Wood's Harbor (24 page)

Although he knew his foe was stronger and better in the water, he was counting on the effect of the nitrogen-laden gas Travis had been breathing to have a debilitating effect and he was confident he could take him. Several strokes later, he reached him, grabbed the air hose feeding the regulator and sliced it with the knife. The mayhem caused by the hose whipping around would further confuse Travis and also provide a distraction for what he needed to do. It would also serve to empty the tank, leaving no evidence of the bad air when the incident was investigated.

He saw the recognition in his eyes as Travis fought to keep his head above water. With his arm around Mac’s neck, he pushed him down. His next strike punctured the bladder of the BC. It expelled its air in a burst and the two men sank into the silt. Travis dropped the cylinder and tried to fight. Norm increased the pressure around his neck, trying to put a sleeper hold on him, and fought the urge to breathe waiting for the body to go limp. His brain was almost in panic mode, knowing it needed air, when he released the body. He kicked off the silt and fought to reach the surface when something struck him in his side. Barely able to see in the dark water, he panicked, thinking it was a shark, and fought for the surface. A hand reached out and grabbed him. He was pulled down to the bottom and fought the urge to breathe, choking on the foul harbor water as he lost consciousness.

THIRTY

Mac opened his eyes and instinctively swept his right arm to his side to retrieve the regulator. He grabbed the hose and jammed the mouthpiece between his teeth, but there was no air. He spat out the worthless regulator and released the body, ready to use his last reserves to try and reach the surface. He gagged, his lungs empty now and was about to give in when a hand grabbed him and stuck something in his mouth. Fresh air flowed into his lungs and he breathed deeply, thinking he was in another world when he saw the unmistakable grin in front of his face. Trufante took the regulator back and handed him the octopus. His mind started to clear after several breaths and he surveyed the bottom. Trufante was next to him, the inert body of the CIA man floated beside them.

The bomb lay in the silt, already partially covered by the shifting sands. Mac swam for it, dragging Trufante by the air hose, and swept his hand back and forth to reveal its scarred surface. The hundred-year-old casing appeared to be intact, the only sign of the century in the sea were small rust dots, but none looked like they penetrated the thick shell. 

Trufante held the gauges up for Mac to see. The air pressure was hovering around a thousand PSI. With both men sharing the tank, they would be out of air in ten minutes. Not sure how far they had to travel, he saw the panicked look on Trufante’s face and knew it would be close. There was no time to diffuse the bomb. He wasn’t worried, knowing it would take a percussion, like impact with the propeller or a firing pin, to detonate it. They swam towards the scooter and saw Norm’s body start to rise. The discovery of the body might divert attention from their escape, but it could also trigger a man-hunt that could seal them in the harbor. Mac motioned to Trufante, grabbed Norm’s body and started finning towards the bomb. 

The two men lifted the bomb onto the body anchoring it to the seafloor. Mac glanced back to inspect their work and swam to the scooter. Trufante grabbed the handles and pulled the trigger while Mac attached himself to his back, anxious to get out of the area before the body was found. With the divers already on the ‘Maine’, they could be diverted to the ferry and be scouring the bottom in minutes. The chain of command was slow, but not broken.

Mac judged they were moving at a little over two knots, but with the incoming tide it felt like they were standing still. He started kicking, wondering where the trade-off would be between the additional air required for the exertion, and the extra speed. He decided it was better to risk the air and get away from the site. He kicked harder, urging Trufante to do the same. They were making progress, and with the clean air, he was able to think as he relied on the Cajun to navigate. With Norm dead, there was only Alicia to clear his name. She wasn’t much help in the field, but was a whiz with the computer. 

Suddenly the scooter started to lose power and he saw the red light for the battery charge. The dead weight of the scooter dragged them to the bottom. Mac was fading fast, the effect of the bad air still working through his system and looked at Trufante. They ditched the machine and swam side by side into the current. Mac reached down to check the gauges and saw the air was below the red line. With less than five-hundred PSI, they would have only minutes to reach their destination. He felt weaker and blacked out for a second before recovering enough to attract Trufante’s attention before his eyes closed.

***

“What do you mean you unplugged the charger from the scooter. That’s their only way out.” TJ stared at the water with the binoculars.

“I didn’t know.” She was near tears. “I needed the outlet for the computer.”

“We can only hope they make it back,” TJ said. 

Alicia squinted into the sun and watched the scene around the ferry. Boats circled the site and she saw the splash of divers entering the water. She could only wonder what was going on below. 

“Shit,” TJ said watching the course of several larger boats. 

Alicia didn’t need the binoculars to see they were heading to the harbor entrance. In minutes they would be captive.
Come on, come on
. She started an internal chant, willing the men towards the boat, then she saw a hump on the surface of the water several hundred yards away.

“There!” she pointed, getting TJ's attention. 

“Saw that: think it’s a turtle,” he said and moved the binoculars away.

She continued to watch the area. Whatever it was disappeared, but then she thought she saw bubbles moving towards them.

“It’s them!” She pointed again. 

TJ moved the glasses and focused on the water, “Damn if you’re not right.” He put the glasses back in the console, worked the joystick and pushed down on the throttle. “Keep pointing. Don’t take your eyes off them,” he yelled over the engines.

The boat plowed towards the bubble stream and he reduced speed when they were close, hovering a safe distance away to keep the divers clear of the propellers. He set the boat in neutral.

“We need to signal them,” Alicia said, alternating between watching the bubbles and the harbor entrance. There were three boats spaced evenly across the quarter-mile wide channel and several more were speeding in that direction. 

“I have a horn mounted under the boat to recall divers” TJ said. “Don’t know if it’ll scare them or not.”

“We have to try.” Her voice broke as she tried to force herself to remain in control. “Look.” She pointed to the boats blocking the harbor. 

TJ moved his hand to the console and pushed a button several times. The muffled sound of the horn startled her and she looked around to see if the other boats had noticed. She looked down, scanning the water around the boat when bubbles erupted near the swim ladder and turned to tell TJ, but he had seen them. He pulled back the shifter to place the engine in neutral, jumped down to the deck and hopped over the transom. She sat there not knowing what to do while he stood on the swim platform and helped the men onto the boat. 

“Goddamn, if you ain’t trying to blow out my ears with that thing,” Trufante said as he climbed onto the dive platform and spat the regulator from his mouth, revealing his trademark grin. 

She smiled back, relieved the men were alive, and watched TJ pull Mac out of the water and waited for Trufante to ditch his gear. It took both men to get Mac over the transom and onto the deck where he lay gasping for air. 

“I can help him,” she said and carefully climbed down the half-dozen steps to the deck. “Just get us out of here.”

She went to Mac. His breathing was ragged, showing no signs of evening out. She felt the boat move and looked around for something to brace on. Suddenly Mac stopped breathing. She leaned over to check for an obstruction in his throat before starting mouth to mouth, but the bulk of the life preserver separated them. Adrenaline overcame her and she unbuckled the vest, placed it under his head and started to work on him, alternating between chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth. She began to tire and looked over the gunwale, but all she could see was the shore. They must be in the channel, she thought. She focused on Mac. Another breath and he coughed and spat seawater. She turned his head as he expelled another blast onto the deck. Relieved her training had actually worked she cradled his head. 

***

Mac felt hands turning his head as he coughed up seawater. He tried to move, but another convulsion took him and he waited for it to pass. Finally the water was out of his lungs. He looked up at Alicia and breathed deeply. The situation came back to him and he sat up shaking the cobwebs from his head. She tried to stop him, but he fought her off and rose. The shore was close on both sides; he saw the tower of the castle on the right as they sped out of the channel. He thought they might be in the clear until they rounded a slight bend and he saw the blockade ahead. 

He clenched his teeth, climbed the ladder to the bridge, and stood between Trufante and the other man surprised his legs held him. “What’s the plan?”

“Ain’t got one,” Trufante said. 

“There’s a gap we can slip through if we can get there fast enough,” the other man said. 

Mac looked back at the deck to see where Alicia was. It was paramount to keep her safe, but the deck was empty. He assumed she was back in the cabin.

“Go for it,” he said.

The boat picked up speed and the man corrected course, heading directly for the gap between the shore and the first boat. He looked back and saw several other boats coming towards them. 

“We gotta get through that and into international waters.”

“Yeah, TJ's the name, by the way.” The man looked at him.

“You know the coast?” Mac asked.

“Hardly; I know the reef out of Key Largo. Don’t think that’ll help us here.” 

Mac studied the chart-plotter. There was little detail along the coast; comprehensive charts of the area were not yet available to US consumers. They would be out of the channel in less than a minute and he needed a plan. He looked up and studied the water just coming into view outside the harbor. An unbroken expanse of dark blue lay in front of them, showing no signs of the green and brown indicating a shallow reef. 

“Straight out after we clear the boats,” he called to TJ. He studied the blockade as they closed the gap, realizing the entire area was covered by the guns of a small naval boat. The barrels of the mounted weapons were already visible and he knew he had miscalculated. Just as he thought it, a shell hit the water in front of them.

“To port,” he yelled at TJ. “We have to stay out of their range.” TJ swung the boat towards the other side of the harbor mouth and Mac studied the other boats, looking for a weakness as another shell hit the water behind them. Several of the boats looked too small to hold any substantial weaponry, but they were close enough that they would have to deal with machine gun fire if they chose that course. There really was no option. He pointed TJ to a new route. The inaccuracy of the shells fired from the unstable platforms of the larger boat was less risky than what he was certain the machine gun fire would do to them. The hail of bullets was sure to damage the boat and probably hit a fuel tank, something they could not risk with miles of water between them and safety. 

“The way they’re turned, we’ll be in his blind spot if we cross close to his port bow.” Mac pointed at the ship that had fired on them. He could hear machine gun fire, but suspected they were out of range and focused on the course ahead. The boat was a hundred yards away. He could see the water churn as the captain tried to position his guns. Mac thought he was too late. They raced towards the gap, eyes focused on the blue water ahead. He heard the whistle of a projectile just before something exploded in the water.

THIRTY ONE

Seawater flooded the bridge, but quickly drained off. Mac turned to TJ. “No matter what - full speed!” he yelled. Bullets flew overhead and another missile caused a stream of water to splash off the transom. He jumped down to the deck to check for damage. Looking back before entering the cabin, he saw a line of boats converging on them. 

“Alicia! Call for help.” He entered the cabin and found two inches of water covering the deck. There was no escape; the boat was too slow, feeling sluggish as it plowed through the building seas. It would take a half-hour to reach international waters if they could maintain the twenty-five knots he estimated they were cruising, and that was if the Cubans honored the line. Right now they were at best a mile from the Cuban coast and the eleven miles to safety seemed liked crossing an ocean. There was no way they were going to make it unless he could change the playing field, but there was nowhere to hide in the open ocean, and he expected things to get worse. He entered the forward cabin and saw water pouring through a gash in the hull.

The hole, a jagged mess of fiberglass, was about a foot-and-a-half long and half as high, just at the waterline. Not disastrous if the seas were flat, but as they pounded into the waves, water flooded the boat. Mac guessed about fifty gallons a minute was pouring into the cabin, increasing with every wave that smashed the boat. Even now, at three thousand gallons an hour, the flow was twice what the standard bilge pump could handle. He braced himself as the bow hit another wave and heard a crack as more water poured into the cabin. The repair would be straightforward if they were not running from half the Cuban navy, but in their present circumstance they were in deadly trouble.