He immediately realized this was not a Molch-class mini sub. It was far too small, at least six feet shorter and half the diameter of the
Following the curve of the hull to the bottom, Sam could immediately see there was no torpedo attached, but only a cockpit tube lying on its side, the viewing dome half buried in the sand. He kicked down the length of the hull to the dome, laid the flashlight in the sand, and set to work on the unlatching bolts. They were frozen in place.
His lungs began to burn. He wrapped both hands around a bolt, braced his feet on the hull, and heaved. Nothing. Tried again. Nothing.
Through the water he heard muffled voices again, this time closer. He clicked off the flashlight, looked up, got his bearings, then kicked off the sub and swam toward the far wall. The pier’s pilings appeared in the gloom and he slipped between them and turned right, following the wall. Clearing the pier, he let himself float upward and gently break the surface.
Across the cavern and down the adjoining river tunnel he could see lights dancing off the walls—Kholkov and his men at the end of the pier; they’d be coming here next. Ten feet to Sam’s left the root/ vine tangle hung just above the surface; close up it was even larger than he’d estimated, as big around as a fifty-five-gallon drum. He sidestroked to it, dug around a moment, and found Remi’s rope. He started climbing.
A minute later and fifteen feet higher his reaching hand found Remi’s foot, which was resting in a loop. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and got a wiggle in reply. He placed his foot inside a loop, did the same with his right hand, then got comfortable.
“Luck?” she whispered.
“No. Locked up tight.”
“Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
Their wait was short.
Kholkov’s men moved fast, using generally the same ferry-rope system Sam and Remi had used to reach the second pier. Peering through the vines, Sam counted six men. One of them stalked down the pier, shining a flashlight over the crates, into the water, and down the catwalks.
“Where the hell are they?” he barked.
It was Kholkov himself, Sam realized.
“You four, flush them out!” Kholkov ordered; then he nodded at the other man and said, “You, with me!”
As Kholkov and one man searched the crates, the others lined up at the pier’s edge and started firing short, controlled bursts into the water. After nearly a minute, Kholkov called, “Cease fire, cease fire!”
“There’s something down there,” one of the men called, shining his light into the water.
Kholkov walked over, looked a few moments, then pointed to two of the men. “That’s it! Get your gear and have a look.”
The men were back in five minutes, and five minutes after that they were diving under the water.
“Search the cavern first,” Kholkov ordered them. “Make sure they’re not hiding somewhere.”
In a cloud of bubbles, the men disappeared beneath the surface. Sam watched their lights move over the bottom, under both piers, and along the walls, before finally both men resurfaced.
“Not here,” one of them reported. “There’s no place to hide.”
Sam let out the breath he’d been holding. They’d missed the sunken gear.
“Perhaps they went down the river tunnel,” the man standing beside Kholkov suggested.
Kholkov considered this for a moment. “You’re sure there was nothing?” he asked the divers.
Both men nodded, and Kholkov turned to the man who’d suggested the river tunnel. “Take Pavel, rope yourselves off, and search the tunnel for any sign of them.”
The man nodded, moved to the end of the pier, and began uncoiling a rope.
“Search the sub,” Kholkov ordered the divers, who both replaced their regulators and dove.
Sam watched their lights move along the hull until they stopped at what he assumed was the cockpit dome. The lights wobbled and shifted and there came a faint clinking of metal on metal. After three more minutes, one of the men broke the surface and pulled the regulator from his mouth.
“It’s a Marder,” the man said. “The
“Good,” Kholkov replied.
“The bolts are frozen, though. We need the crowbar.”
One of the men on the pier kneeled beside a backpack and pulled out a crowbar. The diver swam over, took it, and dove again.
There were five more minutes of muffled metal-on-metal banging, then silence for a few moments, then suddenly a giant bubble burst on the water’s surface.
The minutes ticked by until finally both divers broke the surface again. One of them gave a hoot and lifted an oblong object from the water.
“Bring it!” Kholkov ordered. When they reached the pier he knelt down and took the object, which Sam could now see was an all-too-familiar loaf-shaped wooden box. Kholkov studied the box for a full minute, turning it this way and that, peering closely at its surface, before carefully lifting the lid and peeking inside. He closed it and nodded.
“Good work.”
From the river tunnel, a shout: “Help! Pull us in, pull us in!” Several of the men rushed down the pier and began hauling the rope hand over hand. After ten seconds a man appeared at the end of it. Lights panned over him. He was semiconscious, half his face covered in blood. They pulled him onto the dock and laid him flat.
“Where’s Pavel?” Kholkov demanded. The man mumbled something incoherent. Kholkov slapped him across the face and grabbed his chin. “Answer me! Where’s Pavel?”
“The rapids . . . the line got cut. . . . He hit his head. I tried to reach him, but he was gone. One second he was there, then he was gone. He’s gone.”
“Damn it!” Kholkov spun around, paced halfway down the pier, then spun back. “Okay, you two carry him and get back to the lagoon.” He pointed to the other man. “You and I will set the charges. If they’re not already dead, we’ll bury the Fargos alive! Get moving!”
CHAPTER 19
Kholkov and his men left. Gesturing for Remi to follow, Sam scrambled down the rope, shifted his weight back and forth to get a swing going, then nodded to Remi, who jumped off onto the catwalk, followed by Sam. They knelt down together.
“You think he meant it?” Remi whispered.
“I doubt they have enough explosive to bury us, but they can certainly seal the main entrance. Did you check for an opening up there?” he asked, nodding at the tangle of roots.
She nodded. “It was nothing but a crack—no wider than a couple inches, and a good six feet to the surface.”
“But you saw daylight?”
“Yes. Sun’s going down.”
“Well, exit or not, at least we’ll have an air shaft—but they’ve got the damned bottle.”
“One thing at a time, Sam.”
“You’re right. Let’s get off this catwalk before the—”
As if on cue there came a
“Down!”
