goggles up on the top of his head and checked the sky and water behind them.
They were less than a minute away from their demarcation point.
Hackett threw their weapons and equipment over the side, everything except their fins and mask.
Taking two short pieces of rope, Stroble tied the steering wheel down so the boat would stay on a straight course. He looked at his watch and gave Hackett a thumbs-up.
Hackett got on top of the engine cover and without hesitation dove off the back of the boat, curling into a ball.
As soon as Hackett was away, Stroble flipped on the running lights, grabbed his fins and mask, and ran for the back of the boat. He leapt clear of the propellers and also tucked into a tight ball. He hit the water and skipped several times, rolling as he went.
Their bodies stung slightly from the initial impact, but otherwise they were fine.
Hackett appeared at Stroble’s side, and they paused for a second to watch the boat rumble away. They put on their fins and masks and started swimming as fast as they could for shore. They had a little over a mile to go.
Before leaving the boat, Hackett had placed a series of small, timed charges that would rip holes in the bottom of the boat’s hull. They pumped their arms powerfully through the water, their fins doing most of the work. Shortly, they were within two hundred yards of shore.
Hackett stopped and so did Stroble. Sticking his hand into the neck of is scuba suit, Hackett pulled out his radio headset. Without putting it on he held the unit next to his ear and said, “Mercury, this is Cyclops, come in, over.”
“I read you loud and clear, Cyclops, over.” Hackett and Stroble bobbed up and down in the water, staring at the dark shoreline.
“Can you give us a mark on your position, over?” They both saw the flicker of red light. Marking the position with a dip in the tree line, Hackett responded, “I’ve got a fix.
We’ll be joining you in a couple of minutes, over.” Hackett shoved the headset back under his suit and was getting ready to swim again when he heard an all too familiar noise.
Stroble heard it, too, and they both sank a little deeper in the water.
The chopping sound grew, echoing off the water. It was hard to get a Fix on where it was coming from, but there was no doubt what it was.
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It was getting louder. They turned in the water, looking skyward. The noise increased markedly, and then, without warning, two helicopters screamed over treetops above where Tim O’Rourke was waiting. For a brief second, both former SEALS thought they had been discovered, but the choppers didn’t stop. They kept going, racing overhead, out into the Bay and then turning south. Stroble and Hackett looked at each other quickly and then sprinted for shore. Back in the Operations Center the tension was mounting.
Stansfield watched the chase unfold on the big board. The display from the AWAC was up on the screen.
Arthur’s homing signal hadn’t changed course. It was still headed south. The position of the two Cobra 306 gunships was marked by a duo of green triangles on the screen. The radio communication between the pilots of the choppers and the airborne controller on board the AWAC was being played over the loudspeaker. The choppers were closing quickly. Dobbs turned to Stansfield and said, “I have to tell the pilots what their rules of engagement are.” Without pause Stansfield replied, “If they are met with the slightest resistance, they are free to use whatever force they deem necessary. I want that boat stopped.”
The small charges exploded, ripping three holes in the bow of the boat and two more next to the engines. The holes in the bow acted as scoops, funneling water into the cabin.
In the stern, water rose rapidly, the engines straining with the extra weight and the loss of a smooth hull. The engines revved louder and louder until they were smothered by the water. All forward movement stopped and the expensive boat slipped beneath the surface of the dark water. The controller on board the AWAC announced the decrease in speed before it was noticeable on the big board in the Operations Center. He continued to read off the decreasing speed until the boat had stopped.
Stansfield, along with everyone else in the room, watched the helicopters rapidly close the gap. The green triangles inched closer and closer to the stationary red dot. The
AWAC’s controller vectored the choppers right in on top of the mark, and then came the surprise.
The pilots announced no boat was in sight. The black BMW weaved through the busy
Friday-night traffic of Georgetown. As Coleman drove, he told Michael that his former boss, Admiral Devoe, had called to tell him the FBI was snooping around asking questions. A pensive O’Rourke asked, “Did he say why they are interested in you?”
“Only that they wanted to know why I was discharged early.” O’Rourke stared out the window and said, “That means they know about Snatch Back.
Did the admiral tell you who called him?”
“No. All he said was that they were from the Bureau.
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Michael, I wouldn’t get too worried yet. They might just be going down a list of former SEALS.”
“I doubt it. The FBI is looking for someone who had motive enough to do this, and when they find out Fitzgerald was the one who leaked Snatch Back, they’re going to be all over you.” O’Rourke nervously tapped his fingers on the dashboard. “And then they’re going to find out about Mark’s death, and they’re going to get real interested in you.”
“Let them look. They’re not going to find anything. They can’t prove I knew squat about who leaked Snatch Back. I found out from you, and you weren’t supposed to know.” Michael thought about it. “If all they have is Fitzgerald’s connection to Snatch
