Almost subconsciously his hand dropped down to the Browning 9mm tucked into his waistband beneath his now untucked shirt. If he could only get close enough to the Hofstad boat, he might be able to neutralize them. But first he would have to find a way to bring his boat to them. If he were to speed over to them they would most likely gun him down.
He looked around the old boat, at the pile of nets and buoys on the deck, at the VHF marine radio on the console, at the battered old outboard motor mounted on the transom.
His eyes lingered there, then flicked back to the radio, then to the Hofstad boat. He found the switch to raise the motor and lifted its lower half out of the water. He then removed the cowling to expose its innards, as though he was working on it. He wiped some grease from the motor on his hands and smudged his forehead. Then he found the sparkplugs and removed one of them, pocketing it.
Shah walked back over to the console and picked up the radio. He verified it was set to the distress channel, then spoke in English while he keyed the transmitter.
“Attention, attention! Fishing boat requires assistance. Calling white boat near oil rig: can you help me? Motor won’t start. Think I just need a jump start. Please help, over.”
A couple of minutes passed during which Shah refrained from using the binoculars in case he himself was now being watched. Then the radio crackled to life in Dutch-accented English.
“Fishing boat, we acknowledge your transmission but we have divers in the water and cannot leave the area now, over.”
Shah gripped the transmitter and spoke into it. “Please, I am begging you. I am taking on water with no battery power to run my pump. If I just had a jump start I could help myself.”
About thirty seconds went by and Shah was beginning to think that they were ignoring him. But then the reply came.
“Fishing boat: all right. We can send a man over in our tender vessel to see if he can give you an assisted start. Stand by.”
Shah thanked them and dropped the transmitter. He heard the buzzing of a low horsepower motor start up, and then he saw a small boat speeding in his direction from Hofstad’s larger vessel.
THIRTY-ONE
Dante hauled himself over the top of the ladder onto the oil platform’s lowest level. He shed his gear and then reached out to pull Jasmijn up. They crouched next to a large spool of electrical cable on a concrete deck and surveyed their new surroundings: a maze of pipes and catwalks. They could neither see nor hear any signs of people. The place looked deserted. Dante heard the sound of water dripping and located the source: Jasmijn’s mesh dive bag containing the sea anemones.
“I thought you said you needed those to be alive, in water, in order to be useful for the antidote?”
She frowned at the bag of invertebrates. “Ideally, yes, but to be honest I’ve tried it with them before, delivered live, and it didn’t work.”
“So you lied to them?”
“Well, I guess so. But I don’t know what else to try. I know these anemones are the key, somehow…”
“Good job. You got us out of the lab and at least now we have a chance. Maybe you should just ditch the bag now since they’re going to die, lighten your load?”
She eyed the bag again. “I think I should hold onto them. For one thing, if Hofstad does recapture us, they might still be alive and I’ll tell them they’re still good. For another, maybe they’ll work anyway, who knows. We went through a lot of trouble to collect them, after all. Not to mention I don’t want to take their lives for nothing.”
“Okay, then let’s move.” Dante motioned along the edge of the structure, below which the waves slapped against the support pilings, echoing throughout the rig.
“What are we looking for?”
“Let’s see if we can find a radio or a satellite phone in here somewhere.”
Jasmijn agreed. “We can work our way up, most of the rooms are on the upper level.”
They walked across the first level, which was mostly outdoors, with the second, more substantial level blocking most of the sunlight. Dante knew that they had only a few minutes before Hofstad discovered something was up. SCUBA air tanks lasted for somewhere between forty minutes to an hour, depending on depth, and, although he had no watch, he knew it had to be coming up on that now.
Dante pointed out some metal bolts laid out on the floor in front of them. “Step over them. We don’t want to make any loud noises they can hear from the boat.” Jasmijn avoided the obstacles and they continued around the edge of the rig, which was roughly square shaped. They reached the end of the first side and laid out flat in what Dante thought of as a prone sniper position in order to get a look at the Hofstad boat below.
It was still floating there, the four men and Naomi visible as indistinct forms from this distance. Dante could see no signs that they were frantically searching for them yet. But then he saw something that gave him an adrenaline surge.
Another boat.
Smaller, a little further away than Hofstad’s vessel.
Shah?
He’d been there at the dock. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to figure out where they were going, but Nay had gotten off the comment as a clue.
Even if it wasn’t Shah, as long as it was someone besides Hofstad, it was great news.
“Who do you think is in the other boat?” Jasmijn asked.
“I think it’s my OUTCAST colleague who followed us from the docks. I saw him there.”
“No way we can swim to him or Hofstad will see.”
“Right. We have to communicate with him somehow. A radio would be best, even though Hofstad might hear that. Or we could try to visually signal him somehow, like with a mirror or a flare if we can find one.”
But as soon as he said it, they heard the sound of a smaller outboard motor start up. They turned and saw an inflatable Zodiac boat making a fast beeline from the Hofstad boat to the newcomer’s vessel. It would be there in a couple of minutes.
“Should we watch what happens here?” Jasmijn queried. Dante got to his feet and started moving toward the rig’s main enclosed structure.
“We should see if we can get to a radio while they’re a little distracted.”
THIRTY-TWO
Shah stood by his boat’s motor as he watched the Hofstad Zodiac idle up to his craft.
“Speak English?” he tested.
“Need help with your engine?” one of them, the one not driving the boat, called out in the requested language. His tone was not friendly.
“Yes, please! Thank you for coming to help. It was working fine this morning.” Shah pointed to the motor with a gesture of irritation.
“Perhaps mechanic is not your calling,” the other man said. He killed the Zodiac’s engine and tossed Shah a line. Shah tied it to a cleat on his boat, tethering the two vessels together. He was hoping that one of the men might remain in the Zodiac but both of them boarded the larger boat. The three of them huddled around the engine, its cover off.
“Let’s have a look. Go ahead and start it,” the taller of the two men said. Both of them wore jeans and long sleeved shirts. One appeared to be of North African descent while the taller of the two was European.
Shah walked back to the console and turned the key while looking backwards, ostensibly to watch the motor, but really two keep an eye on the two terrorists.
“It’s not turning over at all,” the shorter man observed.
“Like I said, I think my battery is dead,” Shah said. He worried that they were about to poke around in the engine and discover the pulled spark plug — that would be highly unusual since he’d managed to get out here — but then one of them leapt back onto the Zodiac.