by Andy Lucas
'A boat, coming fast,' he explained to Hammond, who did not bother to turn around and look with his naked eyes. 'They either already know we're here or they're taking a chance and heading out to see if they can catch us before we make a rendezvous with anyone.'
'I should keep my bloody mouth closed and not tempt the Heavens. Next time I do, you have my permission to pop me in the jaw.'
'Never,' Pace chuckled, feeling the anxiety melt away as the need for immediate action kicked in.
'Time for a swim, James. That water looks cold though. Maybe we should just surrender?'
Pace did not bother to spin around and look at his friend to see the sly look on his red, chilled face. Hammond knew surrender was the last thing either of them would contemplate, even to a friendly nation. Too many questions would be asked with very few good answers that could be offered.
The ocean was iron grey, waves lessened now to crests of just over a metre. Still rough but both men would be able to cope with it. Pace found himself, just for a moment, suddenly back off the Antarctic again where they had both floated for miles in inflatable immersion suits; using them as individual lifeboats and surviving to make landfall against all odds. The same suit had also protected him from the extreme cold of an unpressurised, high altitude aeroplane flight.
What I wouldn't give for one of those suits now, he mused wryly.
The next few minutes passed in fast, organised activity. Pace double checked that every piece of their equipment was stowed securely in the webbing or in the small compartments beneath the bench seat. The sun was well above the horizon by now, visible in widening patches as the cloud layer started to evaporate.
The rain was a distant memory as the two men prepared to take another huge gamble with their lives.
'If she's out here, we must be close,' decided Hammond. 'I'm up for another challenge, if you are?'
'I plan to get home and see Sarah,' replied Pace. 'That won't happen from the inside of a Uruguayan jail cell. Let's stop wasting time, shall we?' His smile belied the seriousness of what they were about to attempt. Pace had years of service in the RAF, including survival training, and Hammond was a seasoned adventurer. Neither of them, however, were Special Forces soldiers nor were they trained to do what it was they were about to attempt. It was almost suicidal.
Hammond killed the engine while Pace opened the valves. Immediately air hissed out and the little rubber boat began to wallow clumsily, caught in the grip of the rolling waves. Designed to skip across the surface at speed, without its buoyancy, grey, icy water was very soon pouring in over the sides. Within thirty seconds, helped by the weight of the two occupants and several hundred pounds of assorted gear, it sank.
More quickly than he'd imagined, Pace was in the ocean. The cold crushed his chest as if he'd just been smashed on the sternum with a sledgehammer and he experienced a rare moment of panic when his lungs refused to draw breath. Beside him, Hammond splashed into the water. By the look on his horrified face, he was experiencing the exact same phenomenon.
As the boat sank beneath the surface, its body still holding at least half of the air in its bladders, they fumbled to replace the valve stops. Hanging onto it by handles on the sides; the same ones that had saved their lives earlier when the boat capsized, its descent halted.
Pace forced himself to calm down and focus on breathing. At first, the freezing water threatened to end their escapade immediately but finally, in slow, laboured gasps, both men forced their bodies to stay alive and breath.
Even above the crashing of waves and slapping of water in their exposed faces, a new sound was growing louder in their ears. A powerful engine, approaching at speed. They could not see the vessel now they were actually in the water but it wouldn't take long to reach them, not by the sound of it.
'Maybe they'll drive right on past,' wondered Pace. He wanted to smile but could not. Strangely, for the first time, the thought that he might actually die flashed across the front of his mind. He forced it aside and gathered his wits. 'Or maybe it's just going to end up being a friendly little fishing boat after all.'
'Great. They will have the strangest catch in their nets if you're right, James. Come on,' he added, serious but empty-eyed, 'we need to get going.'
Their plan for breathing underwater had been simple. Two rubber tubes came as attachments to the valves, allowing someone to add air manually by blowing into the bladders. The valve design, Hammond knew, worked both ways. As a military version, they could be used to provide underwater breathing air for several minutes in exactly the way they were about to try.
They screwed in the tubes and shared a knowing look at each other before both men cast a final, hopeful look up at the sun and clearing skies. Perhaps it would be the last time they every saw it. Without face masks, they knew the visibility under the surface would be poor. They would only be able to see large shapes and hopefully one of these would be the Royal Navy coming to save them.
'It's been another fun ride,' puffed Hammond, teeth chattering suddenly. 'Now let's swim around in the dark for a few minutes and hail ourselves a cab home.'
Pace nodded. There was no more to be said as he clamped his lips firmly around the end of the tube, upended and kicked hard beneath the agitated surface.
16
By the time the patrol boat reached the spot where its eagle-eyed look out had seen a small boat, apparently sinking, there was no trace of anything. The water was empty. Circling for a few minutes, it soon became clear that nobody was coming back up. Whoever the strangers were, or what they wanted, had drowned with them. Radioing the news back to base, it headed back to shore.
Beneath its receding keel, static in the water at a depth of fifteen feet, every breath the men drew from the bladders sent the little boat sinking a little deeper.
The cold was vicious, biting into their bodies like gnashing jaws. All thoughts of swimming around to try and find the submarine had long since died. It was all either of them could do to hang on to the handles and not let go.
Pace felt his thoughts slowing tangibly with every passing second. Along with his grasp on reality, he suddenly began to experience the strangest sensation of warmth coursing through him. His headache faded and he found himself relaxing. His fingers called out for him to let go of the handles and just drift down; to become one with the ocean.
His vision, already blurred by the stinging seawater, began to dissolve completely and a sensation of peace enveloped him. In reality, what he was feeling were the final stages of hypothermia. Something began tugging at his right arm. Turning his head, a dark shape was next to him. He had the thought that it might be Hammond but his mind was so foggy, he hardly cared.
Something brushed against his face and his air hose was suddenly pulled from his mouth while a moulded regulator was pressed back in its place. A face mask was slipped over his eyes while something prised his hand free from the handle of the Zodiac.
Near to death, he had no energy left to resist. Something deep inside told him everything would be alright, especially as the enriched oxygen content from a scuba tank started to peel away the lethargy enough for him to blow the water free from his face mask, allowing him to see clearly.
Still disoriented and confused, he saw two divers in the water. One was pulling him by the hand while the other had the familiar shape of Hammond in tow. Up ahead, and still five metres below them, the massive bulk of a submarine filled his newly-found vision.
The sight of it stirred his blood and dragged the last drops of adrenaline out of his glands, giving him a final burst of strength. Kicking as hard as he could, they were soon standing on the horizontal front section of the submarine. An imposing, circular hatch stood open and the divers wasted no time pulling them all down inside, closing the hatch behind them without the expected resounding clang. Even the air lock hatches had been upgraded with noise-suppressing materials; no expense spared by the McEntire Corporation.
That was the last Pace remembered until he surfaced fro
m unconsciousness several hours later, lying on a comfortable single bed in a well-equipped, spacious sickbay wrapped tightly in a foil sheet, beneath two layers of blankets. His head still pounded and his mouth felt like he had recently chewed his way through several feet of dry wall.
Slowly, as his vision cleared, he managed to ignore the sickening thumping behind both eyes. It was then that he realised the room was filled with concerned bodies. Pace also managed to turn his head on the pillow and found himself staring into the decidedly battered looking face of Max Hammond, occupying the adjacent bed. The smile that cracked on Hammond's face was etched with pain.
'You finally awake, Sleeping Beauty? I was getting a bit tired of taking the limelight all by myself.'
'Can't imagine that,' croaked Pace. 'I don't know about you, Max, but I've got a troupe of flamenco dancers practising a routine in my head.'
'Mine have stopped now,' Hammond replied. 'They were very active a few minutes ago until our kindly angel gave me a shot. I'm feeling much better now.' On closer inspection, Hammond's pupils looked a little dilated. 'You should try it.'
'Yes you should, James. You and Max need to rest for a few hours. Your body temperatures went far too low, for too long. If we hadn't found you when we did, you would both be sleeping with the fish for the rest of eternity.'
The voice, sweet and soft, cut through his headache, forcing Pace to turn his head back around the other way. On that side of his bed, standing a few feet away, he met Shannon Busby for the first time.
His faculties had returned enough for his rational mind to be working smoothly. They were obviously in the submarine and the dark shapes were scuba divers who had found them in the nick of time. Her kind eyes and gentle tones immediately put him at ease and he felt his tense shoulders relax back into the mattress.
'Happy to have some of whatever you gave Max,' Pace tried a crooked smile but ended up pulling a facial expression akin to a stroke victim at the height of an episode. The skin on his face, and the muscles beneath, were still too cold to respond normally.
Shannon felt a pang of sympathy wash over her at the expression from the man in the bed. All she had been given; all that Commander Appleby had been allowed to know by his secretive masters, was their first names. They had also, yet again, been expressly forbidden to question their new guests. Appleby's orders were very specific on that count. She knew James's name and felt, strangely, that she'd met him somewhere before but could not put her finger on it.
Preparing a shot of painkiller, she flipped up the cover on the Venflon already neatly taped into the crook of his right elbow, and infused it directly into his bloodstream. The peripheral venous catheter, to cite its clinical name, had been set up on both men the moment they had been stripped, dried, wrapped up and settled into their beds. They each had one in both arms; one to feed a saline drip, the other for the easy administration of drugs.
As a sensation of heat moved up Pace's arm and out across his entire body, he felt himself falling for a brief moment before catching himself. The room spun and he clenched his teeth to prevent himself going under. The drug had other ideas and Pace soon faded from consciousness again.
When he awoke the second time, he felt almost himself again. Instantly alert, senses on immediate overtime, he sat bolt upright in the bed before a wave of dizziness told him it would be far more sensible to lie back down for a minute to two, which he did. Twisting his head, the bed next to him was now empty; neatly made up for the next medical emergency.
On closer inspection, the sickbay was not as large as he'd first thought. Three beds were lined up against one wall, each served by a monitor and catheter station. A small nursing station stood over by the exit door while the remaining walls were crammed with fitted cupboards, themselves brimming with drugs and medical supplies. There was even a fold-down operating table secured against the far wall, complemented by a compact rack of shiny surgeon's tools and an in-built anaesthetic pump.
Pace had sensed, more than seen, several people in the room when he'd come to the first time. Now, there was only one; Shannon Busby. She had been seated at the nurse station, checking the results of his recent ECG, when his sudden movement caught her attention. By the time he settled his shoulders back down on the bed and the room had stopped moving again, she was at his bedside.
'How are you feeling now, James? You look a lot better and your core temperature is back up to normal.' She did not give him any time to respond before continuing with her questions. 'How's that headache? I gave you an infusion of morphine which is why you passed out. I'm afraid your vital signs were still poor so I thought it best to make you sleep a little longer.'
'Is that what you gave Max too?' She shook her head, her clear eyes staring down at him with honest intensity. 'That's favouritism.' He felt himself smiling up at her involuntarily. This time, his face followed the instructions from his brain and formed into genuine grin.
'Maybe I like you more than your friend, eh?' She smiled back. Then, seriously. 'He wasn't in as bad a way as you. His core temperature was almost a degree higher than yours when we got you both to sickbay. He needed something for the pain but I got away with a shot of ibuprofen and codeine. It worked well but did not put him to sleep.'
'Poor you,' Pace sat up more gingerly this time, waving Shannon away when she leaned forward to help him up. 'No, I'm fine, really. Thank you anyway,' he added, not wanting to appear rude. 'Hopefully Max didn't talk your ear off. He can't stop blabbing when he comes across a pretty nurse.'
Shannon stepped away from the bed and regarded him carefully. 'Being a nurse on this vessel is just one of my roles, James. I need to get back to the bridge as soon as possible. Do you feel well enough to get up and move about yet?'
Pride suitably stung, Pace showed how ready he was; swinging his legs out from under the blankets. Only then did he realise two things. First, the foil wrap had gone. Second, he was as naked as the day he'd been born. Unfazed, he stood up from the bed and shook himself down, stretching his fingers and wiggling his toes in a bid to recover himself fully, sucking in a couple of deep, cleansing breaths.
Shannon had been the one who'd stripped both men but she had been far too busy at the time, trying to save their lives, to pay their bare flesh any heed. Now, oddly embarrassed by Pace's naked ease with her, she averted her gaze and turned smartly on her heels, walking back over to the door whilst keeping her back to him.
'Do you have anything I can wear?' came the enquiring voice behind her. 'I don't mind being naked at all but I think it's probably better for everyone aboard if I'm not.' Just as the last words left his lips, Pace spotted a neatly folded grey coverall at the foot of his bed. 'Ah, no need to say anything,' he added apologetically. 'I should learn to look around me before asking stupid questions.'
'You're clearly well enough to stand so I'm going to leave you for a few minutes to get dressed,' said Shannon, resisting the urge to turn around and look at him again. A delicious shiver that chose that very moment to run down her spine, ending securely in her lower abdomen, made it a hard job to resist. Silently cursing herself for feeling like a flustered teenager, Shannon opened the door, stepped outside and closed it quietly behind her.
Pace was totally oblivious to Shannon's feelings. He was completely focused on the sloth that haunted his muscles. With his nurse off for a while, he chose to run through a short sequence of stretching exercises which raised his heart rate enough to shake of the last remnants of the morphine. The coveralls, zipped at the front like the pair his nurse was wearing, were a reasonably good fit. The underwear provided; old-fashioned Y-fronts, were a little tight so he did not bother with them. The socks and rubber-soled deck shoes were a much better fit.
When Shannon returned, knocking politely on the door and announcing herself before entering, Pace was dressed and raring to go.
'If you're up to it, Commander Appleby would like to see you in his cabin. Max, I believe, is already in there.'
Pace was keen to see H
ammond again and find out everything he could about the submarine and what was going to happen next. 'Lead on, please. I'm sorry, I don't know your name?'
'It's Shannon. I'm the submarine's first officer. Miss Busby, if you prefer?'
'Thank you again, Shannon, for everything. Let's go and see your captain.'
'Commander,' she corrected him lightly.
'Of course.'
Shannon led him down several wide corridors; Pace was amazed at the space and open layout, eventually arriving outside Appleby's quarters. The door was standing open, ready to receive him.
Motioning him forward, she smiled encouragingly. 'I have no idea who you are, or why we just saved your lives, but Commander Appleby is a good man. You should trust him.'
Pace placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, sending electrical sparks flying down her arm and quickening her pulse. 'I will always be very grateful to you for what you've done for us. I will tell your commander what I can but I can't afford to trust anyone until I know more about them, sorry. It's not personal.'
Then he was gone, stepping inside the cabin and closing the door behind him, leaving Shannon alone outside. Feeling a mixture of excitement, stupidity and frustrated anger at the secrets James was unwilling to share with her, she sighed and made her way back to her station, up on the bridge.
Within moments of settling back into her command chair, she lost herself in her job and James, for a while, could be forgotten.
17
McEntire was fully back in control, albeit from his bed. Under strict medical orders not to exert himself, he had summoned his personal assistant to his bedside, complete with secure laptop and encrypted satellite phone.
It had only been a couple of days since his surgery and he remained on a high dose of pain medication. He also found that he could only work for twenty minutes at a time before getting out of breath and needing a sleep. Even this level of work was discouraged by his surgeon but McEntire was determined to get back in the saddle.
