Spyder Web (41 page)

Kang could scarcely believe his good fortune. Fate had provided him with the means of escape. He opened the valve on the tank; the pressure gauges jumped as the compressed-air mixture filled the lines. The tanks were nearly full, more than enough to see him safely to shore. If he paddled leisurely, the river would carry him far downstream from the accident and out of the immediate search area.

The chill of the river made him shiver as he looked through the dive bag. The owner’s fins, mask, and wet suit were all there. Kang stripped down to his underwear and placed the rest of his clothing in a plunge bag used for collecting artifacts from the sea. The brightly colored wet suit was loose-fitting on Kang’s lean frame; it obviously belonged to a man of substantial size. Still, the wet suit didn’t bind or restrict his movement, and it would insulate him from the cold of an extended river swim.

Kang suited up quickly, not knowing how much longer he had before the patrol boats arrived. He strapped on the tank and checked the regulator, blowing it clear of any water or debris before inhaling.

Just as he prepared to slip under the water, he noticed a fluorescent red pouch floating in the cabin. The bold black letters read EMERGENCY FLARE PISTOL. Kang retrieved the watertight package and checked its seals. Everything inside the waterproof pouch was dry.

Quickly, Kang pulled out the flare pistol and loaded it. He then slipped down into the water, leaving only his eyes and the hand with the pistol above the surface. Kang aimed at the point where Spitfire ’s bow tanks were slowly leaking fuel, ducked his head beneath the water, and fired. His hand slipped below the dark water just as the flare struck the fractured port side of Spitfire. The leaking fuel immediately erupted into flames.

Kilkenny heard a loud thumping from inside Spitfire ’s hull, as if someone had swung a sledgehammer from inside. Grabbing hold of one of the fluted contours on the ship’s hull, he hauled himself out of the water and onto the capsized craft. He looked around the perimeter of the ship for the source of the noise, when a flash of brightness caught his eye.

‘Everyone into the water!’ Kilkenny shouted. ‘Grab anything that floats and push off! The ship is on fire.’

The others wasted no time heeding Kilkenny’s warning. Roe and Yakushev pulled cushions and life vests from the water and helped Stone swim away from the wreckage.

Kilkenny took one last look before diving in, when he caught sight of something moving beneath the surface of the water. He paused for a moment to get a better look at the strange multicolored object. Kilkenny recognized the large cylindrical shape of a scuba tank and knew immediately that someone else had survived the crash, someone who didn’t want to be rescued by the authorities.

The diver had emerged from beneath Spitfire when Kilkenny first spotted him. Kilkenny sprinted across the ship’s keel and made a running dive into the water as the bow tank exploded. Shards of flaming Kevlar rained down from the fireball that ballooned up from the ship. The shock wave from the blast rocked Kilkenny just as his arms opened a hole in the surface of the water.

The diver was now a good fifteen yards ahead of him and Kilkenny knew that he would have to swim flat out in the choppy river to catch a man wearing fins. The sound of the explosion masked Kilkenny’s entry into the river, his body churning the water in a flat-out freestyle sprint. Kilkenny was closing the distance, but the diver’s form was darkening. The man was moving deeper under the water.

The waterborne shock wave from the blast punished Kang’s ears with a sharp, painful ringing. The pain increased with each foot he descended underwater. At ten feet beneath the surface, the pressure against his ears was a full third greater than on the surface. The agony pounding in his head was almost more than he could bear. Any deeper and he ran the risk of passing out from the pain. Still, he had the disk with the American codes and he had a way out; all he needed to do was keep moving.

Kilkenny cleared twenty-five meters of his open-water race, about where he expected to overtake his submerged opponent. He stopped and studied the water carefully; it seemed to be the same uniform murky brown all around him. Then he saw a flicker of color muted by the silt, then another flash of hazy color. It was the diver.

Breathing deeply into his abdomen, he filled his lungs with air and plunged beneath the surface. Once under the water, Kilkenny entered the murky darkness as a blind man fighting against an opponent who was better equipped for this environment. Better equipped to swim perhaps, but six years with the SEALs had taught Kilkenny that he didn’t need his eyes to fight underwater.

Using a deep flutter kick, Kilkenny pushed himself through the water with his arms extended ahead of him. He aimed his body in the direction that he had last seen the diver heading, hoping to intercept the man’s torso on the way down.

His estimate of the diver’s depth and speed was a little off, and Kilkenny swam down into the man’s legs. Kang’s right leg brushed past Kilkenny’s hand, gliding up his arm before striking him in the shoulder. A heavy rubber fin slapped against Kilkenny’s chest. Kang shuddered when he realized that he’d touched something solid in the water.

Kilkenny, still pointed head-down, wrapped his right arm around Kang’s leg and trapped it against his body. Gripping the neoprene-covered calf, Kilkenny locked the joint and struck the side of Kang’s knee with the flattened palm of his hand. The knee dislocated with a gratifying snap that echoed in Kilkenny’s water-filled ears. The deafened Kang felt only the numbing pain of his throbbing leg, which now hung in the water at an unnatural angle.

Kang rolled to protect his injured leg and turned to face his attacker. His pain and anger gave way to a moment of absolute fury when he realized that his opponent, the driver of that devil boat, was Nolan Kilkenny. Kang was still bitter about the assassin’s failure to eliminate Kilkenny when he first became a problem. This troublesome young man was all that stood in the way of his escape, and Kang swore that Kilkenny would now die.

Kang saw that Kilkenny wore no gear and, even now, was straining against the oxygen-depleted air within his lungs. He struck where Kilkenny was now most vulnerable, his solar plexus. The water slowed his punch, but Kang only hoped to knock the wind out of him. At ten feet underwater, that would be enough to drown the man.

Kilkenny felt Kang twist in the water and, sensing the attack, angled away from the blow. Kang’s punch landed late, glancing off Kilkenny’s back. Only a few bubbles escaped from Kilkenny’s mouth.

Kilkenny had only a few seconds left before he had to return to the surface for air. When he returned, the injured Kang would be waiting for him, able to breathe and able to see. Kilkenny had to even the odds.

Kang’s head was nearby, within striking distance if he could find it. Guessing his way, Kilkenny lunged out and dislodged the scuba mask from Kang’s face. The river poured in against Kang’s eyes, obscuring his vision with water and silt. Kilkenny’s lungs screamed for oxygen as he reached to strip the scuba mask from Kang’s face.

Kang stopped Kilkenny’s arm and pushed the clutching hand away from the mask. Both men were now blind in the water, and each had taken hold of the other. Kang twisted Kilkenny’s arm back, forcing him to release the damaged leg. He then swam away from Kilkenny as quickly as he could. Kilkenny, now desperate for air, raced to the surface.

Kilkenny’s first few gulps of air didn’t get much past his mouth. His body seemed to suck the oxygen out of each breath before it even reached his lungs, the demand was so high. Gradually, his skin flushed and took on its normal color. With his immediate, physical needs met, Kilkenny’s thoughts returned to the man below.

After Kilkenny’s withdrawal, Kang took stock of his situation. He reset the dislodged mask and purged it of the sight-robbing water. If only he could repair his leg as easily as resetting the mask. Dispassionately, he inspected the lifeless limb. It bent awkwardly away from the joint, connected to him only by the pain that radiated from his damaged knee. Without the use of both his legs, he would be forced to rely on his arms for propulsion in the strong river current. His nemesis floated above him like a wraith, a dark shadow against the diffuse light of the sky.

Kilkenny remained at the surface, fighting to catch his breath as Kang watched from below. Before trying to swim again, Kang checked his belongings to make sure everything was in order. The plunge bag was still securely fastened to his weight belt, next to another object he hadn’t noticed before-a dive knife. Kang unbuttoned the clasp around the handle, pulled the knife free of its sheath, and held it in front of his mask. The knife had a dimpled rubber-coated handle and a long blade with a serrated back edge. He might be wounded, but Kang now held a decisive advantage in this battle.

From above, Kilkenny could barely discern the multicolored figure in the water below, just at the edge of visibility in the murky river. With a dislocated knee, Kang wasn’t going anywhere quickly, but that didn’t make him any less of a threat. In fact, he was more dangerous now that he knew Kilkenny was coming after him.

Kilkenny took each breath in slowly, deeply, bringing a calmness to his body and mind as he prepared to do battle. His heart rate fell and his body became fluid, yin. He would be one with the water, allowing his opponent to define the attack while he flowed around Kang’s offensive. He would remain in this fluid state, striking hard, yang, only when an opportunity presented itself. He took a deep breath and slipped below the water without leaving a ripple on the surface.

Kilkenny approached Kang in a near trance, seeing the man with his mind rather than his eyes. He moved his arms in sweeping arcs to clear the water ahead of him. At three meters, he could almost feel Kang’s presence waiting in the darkness. Kilkenny slowed his descent and waited for the attack.

Using his good leg, Kang turned and moved his body above his opponent. Kilkenny was upside down in the water, floating, with his hands outstretched in search of an enemy just beyond his reach. Kang brought his arm up above his head and prepared to lunge down into Kilkenny’s exposed back.

An eddy rushed across Kilkenny’s face. Something disturbed the water nearby, moving quickly enough that it generated a minivortex as it passed. The direction of the turbulent flow let Kilkenny know that its source was now above him. Kilkenny twisted 180 degrees and crossed his arms just as Kang’s struck down on him. The knife sliced the underside of Kilkenny’s left forearm, opening a gash from his wrist to his elbow. The blood from Kilkenny’s arm issued forth in reddish clouds, but the wound didn’t prevent him from taking hold of Kang’s arm.

Kilkenny performed like a weightless gymnast, twisting around his body’s center of gravity to gain an advantage. Holding Kang’s arm firmly with both hands, Kilkenny turned himself and ground the fragile bones of Kang’s wrist together. The nerve bundles running through the carpal tunnel in Kang’s tortured wrist quivered with pain until his entire arm went numb. Kilkenny grabbed the knife before it fell away from Kang’s deadened grasp. He gave another half turn to Kang’s wrist, doubling the man over as his arm twisted back against the scuba tank. Kang tried to resist, but each kick sent a wave of agony through his useless leg.

Kang struggled against him, but Kilkenny countered each of his moves easily. Kilkenny knew that he had no more than a few seconds of air left before he had to return to the surface, and this time Kang must go with him.

With the knife in his free hand, Kilkenny followed the contour of the scuba tank until he found the octopus of lines that emerged from the top. He released Kang’s hand, grabbed hold of the line feeding Kang’s regulator, and severed the thick black hose. A surge of bubbles exploded from the pressurized tank and the air line whipped about like a frenzied snake.

Kang was in midbreath when his regulator filled with silty water. He choked, and there was no controlling the spasm of coughing that doubled him over as he spat the regulator from his lips. The only thought in Kang’s mind now was the blackness that came with drowning.

His coughing slowed and he lost consciousness as the river filled his lungs. Kilkenny grabbed him around the chest and dragged him upward. Kang’s mind was so far removed from his body that he didn’t notice the easing pressure against his shattered eardrums.

Kilkenny broke the surface with Kang’s limp body, only to be sprayed by the prop wash of a Royal Marine Search and Rescue helicopter. Eagle had followed Kilkenny on his pursuit of Kang, tracking his position until help arrived. Two wet-suited marines jumped into the water from the helicopter to assist Kilkenny with his prisoner. Kang went up first in the hoist, while Kilkenny relaxed in the water with the aid of a marine diver.

British patrol ships had already pulled the others from the river. Kilkenny’s shivering shipmates stood blanketed, with cups of hot tea, waving to him from the deck of a patrol boat as he dangled in midair below the helicopter. For Kilkenny, what had started out with the flick of a switch on an experimental computer ended with the Thames swallowing up the flaming wreckage of Merlin and Spitfire.

Medics aboard the Royal Marine helicopter successfully revived Kang en route to the hospital at the naval air station. The nearly drowned spy alternated between halfchocked gasps of air and violent spasms of coughed-up water and vomit. The medics placed a splint on his damaged leg, immobilizing it for the rest of their journey to the hospital. Kilkenny sat back in the jump seat next to one of the navy divers, keeping a wary eye on Kang, while a medic attended to his arm.

Among Kang’s personal effects they found his soaked clothing and a sealed optical-disk cartridge containing the stolen cipher files. Kang Fa’s operation to capture the new American encryption technology had come within a few hundred meters of success.

A pair of ambulances met the helicopter at the landing pad; one staffed with a RMP escort took charge of the prisoner on his way to the base infirmary. The marine doctors treated Kilkenny’s laceration with thirty stitches and a mild painkiller. A steaming-hot shower and some dry clothes were prescribed as treatment for a mild case of exposure from the cold river. Kilkenny had just finished suiting up in the duty uniform of a royal marine when Mosley and Axton arrived at his room.