Collision Course (8 page)

"Hold it right there!" Frank commanded.

"Now play it in slow motion." They could see the low-slung profile of the race car as it gradually emerged from the tunnel. "It's hard to tell from this angle," Frank noted, "but it looks like he's moving a little."

"Like he lost control before he hit the turn," Joe said. "And it seems like he's awfully low in the cockpit. You can barely see the top of his body. " 'Like he was unconscious and slumped over?" Frank suggested. The videotape kept rolling in slow motion, and they watched the race car push out the guardrail if it were sliding through a wall of butter.

"I wish we had a better camera angle," Frank muttered.

The car rolled slightly to one side as it fell toward the water. "Now you can't see him at all!" he complained.

"Great shot of the axles, though," Joe tried to joke.

As gruesome as it was, they replayed the seen several times, looking for anything they have missed. "Okay, Callie," Frank finally said. "You can shut it off. This isn't going to tell enough."

"Looks like it's time to go diving," Joe said.

"Looks that way," Frank agreed.

They left the videocassette with Callie and headed home to pick up some equipment.

"scuba gear's loaded in the back," Joe said as he climbed into the van's passenger seat.

"Good," Frank replied. He was already behind the wheel, and the engine was running. "Let's get going." He backed the van out of the driveway and headed down the street.

When they got to the end of the block, Frank turned left. "Hey, this isn't the way to the marina!" Joe protested. "Aren't we going to the boat?"

Frank smiled. "I thought we'd take the route."

Joe glanced at Frank and knew he wasn't going to get any more information out of him. So he passed his time reading the street signs and trying to second-guess his older brother.

After a few minutes Joe said, "Frank, I think you just made a wrong turn. This road leads to — " "I know," Frank nodded. "You want to take a look at McCoy's car, and I want to take another look at the crash site." He turned the wheel Sharply and the van swerved onto an old dirt road.

' They bumped along the twin ruts for a couple of miles, until they came in sight of Barmet Bay. "I'd forgotten about this old access road," Joe said as he opened the back door of the van and started to take out the scuba gear.

"Good thing I didn't," Frank said, hoisting a coil of thick rope. "With the highway blocked off for the race, we would have had a long walk."

Frank crouched down to look at something. "What is it?" Joe asked.

"It looks like someone else has been here recently," Frank replied, running his hand along the ground. "Footprints."

Joe shrugged. "Probably somebody came up for the view. Come on. Let's get moving."

The two brothers clambered down a steep incline to the paved road that skirted the cliff. They then followed the road around the hairpin turn. Joe stopped by a pair of wooden barriers with Hashing emergency lights bolted to them. They were blocking the ragged gash in the guardrail where McCoy had crashed.

Frank kept walking all the way to the tunnel, scanning the roadway as he went. "Just as I thought!" he shouted. "There aren't any skid marks!" He trotted back to where Joe was standing. "Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah," Joe nodded. "Either he didn't even-hit the brakes or nothing happened when he did. He just plowed over the edge without slowing down."

"And that means it definitely wasn't an accident," Frank added, moving around the saw-horses.

"You'd think someone like Arno or the police would have noticed that," Joe said.

Frank shrugged. "They had already decided it was an accident. They weren't really looking for anything else."

He motioned to Joe. "It looks like we can climb down most of the way without using the rope."

"Then what?" Joe asked.

"Then you put on the scuba gear and I lower you down into the water."

"Why don't I lower you down?" Joe suggested hopefully, slinging the bulky air tank over his shoulder. He didn't care much for the idea of rappeling down the cliff in a wet suit with that thing on his back and flippers on his feet.

"Because that's not part of my plan," Frank insisted. "If you don't like it, you can think up the plan next time."

They worked their way down to a rather large ledge with a single scraggly tree that grew up against the cliff. Frank lashed the rope to the tree trunk to support Joe's weight while Joe put on the scuba gear. He double-checked the pressure in the tank, ran his hand over the air hose, and tested the regulator by breathing through it to make sure he was getting air from the tank.

"Okay, I'm ready," Joe announced when he was sure everything was in working order.

Frank tied the other end of the rope around Joe's chest, under his armpits. Then Frank took a firm stance with his legs wide apart and his knees slightly bent. Standing with his back to the tree, he wound the rope once around each of his arms and gripped the line tightly.

"I'll do most of the work," he explained. "I'll let out the rope slowly. The tree will be a backup to hold you. You just keep yourself away from the cliff wall."

Joe gave a tug on the line and then leaned backward over the edge. "Everybody into the pool!" he yelled, and pushed off with both feet.

It worked perfectly. Joe relaxed a little as he inched downward. When he was close to the water line, he gave a firm shove with both feet, pushing himself out to clear a jumble of rocks at the bottom of the cliff. But suddenly the line went slack, and he splashed into the cold Atlantic, gasping and spluttering for air.

The force of the fall had ripped the regulator from his mouth. A few swift kicks brought him back to the surface. "Nice going, ace!" he shouted up at his brother.

There was no response. From this angle, Joe couldn't see the tree, the ledge, or Frank. He ducked underwater for a moment to wriggle out of the rope.

Joe popped back up again and yanked off his face mask. He looked up again. He thought he caught a glimmer of movement, but he couldn't be sure. He was just about to shout again when he saw something hurtling over the side of the ledge.

It was Frank — his arms and legs flailing — plummeting toward the rocks!

Frank hit the water hard, barely missing the rocks jutting out from the foot of the cliff. Stunned by the impact, he sank deeper and deeper beneath the waves into an engulfing darkness.

At last, the cold, salty wetness woke him. At first he didn't know where he was or how he got there. I was standing on the edge of the cliff, he recalled. Then I was in the air, and now I'm underwater—with my hands tied behind my back!

He thrashed around and discovered that his hands weren't really tied. He was just tangled up in the climbing rope. Frank unwound the rope and let it drift away from him. Then he kicked his way upward. His head broke the surface, and he greedily gulped in fresh air.

Frank started to tread water and looked around to get his bearings. Suddenly someone else came out of the water right in front of him.

"Take it easy! It's only me," Joe exclaimed pushing the diving mask up over his forehead. "Are you okay? That looked like a vicious fall.

"Yeah," Frank said, wiping the hair out of his eyes. "If this were the Olympics, it would have been a perfect 0.0 dive."

"What happened?" Joe asked. "Did the rope break?"

"It had to have been cut back by the tree," Frank stated flatly.

"What?"

"I did a nosedive into the dirt on the ledge,' Frank said. "I thought the tree must have snapped or something."

"So what changed your mind?"

"Well, there I was, starting to get back up feeling pretty proud of myself for keeping hold of the rope—when somebody sneaked up behind me and gave me a nice, hard shove over the edge.

"Well, whoever it was is gone now," Joe remarked, squinting up the face of the cliff.

"I think we can get back up by climbing that rockfall," Frank said, pointing to a spot where the cliff had collapsed and a jumble of boulders sloped into the ocean. "I'll swim over and check it out."

He started swimming but looked back over his shoulder. "You might as well dive down to the bottom and see if you can find anything."

'You read my mind, brother." Joe smiled, and put the diving mask back down over his eyes and nose. He glanced at his diving watch and said, "See you in thirty." Then he slipped under the waves and was gone.

It was a short, easy swim to the rock fall. Frank was just pulling himself out of the water, thinking how nice it would be to let his clothes dry ' in the sun, when he heard the faint whine of an outboard motor. He turned to see a boat approaching from the direction of the Bayport marina. Tracing a line from its wake, Frank could see that it was headed straight for the floating marker, bobbing up and down in the swells, that the police divers had attached to McCoy's sunken race car.

Frank lay flat on his stomach and crawled around a large boulder. Whoever it was, Frank Wasn't ready to announce his own presence. He hoped his brother was alert enough to notice the oncoming motorboat—and patient enough to stay out of sight and wait for the intruder to make a move.

Joe sighted the wreckage lying upside down on the ocean floor, the wheels turning slowly in the deep currents. Like it doesn't know it's not going anywhere, Joe reflected as he closed in on the object, his legs pumping up and down, beating a steady rhythm through the water.

He enjoyed the silent solitude of the sea. It gave him a chance to let his mind wander. So he was annoyed when he heard the muffled churning of a propeller disturbing the water nearby. He stopped kicking and hovered a few feet above the' bottom. Looking up, he could see the sunlight reflecting on the surface and the hull of a boat cutting a wake through the water.

The boat stopped directly above the wreck site, and Joe watched as an anchor sank rapidly, trailing air bubbles as it fell. Instinctively, Joe held his breath so that he wouldn't leave a telltale path of air bubbles. He looked around, veered away from his original course, and glided down behind an outcropping of rock.

A school of fish feeding on the surrounding plants stirred up the water, allowing Joe to breathe again without being detected. Then he'f waited, knowing what would come next.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, something else splashed through the surface and descended toward the overturned race car. It was a diver. It could even be somebody I know, Joe thought. But with the wet suit and diving mask, I can't see his face or even the color of his hair!

Joe let the current gently push him to the other side of the outcropping so he could get a better-look at the diver. He was moving slowly along the under side of the vehicle, brushing his hands over all the mechanical parts. Like he's looking for something he dropped, Joe thought. Or something he doesn't want anybody else to find.

The diver finished his inspection of the exposed shaft and axles. But Joe didn't see him move anything. Then the man—or woman kicked under the wreck and wriggled, head first, to the cockpit. The ocean carried the sound of metal banging on metal back to Joe's ears, and the diver soon reemerged. Now Joe could clearly see that he was holding something in his left hand.

With his right hand, the mystery diver sheathed a knife he used to pry the thing loose. He ppated in the water for a moment and then pushed off from the submerged race car and shot straight up toward the waiting motorboat.

Joe burst from his hiding place, swimming furiously after the diver. If he doesn't see me, Joe prayed, I can catch him by surprise and grab the Evidence.

Joe could see that he was too far behind. The diver would reach the surface—and the safety of his boat—before Joe got there. But there wasn't any choice. Got to go for it, Joe urged himself. Joe kicked as hard as he could and reached the rope that attached the anchor to the vessel above. He gripped it firmly and started hauling himself up, hand over hand. Added to the powerful mown of his legs, the straining muscles in his arms pelped him gain on the unknown diver. Joe kept his eyes fixed on his objective as he closed the distance. But he could see that the man had reached the surface and was starting to climb into his boat.

With a final burst of energy and a desperate lunge, Joe grabbed a flippered foot and dr the diver back in the water.

It didn't go exactly as Joe had planned. The diver fell on top of him, jostling Joe's face mask loose. Salt water filled the mask, stinging his eye and making it hard to see.

Joe's only advantage was that the guy didn't know what had hit him. Joe knew he had to take him out fast and hard.

Joe reached out and ripped off the diver's face mask. At least now we'll be even, he thought And I can see who you are. But the other was flailing around so much that air bubbles fille the water and made it impossible to see the man's face.

Joe hit the diver in the stomach with both feet as hard as he could. Even though the water slowed his kick, he was able to double the diver over. Joe used the kicking motion to push himself away so he could get a better angle of attack. The move put him above his opponent.

Joe knew that underwater pressure made it easier to move up rather than down. Brilliant tactics, bozo, Joe chided himself. Now the creature from the Black Lagoon has the advantage! He can come at me faster than I can make a move on him.

As if he could read Joe's mind, the diver suddenly lunged upward, his right arm stabbing the water. Joe caught a glint of metal, late, he realized it was the knife the man had earlier. Joe knew he couldn't move fast enough to avoid the blade. He twisted sharply to avoid the blow, and grimaced, waiting for the painful sense of cold steel. But the diver's arm swung away from Joe's body to sever his air hose. ' While Joe struggled to the surface for air, the mystery diver made his escape. Joe got a good look only at the motorboat as it sped away from the scene. It was not a welcome sight.

Exhausted by the time he made it back to the rocks, Joe gladly accepted a helping hand from his brother. "I saw the diver go into the water," Frank said, helping Joe take off the scuba tank.