by Chris Ryan
All was going to plan, but one tiny thing surprised him. It was taking quite a bit of throttle to get the boat up to speed. Surely Bowman wasn't that heavy. Reaching the position he had aimed for, he checked his hand-held GPS and cut the engine. The boat drifted.
He kneeled in the boat, got his hands under Bowman's shoulders, tarpaulin and all, and heaved, lifting him up onto the edge of the boat. His head flopped into the water. The hit man tipped the rest of him in quickly, in case the cold water brought him round. As he did so, something fell out of Bowman's pocket. The hit man gave it barely a glance; it looked like a small coin.
Bowman sank, the green tarpaulin billowing up and distorting as if it was boiling. The weight belt ensured he sank quickly and he was soon out of sight.
The hit man turned away. Time to go.
The small silver tracer glinted in the sunlight on the floor of the boat.
Alex had to act fast. As soon as the hit man cut the engine, he was ready. Sure enough, the boat began to rock as the hit man prepared to throw Bowman's body overboard.
Alex let go of the rope and rapidly pulled the magnets off the hull while the boat was rocking above him. He let the two scooters drift slowly down. A head and shoulders appeared over the side of the boat, a trail of bubbles coming from the lips. Alex would have to work fast.
Moments later Bowman was floating down, the tarpaulin cocooned around him. Alex swam strongly towards him. It was like catching someone falling from a high building in slow motion; every second counted. His hand met the tarpaulin and he thrust it aside. Where was Bowman's face? He couldn't find it. The tarpaulin was like a giant, live curtain, moving with a mind of its own. He could feel something inside it struggling, but whenever he grabbed at it he only caught empty material. What if Bowman died here and now because Alex wasn't quick enough?
Then Alex saw Bowman's face; his mouth and eyes shut in tight lines. Tiny bubbles were escaping from his mouth. Alex pushed the regulator of Li's emergency air supply into Bowman's mouth and pinched the man's nose to force him to breathe correctly through it.
He waited. Was Bowman still conscious?
Suddenly, the big man came to life, his hands flying to the regulator. He began to take big, desperate gulps.
Alex had Li's mask on his arm. He put it over Bowman's face and the man took over, adjusting the mask so that it was comfortable. Alex relaxed. Bowman was OK and, what's more, he knew how to handle the equipment. Alex handed him Li's BCD and Bowman struggled into it.
It was only then that Alex realized he could stop worrying about the plan. It had worked. Li had successfully managed to swap the sleeping pills with Neil Hearst's vitamins.
Alex scribbled on his slate. Friend. He pointed to himself.
Bowman gave him a thumbs-up. The tarpaulin fell away from him like a cloak. He looked rather comical underwater in his shirt and suit trousers, making Alex think of a stunt man.
Wait here, he wrote on the slate. Then he dived down after the sea scooters, powering like mad with his fins to catch them up as they sank into the deep blue. He grabbed them and pulled them back up. Glancing up to the surface, he checked that the motorboat had gone. The hit man thought he had done his job. Bowman was safe – for now.
But there was another problem to contend with. They didn't have much air. Li's rebreather obviously couldn't be used because the mouthpiece was wet – which also meant they couldn't buddy-breathe with Alex's. After Li's emergency tank ran out, there was Alex's own emergency supply and that was it. Twenty minutes' air total.
He wished they could get moving themselves, but he didn't know how far they were from the shore. Anyway, while they were underwater, the others couldn't see their trace, so swimming off would be pointless. Since the team had his co-ordinates from when the boat had stopped, they knew their position and would be coming. They had to stay where they were and just wait.
He hoped they would come quickly.
'Surely,' said Amber, 'the trace should have gone. He should be out of the boat and underwater with Alex by now.' She pulled on a pink sweater. Now the sun had set, it was colder.
Hex zipped up his black fleece. 'It's about ten seconds since you last asked. Look, it's still moving.' He showed her the screen. The small dot that was the tracer Bowman was wearing when loaded onto the motorboat was still moving steadily.
'I don't like it, it's taking too long,' said Paulo.
'Bowman hasn't gone in yet,' said Hex steadily. 'We'll see the trace vanish when he does.'
They settled back to wait.
Alex looked at his dive computer. They'd been waiting for ten minutes. He checked the dial on Bowman's tank. Nearly empty. He quickly pulled his own off his BCD and set it up so that Bowman could switch to his emergency tank. Bowman gave him a worried look; clearly he knew that air tanks weren't supposed to run out that quickly.
Alex stayed calm; he had to give him confidence. But as he swapped the tank it was like a final countdown starting. Ten minutes and then that was it – they would have to surface and take their chances. In the open water, even with the small scooters, they could be swept around by the current. Their strength would go and they would be far more at risk of drowning. Down here they had more control.
He looked into the miles of sea around him and the blue glowing surface and wished he could conjure up the white boat. Had something gone wrong? The sea scooters hung below him on their lanyards, drifting gently in the current. How far away was the bottom? The green tarpaulin had vanished, tumbled away into the blue. Had it floated all the way down or was it still going? Alex shuddered. He felt very alone.
Bowman pointed to Alex's slate and pencil. He wanted to write a message. Alex handed them over and Bowman drew a noughts and crosses grid, then put an X in the middle to start a game.
Alex took the slate back and marked a nought in the bottom left-hand corner before handing it back. He hoped they wouldn't have to play for very long.
22
WAITING GAME
Li loaded some glasses onto a tray. She had to keep busy, stay inconspicuous.
The Black Gold was quiet, just as it had been before. You'd hardly guess that the occupants had just sent a man to his death.
She kept doing sums in her head. It was about half an hour since the hit man had left with Bowman. The others had to pick Bowman up first – so it would probably be another twenty minutes to half an hour before they got to her. The waiting was hard.
The same set of thoughts kept going round in her head. Maybe she should grab one of the yacht's jet skis and make a run for it. No, that was silly; she wouldn't know where to go; nor did she know how much fuel they had. The ocean was a big place to get lost in, and if her escape attempt failed, she would have blown her cover. No, she had to stick to the plan: stay and wait for the others.
At least it should be easier now they didn't have to get Alex and Bowman off. Hex and Paulo could sweep in close on their own jet skis and she could slip into the water and just wait for them to get close enough for her to climb on too. The jet skiers would look like tourists on holiday, coming over to the yacht out of simple curiosity. It should be simple.
Better do something. She took the tray of glasses out of the galley and into the dining room. Neil Hearst was there, kneeling in front of one of the cupboards. He hadn't seen her. She froze, her sixth sense telling her to stay hidden. Inside the cupboard was a safe. He twisted the dial to and fro to open it, then put in a sheaf of papers tied with pink legal ribbon. Finally he closed it.
Li ducked back into the galley, her heart pounding in time with the pot bubbling on the stove. There was only one thing those papers could be – the documents Bill Bowman had been forced to sign.
It hadn't occurred to her before to go for the documents, but here she was with time on her hands. And she knew where they were. If she could take them, they would be very useful evidence.
If she could.
Sometimes it seemed as though Li wasn't in command of her skills – they were
in charge of her. Without thinking, she'd memorized the combination of the safe.
But first she needed to take the glasses to the dining room.
Bowman drew the last stroke of a stick figure hanging from a gallows. They were now playing Hangman. Alex had run out of lives trying to guess the word.
Bowman wiped out what was on the slate, then wrote three dashes.
Alex decided to try guessing a whole word instead of individual letters. Reaching for the slate, he wrote Oil, then passed it back.
Bowman drew the first part of the scaffold. Not right.
Alex tried again. He was a bit rusty on technique. The last time he'd played had been a few years back at school. He had certainly never thought he'd find himself underwater, waiting for rescue and playing Hangman with a man whose life he'd just saved.
Bowman was waiting for an answer. Alex wrote: E.
Bowman put an E in the middle of the word. Alex could have sworn that inside the mask the grey eyes were twinkling with amusement.
Alex suddenly twigged. Wet! he wrote.
Bowman gave him a thumbs-up.
Alex's turn. Words he didn't really want to share leaped unbidden into his head. Time, and Air. No, he thought. Paulo and the others had to be on their way. He knew the tracers worked. Still, he looked at his dive computer again. Bowman only had about seven more minutes of air and now there wasn't much left in Alex's rebreather either. He'd had to spend far more time underwater than they'd originally planned for.
Bowman was waiting. Alex marked out a five-letter word.
E, Bowman guessed.
Alex wrote it in. Bowman thought for a moment, then seemed to read Alex's mind. Steak, he tried.
Alex grinned; his turn to give a thumbs-up.
Bowman took the slate again and marked five spaces. Without hesitation, Alex took it back and wrote Chips. Bowman nodded vigorously. The two of them hung there laughing, diver style, air hoses pulsing, Alex's torch wobbling, bubbles shooting out of Bowman's regulator.
Alex stopped, but Bowman seemed to carry on just as intensely. Something didn't look right; Bowman was patting his chest, thumping it as though in discomfort.
Alex felt like the water around him had turned to ice. Was the oil chief having a heart attack? They had to surface. He grabbed the slate and wrote: Stay calm. Breathe OUT.
Bowman nodded, his grey eyes wide behind the mask.
The BCDs had an emergency cord. Alex pulled Bowman's then his own and the BCDs inflated like lifejackets, shooting both of them upwards. It was all Alex could do to remember to breathe out as they rose rapidly through the water. He hoped Bowman had; if he breathed in, he could burst something in his lungs.
Moments later they were on the surface and the world suddenly became loud and wide. The scooters hung down, dragging in the water. With the BCD holding him up, Alex didn't have to tread water but waves were splashing in his face. He kept his mask on so he could see but pulled off his mouthpiece and swam to Bowman. He pulled Bowman's mask up and put it on his forehead – the diver's signal for trouble. Bowman was breathing hard now, still clutching his chest. Alex's own heart was doing somersaults. Would Bowman die out here after all?
Alex didn't know what to do about heart attacks, but he did know that it was always important to keep the airway open. He turned Bowman onto his back and tilted his head back, the way he'd been taught in Duke of Edinburgh Award life-saving sessions. Bowman coughed and spluttered, his eyes rolling, his breathing harsh and ragged. He was trying to swim. Alex put his arms around him to steady him. 'Keep still,' he said. 'The lifejackets will keep us afloat. Rescue will be here soon.'
Bowman nodded. Alex could feel him trying to relax, but every now and again a spasm passed through his chest. Alex felt his legs twitch and kick in the water.
'Have you had this before?' Alex asked. But a spasm gripped Bowman and he couldn't answer.
What if Bowman stopped breathing? Alex wondered if he could give the kiss of life, out there in the water. He looked around at the horizon. It was dark. He hadn't noticed while they were underwater, but night was falling fast. They were out in the sea, in the dark. If they weren't picked up soon, they were bound to die.
Bowman relaxed.
'Has it gone?' Alex asked him.
Bowman nodded. His eyes were wide; frightened.
'Is it your chest?' Alex asked.
Bowman shook his head. It was as if he was afraid to talk in case he set off the pain again. Still, at least he didn't look as if he was suffering for the moment.
Alex patted his jacket. The torch still hung off it. He flashed it around. It still worked. If he saw any boats nearby at least he had something to signal with.
He shortened the lanyard so that it held the torch near his face, then froze. There was a white triangle sticking out of the water, like a tooth.
Not a tooth. A fin.
A shark.
Of course. Sharks were drawn to feeble, weak movements – they thought it was something dying. Bowman's thrashing must have attracted one. And it was evening.
Feeding time.
23
VICTORY
Li kneeled by the safe. Her fingers worked quickly on the dial, twisting it back and forth until she heard a faint click as the tumblers dropped into place and she felt the door release. She'd done it. She was in.
She pulled the heavy door open and pulled out the documents, then swiftly closed it again. She heard a noise behind her and got to her feet, picking up the tray and holding it over the papers.
Hearst was standing by the door when she got there, his arm barring the way. Had he seen her? No. He wasn't looking at the tray. Or even her face. He was looking at her legs in the short black dress.
Li kept her eyes down. That way she'd look shy – and maybe he'd think she didn't understand. She nodded in the direction of the galley, as though trying to indicate she needed to go back there.
Hearst let her pass, but she could feel his eyes on her as she went.
Luckily the galley was empty. Li slipped inside and stood to the side of the door, hoping that Hearst would assume that the chef would be in there too. Once he'd gone she'd slip out.
But for now she had the documents.
Alex had the sea scooter in front of him, Bowman clinging onto his waist. As they zoomed through the water they made a wake like a small boat. A spray of seawater washed over them like a constant tidal wave. Alex's ears buzzed; the scooter made a noise like a drill on the surface.
The shark's fin was still alongside them. It was matching his speed. He would have to do more.
He turned roughly in a big circle. The shark carried on, its fin zipping past him, like a saw through the water. Alex turned even more sharply and the scooter almost wrenched his arms out of their sockets. He held on for dear life and powered out of the turn.
Bowman gripped his waist even tighter. Alex felt him curling up – had the pain hit him again? Heart attacks could be brought on by stress – and this wasn't likely to help matters. 'Sorry, mate,' he muttered under his breath. 'It's this or be eaten by the shark.'
He glanced up. The shark was further away. He knew sharks could swim fast but he also knew they weren't very manoeuvrable.
Bowman's grip was slipping from around his waist. Alex wanted to pull him up like a slipping garment but he didn't dare let go – the sea scooter was so powerful he needed all his strength to control it. Then Bowman coughed and tightened his hold.
The shark was coming for them again. Alex whipped around in another circle, holding onto the handlebars like grim death. He felt his legs wave out like the back end of a car.
Bowman slipped away.
In the constant noise, the constant wash of fast water, it took Alex a few moments to realize there were no longer arms hanging onto him. He cut the throttle and looked round.
And thought he was seeing a mirage. On the water, lit by glowing torches, was a jumble of figures. They separated into two jet skis with riders. One rider was leaning
into the water and hoisting Bowman out. The other was coming towards him.
A strong pair of arms topped by a head of curly hair leaned down like a circus rider and pulled Alex out of the water. Alex grabbed the back seat of the jet ski and clambered on. The two sea scooters dangled from him, bumping against the hull as Paulo pulled away.
Alex leaned forward and yelled in Paulo's ear, 'Get going – shark!'
Paulo grinned back at him. 'Believe me, hombre, I've seen it.' But as they glanced towards the sinister fin, they could see it was moving away. Now they were on the jet skis, they could outrun it.
