away.
Clay’s body shuddered for a second time. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his skin. His renewed banging of the pipe against the inside hull was now beginning to slow, until it finally stopped altogether. His eyelids began to close on him and the pipe fell from his grasp.
It was then that Clay could see. He could see Alison’s beautiful face looking at him, saddened. A wave of remorse washed over him. Remorse of what his death would do to her. She didn’t need any more grieving in her life. Alison’s image was replaced by his parents. They were standing together, young, before the divorce, and beaming at him with proud smiles. The feeling of remorse faded and was replaced by something warmer, something comforting. They were waiting for him and ready to welcome him into their eternal arms.
As his remaining air faded, Clay’s last lucid thought was a pleasant one: the image of a dolphin. He would always remember how happy they looked with their curved mouth and perpetual smile.
It took Dirk four tries to navigate through the labyrinth of mangled ship and find where the sound was coming from. Then just as he did, the banging abruptly ended.
There were two of them, surrounded in strange shapes that resembled large crabs. And neither was moving. Dirk knew that when humans became still in the water, it was very bad. He quickly latched his teeth onto the nearest of the two figures and pulled him backward. He then circled around, pressed his nose against the limp body inside, and pushed it forward. Together they moved through the maze, over giant shards of twisted metal and missing decks, and through the fields of floating debris.
Jim Lightfoot was Captain Emerson’s go-to guy for water dives. Lightfoot was part of the research team, and at six foot three he was young and strong. More importantly, he had been a championship swimmer in a former life.
Dressed in nothing but a pair of blue swim trunks, Lightfoot hurtled onto the bench seat on the ship’s stern while several crewmen frantically added his gear. Two men slipped fins on his feet while two more lifted the heavy tanks onto his back. He quickly tested his regulator and nodded, then pulled the mask down over his tan face.
As he stood, Alison turned away from Borger’s laptop and peered up at Lightfoot.
“Hold on to Sally. She’ll take you!”
“Okay.” Lightfoot nodded and returned the regulator back between his lips. Without hesitation, he took three exaggerated steps with his fins and plunged into the blue water.
After performing a short self-check, Lightfoot swam forward to where Sally was waiting. He wrapped his right hand around her large dorsal fin and held on tight as she kicked her powerful tail and dove. Together, they descended through the shimmering blue water into the darkness below.
Lightfoot kept his left hand on his nose and continually cleared his ears as Sally raced straight down. The stern of the sunken Bowditch quickly came into view, propped eerily on its side in the watery tomb. Sally continued along the underside of the hull and leveled them out near the mid-section. The light from above had now stopped reflecting any color but deep blue, creating strange shadows along the side of the ship as they passed.
When they neared the bow of the ship, Lightfoot saw the enormous hole extending far beneath and out of sight. No wonder it sank so fast.
As they neared the hole, Lightfoot saw what they were looking for. A second dolphin emerged, dwarfed by the giant hole and pushing a human shape into the open. Lightfoot nearly lost his grip as Sally accelerated. With his right hand, he equalized his ears one last time and reached behind him. He found the second line and followed it to the end where he gripped the second regulator. He then brought it around in front of him and tested the button on top, producing a small explosion of bubbles. It was ready.
When Sally neared, Lightfoot let go of her fin and kicked forward with the momentum. He reached out and grabbed the thick Gumby suit to pull the figure closer to him. There was no movement at all.
Lightfoot immediately fingered the seal across the figure’s face and glanced at the second regulator in this right hand. The switch would have to be very fast.
Everyone on the stern of the Pathfinder waited impatiently, barely breathing. Alison stood on the edge, gripping the rail with both hands and staring intently down into the water. She couldn’t see anything. “Please,” she pleaded under her breath. “Pleeease!”
After a torturous silence, Lee broke the tension from his spot behind them. “I think they’re coming up!”
Alison ran to the screen and stared at Sally’s last message. We come back. She could barely stand it. She stepped back to the rail and tried to anticipate the steps. Lightfoot had to come up very slowly due to decompression. And if things were going well, he’d probably stop again about twenty feet down for the nitrogen to gas off. She glanced at her watch. They’d been down several minutes already, which meant the delay could either be good news, or very, very bad.
But if it were good, how on earth could anyone survive for that long underwater? A sudden, devastating thought occurred to her. What if the sound the dolphins heard was just some metal banging together? What if what Dirk was trying to bring up was simply someone’s remains?
Kelly stepped in next to her and wrapped an arm around Ali’s shoulders just as her knees began to weaken. “Easy, Ali,” she whispered.
But Alison never heard her. The fear of what Dirk might really be bringing back to them had just taken her breath away.
When Lightfoot appeared, he came without warning. Most of his ascent had been directly beneath the Pathfinder, so when he reached the surface, the crew jumped. They eagerly pulled him aboard, along with the orange figure floating next to him.
They lifted the figure up and onto the metal deck of the stern just as the ship’s doctor barged through.
“Move!” The doctor yelled and knelt down over the unconscious man.
Behind him, Alison pushed forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the man’s face. It was obscured by both the crew crowding before her as well as the Gumby suit’s oversized cap and face cover.
Doctor Khanna made several compressions against the person’s chest and then leaned back. “Get him onto his side!”
The crewmembers complied and rolled the figure onto his left side, allowing a small stream of seawater to drain from his mouth and lungs. When it had stopped, they quickly rolled him back onto his back, where Khanna performed CPR. After a full minute, he heard something and leaned back onto his knees, expectantly.
Finally, with a violent convulsion, John Clay coughed.
61
Clay’s eyes fluttered open painfully under the bright sun, and he quickly rolled his head away. Several silhouettes loomed over him, seemingly all speaking at once. Inside, his mind was racing, trying to piece together the last clear memories he had.
He had been below deck…with Krogstad. They were searching for someone, a crewmember, when the ship moved. It moved quickly. They could hear the flood of water coming. The suits were nearby. Thank god.
His mind skipped forward. He was under the water then surfaced again. Sounds of the surging water were all around him, and he was breathing through the suit. But he had to slow down. He was going to hyperventilate.
Clay suddenly convulsed and clasped the arm of one of the silhouettes above his head. The suit was out of air! He couldn’t breathe!
But he was breathing now. Clay drew in deeply. And that blinding glare was the sun. He was alive.
Clay was now fully aware and rolled his head back to center. He bent his arm over his eyes to block the bright light. Finally, the silhouettes became faces. He recognized one of them as Khanna. Clay’s memory scanned its data bank. Khanna was a doctor. But what was he doing here? He served on Emerson’s sh
ip. The Pathfinder. He blinked repeatedly and looked at the other faces.
There was only one other face that he recognized. And it was the only one he cared about at that moment: Alison.
She was peering over the shoulder of one of the crewmen with a desperate look on her face. When she saw Clay notice her, she tried to smile but lost it. Instead, she broke down and pushed through the others, falling onto her knees next to him.
Clay reached out and pulled her down onto his chest. He could hear her crying and wrapped his arms tightly around her. After a long moment, he pushed Alison up by the shoulders to look at her. Her eyes were filled.
A reassuring smile formed on Clay’s handsome face. “Well, that was close.”
Alison shook her head and covered her face with her hands. “For God’s sake, stop doing that!”
Dr. Khanna breathed a little easier and leaned back further to give them some room.
Clay watched Khanna stand up. “Where’s Krogstad?”
The doctor frowned. “They’ve gone back down for him.”
Breathing deep, Clay covered one eye with the heel of his hand. He was still down there. Then the memory flashed back. Krogstad had stopped moving long before Clay’s air ran out. He shook his head in sorrow.
“Where’s Borger?” He searched the faces of the people still kneeling around him. None of them knew of whom Clay was referring. Finally, Alison wiped her tears away and rose up, scanning the area. She spotted him at the back of the crowd and waved him in closer.
Borger came around in front of Clay then twisted his head to match Clay’s orientation. “Howdy, Clay.”
“Will, what happened?”
Borger took a deep breath. “Uh, well, the Bowditch sunk. And it almost took you with it.”
Clay nodded. “Thanks for finding me.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I could say ‘you’re welcome.’ But it wasn’t us.” Borger grinned at Alison.
“Dirk found you,” she said, with a sniff.
“Dirk?”
“He heard you banging on the wall.”
Clay furrowed his brow. He’d forgotten that part. “I’ll be damned.”
“I think you’re going to owe him a boatload of fish for this one,” Borger joked.
“Indeed.” His expression became serious. “Who hit us, Will?”
“The torpedo? I don’t know. But I agree with what you said earlier. The Forel was never designed for weapons. Unless it was done after the fact.”
“That’s what the brass is going to think.”
“They probably already are.”
Clay reached out to both Alison and Borger. “Help me up.” Once on his feet, he kept his hands on their shoulders, steadying himself. He spotted Captain Emerson, who stepped in towards him.
Emerson shook his head, smiling. “You have nine lives my friend.” He put his hand out. “Now I’m wondering how many you have left.”
Clay shook his outstretched hand. “Thanks for coming to the rescue.”
“Any time.” Emerson’s face turned somber as he glanced over at his crew. They were still standing in anticipation at the edge of the ship, waiting for Krogstad. Or more likely, Krogstad’s body. “I was supposed to call Langford,” Emerson commented. “But maybe you should instead.”
Langford picked up the call on the first ring. He was relieved to hear Clay’s voice and immediately asked about Krogstad. His voice became quiet when he heard they were still waiting. He was a Navy man, and he knew what that meant.
Clay changed the subject. “Sir, what’s our response?”
Langford knew he meant the U.S. military response. “We don’t know yet. We’re trying to figure that out. There are a lot of factors in play here.”
“I’m not so sure it was the Russians, sir. It would have taken a massive design change on the Forel.”
“Well, we know they’ve already modified some things on that sub. Now we need to find out how much. The CIA is on it. In the meantime, we’re considering our options.”
“Yes, sir. However, we appear to have another problem.” Clay looked at Borger as he spoke. “Borger says there’s a fire on top of our mountain, where the Chinese were sourcing whatever they took. A big fire.”
“Damn it.” Langford turned around, thinking. He was standing quietly in the corner of the President’s Situation Room. “How do you feel, Clay?”
“I feel fine,” he lied.
“What do you need?”
Clay peered at Alison and Borger as he spoke. “Some transportation.”
“Let me make some phone calls.”
62
It took them hours to finally reach the top of the mountain. With the vehicle’s powerful engine constantly roaring up the steep inclines, DeeAnn couldn’t even hear herself think. Next to her, both Dulce and Dexter were still trapped in their cages and fearfully peered through the steel bars. DeeAnn was trying to comfort them, but the noise was too loud for her vest to translate anything. It was without a doubt the longest ride of her life.
The smoke from the fire was extremely heavy due to the jungle’s damp air. Rather than rising, some of the brown layers descended outward and down the mountainside. And the thick smoke made their climb over the final hill even more shocking, when they finally saw the fire in curtains of wild dancing flames all around them. In some areas, it caused the dark smoke to glow a crimson red.
Once he had a full view, Alves’ driver stopped and everyone’s mouth fell open. The breadth of the destruction was immense.
Alves’ hope of a miracle promptly evaporated, and at the same moment, Dexter went completely ballistic. He screamed at the top of his tiny lungs and pulled even harder against the bars of his cage. His desperate hands searched the outside lock and frantically tried to finger it open.
Dulce was visibly shaking while watching Dexter. A helpless feeling washed over DeeAnn as she realized that she couldn’t help either primate. Both had devolved into full panic attacks, and no amount of training could help now.
A desperate Alves pushed open his door and jumped out onto the smoldering earth. He stood there in shock, watching the flames stretching up into the brown sky. No! NO!
From a distance, the black earth looked utterly lifeless. He could not even ascertain what had originally been on the ground before it was burned beyond all recognition. Alves abruptly pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his mouth to reduce his coughing.
Dexter was still screaming when Blanco’s man pulled the cages out of the back of the vehicle and dropped them onto the ground. DeeAnn spotted the fur around the capuchin’s miniature hands, soaked red with blood as he tried fiercely to move the bars. His dark pupils were wide with fear.
“Let them out!” DeeAnn screamed.
But Alves didn’t hear her. He and the other men were taking in the sheer destruction before them with a sense of awe. For Alves, the scene caused a gut wrenching sense of mortality. His mind tried to understand how something like this was even possible, here in the mountains of the Amazon.
Then both Alves and Blanco spotted it at the same time. Less than fifty yards away, lying on top of the burnt ground were boots. They were protruding out from behind a large group of rocks. One of the dark boots was pointing up with the other twisted sideways against the ground. Both men hurried across the scorched ground with Alves moving surprisingly fast without his cane.
When they rounded the enormous rock, the entire body became visible on the ground. Dressed in a gray, partially burnt uniform, the man was twisted onto his side and wearing a giant, mechanical pack. On it, they could see two metal tanks with a long hose dangling to the ground. The dead man remained motionless with his right cheek against the ground, goggles pulled down over his face. Both Alves and Blanco stared at the lifeless body with confusion.
The soldier’s face was frozen in a look of agony and part of the skin was blackened as well. Yet his characteristics were still clearly Chinese, with dark eyes gazing upward at the sky. The corps
e’s left arm was still under one of the straps, appearing as though the figure had been trying to get the pack off when he entered the eternal realm. Blanco circled around the body and pushed it over further with his boot. On the back of his uniform was a large patch of blood.
“He was shot from behind.”
Alves recognized the flamethrower and shook his head, dumbfounded. He was still holding the handkerchief over his mouth. “Why? Why would they do this? If they got here first, why would they destroy it?”
Blanco coughed and covered his mouth with his sleeve. He scanned the area and spotted another body further away, also on the ground. “Maybe they didn’t know what they were doing.”
Alves followed Blanco’s eyes to the second body. “Or they were used.”
“Or both.”
Alves stepped away before reaching down to pick up a scorched piece of vegetation off the ground. He wiggled his fingers and watched it break apart into pieces of ash and drift away.
Further down the slope, he could see a much larger section completely untouched by the fire. The soil looked lumpy, like it had been turned up. His eyes grew wide when he realized what it meant. Excavation!
Behind them, the sound of Dexter’s screaming abruptly ceased. They both whirled around and Alves’ face drained in a panic. “NOOO!” he screamed.
DeeAnn had managed to open the cage. Alves watched helplessly from a distance as Dexter bolted away from them and disappeared into a wisp of swirling brown smoke.
Alves was livid! With the area destroyed, the monkey’s genome was his last and only hope. “Get him!” he yelled to one of Blanco’s men who stood peering after the monkey, uncertain of what to do.
“GET HIM!”
The man gave a brief nod and ran after the monkey, disappearing into the smoke.
Alves stormed back up the small incline. DeeAnn, who had also let Dulce out of the second cage, stood defiantly, firmly grasping Dulce’s hand
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