Now he braked, pushing the pedal down as hard as he could and turning sharply. Tyres and brake discs shrieked in unison. There was a horrific bang as the wheels crossed the steel track, then the GL Class was clear, slithering sidelong down the rough slope before flattening a chain-link fence and hitting the concrete so hard it almost flipped over.
Chase frantically spun the wheel to apply opposite lock. The SUV wavered on two wheels for a moment before thumping back down on all four - heading right for one of the fuel tanks.
He yanked the wheel back the other way. The Mercedes skidded, spinning round . . . and stopped. It was actually touching the white-painted tank, the door panel bent inwards.
Maximov winced when he saw how close they had been to an explosive collision. ‘Next time, I drive.’
‘No, this is where you get out,’ said Chase. ‘Unless you want to go swimming.’ He jerked a thumb towards the low wooden fence at the edge of the cliff.
Maximov’s eyes widened. ‘You are mad!’
Chase threw open his door. ‘Mad? I’m fuckin’
The Russian had no further arguments, hurriedly flinging open his own door and rolling out. Chase didn’t even wait for him to close it, instead slamming the SUV into gear and flooring the accelerator. The tanks flicked past as he picked up speed, the black sea coming into view over the edge of the cliff.
As did the lights at the end of the jetty.
Chase adjusted his course, aiming straight for them - then ploughed the Mercedes through the flimsy fence and off the edge of the cliff at over eighty kilometres an hour.
He threw himself out as the GL Class rolled in mid-air, the water rushing up fast. He had barely enough time to twist into a dive before hitting the freezing sea just short of the jetty.
The SUV continued onwards without him. A fraction of a second after Chase splashed down, it nose-dived into the pier and exploded, blasting the end of the wooden structure to pieces - and cutting the shocked Mitchell off from the boats, knocking him on his butt less than thirty feet away.
He dumped the unconscious Nina on the planks and jumped up, staring in disbelief at the burning wreckage before looking at the water. Only one person could have been driving the SUV. ‘Eddie!’ he roared, unslinging the XM-201 and running to the jetty’s edge to point the weapon at the expanding splash below. ‘Fuck you, Eddie!
Stunned by the cold, Chase was only just struggling to the surface when the water above him erupted with sizzling spears of metal and froth. Cheeks bulging as he held in his breath, he desperately swam back downwards as Mitchell kept firing into the dark water. The 3.6mm bullets only reached a depth of a few feet before the water slowed them to a non-lethal speed, but they were still hot, a couple like cigarette burns against his shoulders.
Mitchell exhausted the twenty rounds in his current load. He was about to switch the gun to different ammo when he remembered he had something more powerful.
Chase was already expecting it. He swam deeper, heading for shore as fast as he could—
The 25mm grenade smacked into the water, sank four feet deep - and detonated.
A spherical shockwave blasted outwards at the speed of sound. Its upper half reached the surface in a fraction of a second, sending a huge plume of white spray into the air. Beneath the surface, the shockwave continued to expand, much more powerful and deadly in dense liquid than in air.
However fast he swam, Chase had no chance of outrunning the blast. A grenade tossed into a swimming pool could kill everyone in it through hydrostatic shock alone - his only chance of survival was to be moving directly away from the epicentre, feet towards it to spread out the impact along his body, as the shockwave swept past him. If it hit him squarely, he would be dead, organs ruptured . . .
The blow was horrific, a crushing pressure pummelling him from all sides and knocking him into an uncontrollable tumble. Air was forced from his lungs. He spun limply into the darkness.
Above, Mitchell surveyed the foaming surface for any sign of life. Nothing. He waited a little longer to be sure, then shouldered his rifle, picked up Nina, and hurried back towards the submarine dock.
30
Chase had no idea which way was up. Freezing salt water stung his eyes as he forced them open. No sign of any lights showing the way to the surface, nothing to be heard except the hiss of billions of tiny air bubbles swirling around him.
He was running out of air. In the SAS, he had been able to hold his breath underwater for over five minutes, but without regular training his capacity would have decreased, and he didn’t know how much air the explosion had driven out of him. All he knew was that there wasn’t much left, pressure rising in his chest and his heart beating faster . . .
A new noise - a deep, booming splash. Close by.
It didn’t come. Instead a huge hand locked round his arm and pulled him to the surface. He burst out of the water, gasping for air, and saw the grinning Maximov beside him. ‘Did - did you jump off the cliff ?’
‘If little man like you can do it, hey! No problem for big Russian like me.’ He swam for the jetty, pulling Chase after him. ‘Mitchell went in the dock with your wife.’
They reached one of the pilings and clung to it. ‘She’s not my wife. Well, not yet.’
‘No? So when is wedding?’
‘Why does everyone keep asking that?’ His breath regained, Chase climbed up the piling. He heard echoing gunfire from the sub pen - explosive rounds. What was Mitchell shooting at? A few seconds later came a much louder detonation. The last grenade.
Maximov dragged himself from the water. ‘What is he doing?’
‘Dunno, but we’ve got to get in there.’ Aching all over, Chase shook off some of the water soaking his clothes. The cold sea wind was already slicing through him; if he didn’t get into cover soon he’d be at risk of hypothermia.
They limped down the jetty, the pen’s brightly lit interior coming into view. The Typhoon’s broad black bow rose menacingly above the water, the squat sail set way back behind the ranks of missile tubes. Chase saw people running along the opposite side of the dock. He guessed Mitchell’s gunfire had prompted them to flee, but there was no sign of the American himself—
The submarine started moving.
Only slowly at first, but the rising wash of water over its bow was unmistakable as it angled away from the dock. Mooring lines hung limply down the side of the hull - Mitchell had used explosive rounds to sever them.
An echoing crash came from the sub as a gangway slid loose and fell into the water. Further aft, smoke drifted across the dock. The aftermath of the grenade explosion, Chase realised: a bollard had been blown apart, all the lines connected to it shredded.
The Typhoon was free - but Mitchell hadn’t cut the power cables running from the sub’s reactors through the hole in the hull. They slackened as the submarine slid past the pylon on the dockside, but it wouldn’t be long before they pulled taut again.
The vessel’s stern came into view, its giant propellers churning up the water on each side of the high rudder. The screws were mounted inside metal rings to shield them from damage by objects in the water, putting paid to Chase’s faint hopes of entangling them in the cables.
And his chances of even getting aboard the sub were rapidly diminishing. By the time it drew level, it would be too far from the dockside for him to jump on to the casing - and if he fell in the water, he would be swept into the screws. The protective rings were more than large enough for him to be dragged inside and torn apart.
No way to get aboard . . . except for the crane at the end of the dock.
It was turned away from the submarine, jib pointing along the jetty. But if it could be brought round . . .
‘Can you turn this?’ Chase asked, running to the crane. Its paint was scabbed with rust, the machine apparently unused for some time. But there was a crank at its base that still seemed to be in fair shape.
‘
‘Because I need to get on that sub.’
‘What if it is too short?’
‘Then I’m fucked! Come on, turn it!’ He started scaling the rusty frame.
