Poseidon's Arrow

Pitt purged the ballast tanks, and the submersible began a lazy ascent. The sun had just slipped beneath the horizon when they broke the surface off the Drake’s beam. Gunn stood by the crane as the sub drew alongside. He expertly lowered the jaws and clamped onto the submersible’s hoist ring. Gunn lifted the sub out of the water to deck level, then left it dangling.

“Come on, Rudi,” Giordino said, “bring us on in.”

Pitt stared out the view port, then stiffened. A large man unknown to Pitt stood near Gunn, holding a pistol. The man smiled at Pitt, but there was no warmth in the expression. Gunn eased his hands off the crane controls, then gave Pitt a grim shake of his head before stepping away.

Giordino saw Gunn abandon the controls and asked, “What’s going on?”

Pitt kept his eyes fixed on the gunman aboard the Drake.

“I would say that we’ve been hung out to dry.”

13

THEY HAD ATTACKED THE DRAKE UNDER THE GUISE of helplessness.

The crew on the Mexican powerboat floating nearby had surreptitiously monitored the NUMA vessel all day —until they spotted their objective. When the sun began to follow the submersible beneath the waves, a Spanish- accented voice hailed the Drake over the marine radio, feigning a shortage of fuel. Taking the call on the bridge, Gunn told the boat to come alongside if they were able and he would pass across some gasoline.

The boat made a show of limping over at minimal speed, swinging around the back of the barge before inching toward the NUMA ship. While the boat was temporarily out of view, a lone gunman leaped aboard the barge’s stern and sneaked his way to the pilothouse.

Soon a large man stood on the boat’s afterdeck, waving at Gunn with a cold smile. He wore black slacks and a loose knit black shirt, odd attire for a fishing trip. The approaching twilight obscured his coffee complexion and flat facial features, more typical of Central American heritage than Mexican. The man tossed a line to a waiting deckhand, then turned to Gunn, who leaned over the rail with a five-gallon container of gas.

“Thank you, senor,” he said in a baritone voice. “We stayed too long fishing and feared we would not make it to shore.”

He reached for the can and set it on the deck. Then, moving as quickly as a cat, he grabbed the rail and leaped aboard the Drake. A Glock semiautomatic materialized from his back paddle holster—and was leveled at Gunn’s chest the instant his feet touched the deck. “Tell your crewmen to put their hands on the rail and face the sea.”

Gunn relayed the order to a pair of shocked crewmen on the deck, who nodded. They raised their arms, then shuffled to the rail.

Two more gunmen climbed aboard and sprinted up to the Drake’s bridge. Gunn winced when he heard gunfire, but then breathed easier a few moments later when he saw the helm watchman marched down to the deck. One gunman had spotted the Drake’s rigid inflatable lifeboat and casually pumped several rounds into it, making the rubber boat sag like a limp balloon. When a scientist ducked out of the lab to see what the commotion was about, he was grabbed roughly and herded together with the other crewmen.

Gunn looked to the tall man in black. “What is it you want?”

The man ignored him as a small radio clipped to his waist chirped.

“The barge is secure,” radioed an unseen voice.

“Bring it alongside and join us aboard the research ship,” the gunman replied. “We’ll be ready shortly.”

The radio sounded again. “Pablo, the submersible has surfaced.”

The man in black cursed as he looked over the side, seeing the crown of the submersible. Pocketing the radio, he grabbed Gunn by the collar and marched him to the lift crane. “Raise your friends out of the water, but don’t bring them aboard the ship.” He stepped back, keeping his weapon drawn.

As Gunn reached for the controls, he searched for a way to warn Pitt. The idea was abandoned when he felt the Glock pressed against his spine. Gunn attached the recovery clamp, raised the submersible, and stood by helplessly as he left it suspended in the air.

A few seconds later, the old barge bumped against the Drake’s stern. A fourth gunman, also wearing dark clothes and carrying a pistol, raced across the deck and jumped onto the Drake. He stepped over to Pablo, breathing heavily. His shirt was ripped, and a trace of blood trickled from his lower lip.

“What happened to you?” Pablo asked.

“The captain gave me some trouble, at first.”

Pablo shook his head and frowned. “Get the crate aboard. Now!”

The new gunman meekly joined the other two in hoisting the box recovered from the Cuttlefish and placing it on their boat. Gunn suddenly thought of Ann and realized she wasn’t on deck.

The leader of the assault team turned to Gunn, waving his Glock. “Do not follow us or call for help or we shall return and kill you all.” Pablo smiled at Gunn, his dark eyes glistening. “Thank you for your assistance.” He stepped to the rail without looking back and climbed onto his boat.

Pitt and Giordino were forced to watch the drama from the confines of the submersible. Though they could have exited the sub’s hatch, they would have had a precarious leap to get aboard the Drake. Before they could act, it was all over.

Watching Pablo step over the rail, Pitt detected a movement at the forward part of the ship. He turned to Al. “Did you see something go off the side, near the bridge?”

“No,” Giordino said. “I was keeping tabs on the guy who pulled the gun on Rudi.”

They watched as Pablo boarded the powerboat and it pulled away from the Drake. But as it turned and sped toward shore, they caught a glimpse of its opposite deck in the fading light.

Giordino poked a finger at the view port. “Is that what I think it is?”

Pitt had seen it too and he nodded.

It was the outstretched figure of a drenched blond woman, hiding on the narrow side deck of the boat as it thundered toward Mexico.

14

GUNN WASTED NO IN TIME HOISTING THE SUBMERSIBLE aboard as Pitt and Giordino waited at the open hatch.

“Is everyone all right?” Pitt asked.

“No one was hurt,” Gunn replied. “They threatened to kill us if we call for help or pursue them.”

“Who were they?” Giordino asked.

Gunn shook his head. “I have no clue. The leader was called Pablo. They came for that box you guys lifted from the Cuttlefish. Any idea what was in it?”

“No,” Pitt said, “but I think Ann does. How did she get aboard their boat?”

“Ann? I thought she was in her cabin.”

“We saw her hiding beside the wheelhouse of their boat as it stormed away,” Giordino said.

Gunn turned pale. “They may kill her if they catch her.”

“Call the Coast Guard,” Pitt said. “Maybe they have a drug interdiction patrol boat nearby. But don’t say anything about Ann, in case they’re listening in. Al and I will try and track them in the inflatable.”

“Not going to happen,” Gunn said. “They shot up the bridge radio and the inflatable. We’ve got some handheld radios I can make the call with, but you’re out of luck with the RIB.”