66 Metres (19 page)

But it was already over. Had to be. He shouldn't have slept with her. What had he been thinking? That was just it. He hadn't been thinking at all. For a couple of days with Nadia, he'd even forgotten about Sean. Well, less than usual. But that had re-surfaced with a vengeance on the rooftop, what with the anniversary of his death just around the corner. He'd almost told her about it. Thank God he hadn't. He closed his eyes for a moment, thought about Sean, felt that hollowing in his stomach as always.

God, he missed his son.

But this was the Rose. He knew what it could do. Knew his duty. God and country. Fuck, had he ever left MI6? Evidently not. He'd get Pete to call off the dive, have the coastguard there when they got back. Mark Kennedy's suspicions about Nadia were already enough to take her in for questioning, especially since she'd implied to Mark that she'd been in Jake's bed when she hadn't. She could have burned Kennedy's down, then used Jake's group as an alibi. Could have? Wake up!
Must have
. Maybe sleeping with him was part of it. Russian agent's handbook, page one.

He'd been played.

He knew what he had to do. But for some reason he felt like shit. Like he was betraying her. Too bad. It was
the Rose
, for fuck's sake! If it fell into the wrong hands… And it was hardly going to fall into the right ones. You slept with a criminal, idiot!

He got up, one hand on the cylinder rack as the boat bounced off successive swells, and made his way to Pete and Ben at the console at the front of the RIB. He had to shout above the laboured drone from the two engines at the stern.

‘Wind's up. Force five, getting worse. We should abort.'

‘We're not blind, Jake,' Pete snapped. ‘Turn us around, Ben.' He gestured to the east. ‘How does diving Pirate's Cove sound for a Plan B?'

Jake shrugged. He glanced at Nadia. Damn, she looked like she still trusted him. He should say no, head back to shore, but something stopped him, and he realised what it was. He couldn't see the killer instinct in her. She seemed more like him, someone caught up in something, maybe against her will. He was probably deluding himself about her. But he couldn't turn her in right now. One last dive then. It would give him time to think about what to say to the coastguard, and the police. Lorne's phone was in his waterproof case under the console. He could call her on the way back, she'd sort it out. Give Nadia a couple more hours of freedom before they locked her away. His guts suddenly clenched at the thought of this girl behind bars, and a thought occurred that he regretted, because in his line of work it was treason. But it echoed in his mind.

Maybe he should just tell her to run.

‘Pirate's Cove,' he said. ‘Better than nothing,' he added.

Suddenly, the VHF blared. ‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Dolphin One, Dolphin One, Dolphin One. We're moored to the Excalibur. Lost two divers. Anyone, come in, please! Over.'

Pete snatched up the mike, then waited a few seconds. No one else replied. He turned to Jake. ‘Looks like it's us.' He pressed the mike switch while Ben gunned the engines.

‘Dolphin One, this is Subsea Divers, do you read, over?'

The answer came back immediately, crackling with static. ‘Pete, is that you? Thank God. Two divers missing, and I've got a boatload of… How far away are you? Over.'

Pete glanced at Ben who mouthed the answer. ‘Ten minutes. How long are they overdue? Any idea where on the wreck? Over.'

‘Twenty minutes. I dropped recalls into the water ten minutes ago when the weather deteriorated. No one surfaced. Pretty big swells here. They weren't meant to go inside the wreck, but the last two up said they saw them enter one of the hatches on the foredeck. Over.'

Pete turned to Jake, mike off. ‘Ben and I aren't kitted out, I don't even have my dry suit. Is she…?'

Suddenly Nadia was next to Jake.

‘I am,' she said. ‘And you can't send Jake down alone.'

Pete stared at her, then Jake.

Jake did two quick assessments. The first was easy. The Rose – and Nadia's arrest – could wait. This other situation was clear and present danger. Why was he relieved about that? Forget it. The second was harder. Nadia had gotten narked yesterday. But that was forty-eight metres. This was thirty, max. The Excalibur was an easier dive. Not relevant, at least not now. Maybe with this rescue act – if they were in time – the authorities might cut her some slack. He doubted it. MI6 weren't known for compassion. He nodded to Pete.

‘Get kitted up,' Pete said. ‘I'll alert the coastguard and call for a chopper. We go in fast, engines running. I'll disengage the propeller for ten seconds when you go in.'

Jake got Nadia into her gear first, while he briefed her. He had to concentrate, because he felt like he was lying to her. ‘We roll off on three. Hold everything down tight – mask, regulator – no air in our jackets so we sink fast, we meet at six metres. Got it?'

‘Got it,' she said

‘Repeat it.'

She made a face, but complied.

He heard Pete try first the coastguard, then Elise's boat to act as a relay, as they'd be closer to shore. He heard her voice, taut but clear. He knew her well enough, and the rest of the gang. They would come out, too.

He went through everything twice with Nadia while Pete helped him kit up, adding a smaller three-litre pony cylinder with a spare regulator on it. Spray drenched all of them every five seconds. He was pushing her, but she took it well.
Because she's been trained
. Occasionally she gave him a look, but he ignored it. He checked her gear, all the straps tight.

‘Check mine,' he shouted.

Ben yelled above the engines and the spray. ‘I see ‘em. Two minutes.'

Pete came back towards them and leaned close to Jake. ‘I'll drop a full cylinder with two
regulators on a ten-metre line. I want you hanging off that line or back aboard the boat within thirty minutes, or else we'll consider you're in trouble, too.' He attached a reel and line to Jake's stab jacket, and handed them each a torch with a securing lanyard.

‘Get ready!' Ben shouted, Pete joining him at the console.

The RIB slowed down, but not by much. Jake stared forward, and saw the small marker buoy bobbing up and down amongst the swells. The people on the other boat were waving, but it looked as if Ben was going to ram them. Never mind. He trusted Ben.

He sat on the edge of the boat's rubber tube facing Nadia, put his regulator in his mouth, and crossed his arms over his chest. The fingers of his left hand held his mask and regulator in place. The other hand kept the torch out of the way and held his inflate control. Nadia mirrored him.

‘Three,' Ben said, cutting the engines.

He made a show of taking a breath, and Nadia followed suit. A thought struck him. What if something happened to him down there?

‘Two!'

Lorne would figure it out.

‘One!' He looked deep into her eyes, the first time since this morning. She looked back. That openness again.

‘Go!'

The water hit hard and the sounds changed to dull churning noises and the rushing of water around his head. Jake spun once in the water as he sank, equalised the air in his mask and Eustachian tubes, and re-oriented himself. Nadia was below him, next to the line, almost as if she'd been waiting. This girl was good, no doubt about it. He couldn't do this and be second-guessing her all the time, he had to get into the zone, or the rescue would fail. Besides, the Rose wasn't going anywhere. So, while they were underwater, she was his buddy. Back on the surface, things would change. For the first time since leaving Old Smithy's, he felt centred again.

He glanced upwards. The two boats pitched up and down in the swells, the line alternately hanging loose then snapping taut. The skipper of Dolphin One might have to cut it loose. That was a problem for later, not now. He checked Nadia over, then gave the thumbs-down descent signal, which she returned. They descended headfirst, staying next to the line that jerked like a whip every few seconds, not touching it. The wreck of the destroyer
Excalibur
materialised out of the grey, its radio mast first, followed by the bridge and then the deck. A single hatch on the foredeck lay open. Small bubbles rose from it, drifting up to the surface like a reverse waterfall. The intact WWII ship was on a minor incline, the prow up a few metres higher than the stern forty metres aft. So the bubbles would travel through it. The divers could be anywhere. Inside the hatch was black: inviting and deadly. It beckoned to him. But a destroyer was always tight, full of sharp edges and pipes that cut, snagged and hooked. He and Nadia would have to proceed in single file down its narrow corridors.

They descended to the hatch. He shone his torch inside, then looked at Nadia's eyes, gauging how she was doing, looking for signs of fear or narcosis. None. He attached the end of the line to the hatch using a karabiner, and handed the reel to Nadia. He held out two forefingers, one in front of each other, pointing with the lead one to himself, the second to her. She nodded, signalled OK with her right hand. He paused a moment. It wasn't possible to say what he felt for her right now. But a thought occurred. Sean would have liked her. He'd have liked to dive with her. And Sean, even at fourteen years of age, the age he'd always be, had been very fussy about who he'd dive with.

On land you could speak. Underwater, just a few dumb signals and your eyes, nothing more. Maybe she'd played him, maybe it had been real. Down here things were less complicated, even feelings. Trouble, lies, deception – it all belonged to the surface world. He reached out and touched Nadia's shoulder. He saw by a slight flattening of her eyes that she smiled. She nodded towards the hatch. Jake stared into it – fully aware it could be the entrance to their grave – aimed his torch inside, switched on his strobe, kicked once with his fins and dove through headfirst.

The strobe flashed every second, creating a pale twilight, reminding him where the ceiling walls and floor were. It was omnidirectional, so it should be seen first by the lost divers. If they were still conscious. The narrow torch beam allowed him to navigate the twists and turns of the corridor, and avoid the jagged protrusions that would slice through his wetsuit and rip his flesh before pain had a chance to warn him.

He knew this wreck, having dived it a couple of times two years earlier – three decks, two main corridors, and sleeping quarters. Where would they have gone? Where would I have gone? Captain's quarters? Or the engine room, hunting for a souvenir? Both were up ahead. The bubbles still flowed, though there were less of them. Finning slowly, he resisted the urge to pull himself along inside the badly corroded ship, hoping Nadia would do the same.

Nadia's torch beam played just behind him, so he knew she was following. His strobe continued to flash, and up ahead the corridor descended down a flight of broken steps into a mess of mangled metal and rusted pipes, large boiler tanks and machinery. The engine room. Still the bubble-trail beckoned.
Idiots.
It looked as if part of the roof had caved in. They probably pulled on rusted metal pipes and struts, using them as handholds, and the ceiling collapsed on or after them. The way through no longer looked big enough for a fully-kitted diver, certainly not him. Maybe Nadia… No, that wasn't going to happen.

He glanced at his watch, noting the depth on his Suunto. The lost divers could still be alive, barely, if they hadn't gone into panic and consumed all their air. But this was risky, he was in danger of doubling a two-diver fatality. Still, he couldn't turn back. He flashed his torch left and right, up and down, into the depths of the engine room, then switched off his torch and waited. Nadia obscured hers as well. After the third strobe-flash, he saw it, the glint of a dim torch beam on the other side.

Turning around with some difficulty, he held up a vertical palm, telling Nadia to stay put. She shook her head vehemently. He closed his eyes for two seconds, opened them, and held up his palm again. She glared, then gave him the OK signal, but with only the middle finger sticking up. It made him smile. Sean would have liked her a lot. He undid the straps of his stab jacket, keeping his regulator in place, and released the smaller back-up pony cylinder from the main
harness, while Nadia watched. He switched regulators, using the pony bottle. No pressure gauge on it. He wouldn't know how full it was until, without warning, it was empty. Completely deflating the stab jacket, he wrapped it around the main tank and held it in front of him, and launched himself through mangled pipework.

Without any buoyancy it was difficult, lurching forward and then sinking. He hit his head twice on metal and something sharp pricked his abdomen as he fell to the cluttered floor. It hadn't punctured his wetsuit, so he ignored it. Then he saw the two divers, one male, and one female as far as he could tell, her long hair flowing from underneath her neoprene diving hood. They were buddy breathing off one tank – hers – taking it in turns. He got closer to them, but two steel girders criss-crossed his way. The two divers approached from the other side. He pushed the main tank with its two regulators through the gap. The two divers grabbed one each, and began sucking air heavily, their eyes wide.

Jake let them breathe a while, then made the OK signal, lighting it up with his torch without shining the beam in their eyes. He knew they were anything but okay, but he had to get them to act like divers, to feel as if they had some semblance of control. They responded, returning the signal, though for both of them it was pretty shaky. He noticed the female staring at him, presumably realising he had no stab jacket on, and was breathing off a pony tank. These weren't experienced divers. It was going to be difficult to persuade them to do the same. They were agitated, eyes scared, her hand closed tight around her partner's, both of them shifting nervously, making unnecessary movements. Burning air.