Leap - 02 (30 page)

Nevertheless, when the first translation of Sally’s frantic words came back through the laptop’s speakers, none of them was prepared for what they heard.

60

Sounds under water.  Help need.  Hurry.

It took only seconds for Alison to understand what Sally was saying.  “Oh my god!” she cried and whirled around to Lee and Borger, who were both staring intently at the screen. 

“Does that mean what I think it does?” asked Borger.

Alison urgently pushed past both men and typed a response on the keyboard.  “What do you hear, Sally?”

After a long pause, the translation came back from IMIS and was piped out over the underwater speakers.  It took even longer to wait for Sally’s response. 
Hear sound below.  Short short short long long long short short short.   Many time.

Borger’s face became very serious.  “That’s SOS in Morse code!”

It was called a “Gumby” suit and the earliest version successfully used was in 1930, deep in the Atlantic.  They were conceived and designed from a single need for sailors trapped in dangerous situations below deck: s
urvival.

Colored bright orange and made from thick, closed cell-foam neoprene, Gumby suits sported a wide opening allowing them to be donned and zipped up in mere seconds.  Their high collars sealed quickly over the mouth and nose, and an internal oxygen tank provided up to two hours of breathable air.  And Gumby suits had long since become standard equipment for every Navy ship.

The rigid design was inflexible.  And without a mask, only a familiar blurriness was visible underwater.  But the suits worked.  Had they not been stored on the ship’s second deck, neither Clay nor Krogstad would have survived the crushing wave of water that filled the ship when it came plunging down from above. 

It was pure luck, as was the large underwater reef off the coast of Georgetown on which the wreckage of the Bowditch had landed, preventing it from descending into a much deeper abyss.  But in spite of their initial good fortune, both Clay and Krogstad were now almost out of oxygen. 

Movement was extremely limited within the suits, and they could barely see each other’s blurry shapes under the water, against the ship’s dimming emergency lights.

Clay couldn’t communicate with Krogstad, so instead he concentrated on forcing himself past the body’s natural panic reaction.  He knew how quickly hyperventilating would use up his precious air and tried to remain calm as possible.  But the raw emotion of fear was relentless.  He repeatedly felt his body’s survival instincts attempt to seize control, and each time he forced himself through it.   He had to think.  It was the only way to fight, so Clay floated motionless, going through the logistics. 
How much air did he have?  How fast was he breathing?

He remembered equalizing the pressure in his ears three times on the way down, which meant his depth was probably between eighty and a hundred feet.  And that meant his compressed air would not last long.  Thankfully, he was in excellent shape, which gave his respiratory system a higher level of efficiency. 

He had gingerly reached around in an effort to find something, anything.  His thick, gloved hand had brushed several small items before he found a pipe on the floor beneath him.  It had been thrown free from one of the maintenance closets after being ripped open by the torpedo blast.  With it, he proceeded to tap out the letters S…O…S on what he believed to be a wall close to the outside hull.

After almost an hour of tapping, Clay took another break and cracked open one of his eyes.  The red lights appeared to be fading overhead.  How long would they stay on?  Without them, he wouldn’t be able to see anything at all.

But it wasn’t the lights that were fading.  It was his brain.  The air in the suit was nearing depletion.  Clay’s brain was suffering from the inability of his lungs to draw in and supply him with enough oxygen.  His thoughts were slowing and becoming more difficult to follow. 

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 ship.  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.”