mighty Harrier could only take on one of them at a time.
Grimaldi prayed for the best and sent 30mm zingers at the chopper nearest him.
The thundering explosion of the hit cut through the roar of the Harrier as another Cobra disintegrated into a ball of flame.
The Stony pilot shifted his war bird to track on chopper number three.
While the fighter jet's cannon had been busy canceling the second chopper, Cobra number three had got the Harrier in its sights.
Grimaldi saw it too late. A missile from the Cobra came whistling at the Harrier.
The ace pilot had just begun to tug the responsive jet into an evasive action.
But his luck ran out.
He bit off one last curse. He felt the mighty plane respond to his touch, but not fast enough.
The missile caught the Harrier's tail in a hellfire of sound and fury.
For Jack Grimaldi, everything went black.
Mack Bolan made an ally of the ocean's dark floor in the same way he would befriend the night on any other hit.
The Executioner swam through the gloomy depths ten meters off the bow of the sunken vessel.
He saw the enemy divers douse their dive lights.
In the illumination of the underwater lamps amidships, he saw the terrorist force breaking up, merging with the deeper shadows of the ship.
Bolan sensed movement to his left. He bent his body backward and swam away.
He registered a momentary glimpse of an approaching diver, holding what looked like an infrared scanning device.
This would be the team leader, Bolan knew. They would not all be entrusted with costly IRs.
The high-intensity lights were extinguished.
The frogman leader did not see his enemy.
Bolan propelled himself faster, gauging the approximate position where he had last seen the diver with the IR.
In the darkness, it was impossible to know for sure.
The deep-sea pressure made every move slower, more laborious.
Bolan unsheathed his knife, then risked switching on his dive light for one second to confirm that he had homed in on his target.
The terrorist frogman could not turn around in time to react.
Bolan plunged the blade into Jesus DeSilva's throat. The thrust severed the terrorist's breathing system.
The man's body thrashed for an instant then hung suspended as a dark cloud spread upward.
The IR scanner tumbled into Bolan's grip.
He used the infrared device to advantage to take out two more divers.
Bolan entered the ship and swam on through the maze of corridors, guiding himself with the IR, searching.
He came upon the body of a trapped seaman, the ghastly corpse already half devoured by fish.
There was no sign of sharks now.
He swam on, pedaling his way the length of the sunken wreck.
He glanced at his watch. Only ten minutes of air time left. He had to find that nuclear device. He considered radio contact with Grimaldi, but decided against it. He still did not know how many men were left. They were around him in the gloom of this sunken ship. He could feel it. They would be listening.
Bolan continued his search, thinking about his air supply.
He was running out of places to look for the nuclear device.
He found it in the middle of a row of three nondescript lockers: a suitcase-sized container with the markings Bolan was looking for.
And with it, Bolan found them.
The underwater compartment blazed to life with a high-noon glare that pinned Bolan in its center.
These divers had split off from the others and found the cargo they were looking for. Then they waited for the invader to swim his way into the kill-ground.
Bolan twisted sideways as weapons began to rumble, spitting projectiles where he had been an instant before.
He unleashed a round from his shark gun that took out the lamp and pitched the killzone into total darkness.
He had been forced to drop the infrared device. The Executioner fired off a close pattern of heavy slugs from his weapon, aiming from memory at the positions of three divers before the lights went off.
He waited for a few moments and no one challenged him.
He chanced a quick scan with his diver light on. He found and retrieved the IR.
He flicked the infrared device upward and gazed through it. He saw three floating corpses, trapped from rising any farther by the walls of the compartment. The water around the divers took on a deeper hue in the IR viewer.
Bolan returned his attention to the nuclear device.
There were two handles on the container. He gripped one handle and began swimming away from the underwater killzone, holding the scanner up before him as he retraced his route.
He wondered if the damn thing would be intact. Or had these men all died for nothing. No. Nothing is ever for nothing.
The dead divers had consciously chosen this path. But they had been brought unwittingly to this appointment with their executioner. Whether they were motivated by greed or power, Bolan could not know. But it did not matter now. Their evil deeds had culminated in a fitting demise in the hellish depths of the dark Atlantic.
Now the bastards were shark food.
All that remained for Bolan was withdrawal.
Gripping the container, he swam on.
The underwater warrior conserved the remaining air in his tanks, breathing shallowly despite his effort.
He turned on the diving light and began to swim clear of the dead ship.
He ran into no further opposition as he moved upward.
Bolan released the IR and stroked faster toward the surface with the deadly cargo.
It was time to alert Grimaldi, up in the Harrier, to get ready for him. He would have to spend time in the decompression chamber on the boat then a quick flight back to the States. The communications blackout with Stony Man still troubled him.
'Stony Man One to Stony Bird. I'm coming up, Jack. I've got it. Do you read me?'
No response.
Bolan was about to try to raise Grimaldi again when the watery world around him thumped with a loud, hollow sound.
Bolan looked up.
And saw Death descending.
The massive shape of Grimaldi's Harrier was coming toward him.
Its misshapen hulk was sinking like an oversized stone, plunging directly at Bolan.
4
Bolan did not try to swim out from under the fast-descending tonnage of the Harrier.
