“Okay…” Tommy’s voice remained shaky, on the edge of panic. But his breathing had steadied as he slowly realized he wasn’t sinking.
When he squeezed the edges of the quick-release buckle, Tommy’s belt fell away instantly, and he noticed the difference in weight. “All right, stay on your back, and I’m going to tow you. Kick your legs to help… but only if you can.”
“I’ll try.”
“We’re gonna be fine. We’ll make it.” Dex looked ahead to the shoreline, which hadn’t appeared any closer lately. The seabed should be sloping up soon, getting more shallow. Eventually. And Dex hoped he could make it with Tommy as lax as he’d become. Dex had seen it before where guys just reached a point where they couldn’t push it another inch. Where it became weirdly preferable to let everything go and slip beneath the water.
“Okay, here we go. Ready?”
Tommy tried to nod, and the water splashed around his ears. Dex felt him tense. He hooked his arm under Tommy’s and across his chest, then stretched out and did a modified sidestroke to start towing him toward shore again. They should be in the soft currents that run westwardly and even if Dex did nothing but drift, they might eventually make the coastline.
But might can be a very dangerous word.
Minutes dragged past them like the brackish water, and Dex’s arms and legs screamed from maximum muscle burn. Each pull, each kick agony. Like he was trying to pull a bank safe through quicksand.
Too much weight. He was at the point where every ounce became critical, and he knew what he should do next. The only thing still attached to his own belt was the specimen bag and that weird metal slab. Half the thickness of a brick, it weighed at least five time a brick’s weight. Dex knew it could make the difference between getting ashore safely or not.
Can’t let that go.
Thoughts flashed though him in alternating currents of doubt and conviction, and he knew there was only one choice. Reluctantly, with his free hand, he reached down and squeezed the release on his utility belt. As soon as the bag with the heavy slab slipped free, he felt immediate added buoyancy.
Partially psychological, certainly, but it was enough to revitalize his energy and his resolve. Despite the fire in his limbs, Dex yanked them through the water.
Tommy must have sensed it because he started kicking weakly. It wasn’t much, but it helped. Big time. Every joule of extra energy helped, and they were going to make it.
More minutes, more splashing and pulling the dead weight of the water. The best way to do it was just wipe your mind clean and slip into a trance-like state where the motions of survival became the total sphere of your existence.
There was no room for recriminations about losing the most important piece of evidence of what the 5001 might signify. No sense even worrying about it. That weird slab of metal lay fathoms beneath them, already losing itself in the silty bottom.
They continued to struggle toward the shore. There wasn’t much beach due to the erosion at the south end of Gibson. This had happened despite the presence of substantial jetties spaced evenly along the eastern shoreline. Dex had been vaguely steering them to bisect a couple of the jetties where plenty of trees stood as close to the water as possible. Best place where they could duck into quick cover.
It didn’t seem possible, but the fire in his legs became more intense. So much so, he knew the next stage was some kind of autonomic paralysis. If he could—
Suddenly his feet and knees touched the mushy sand and mud beneath him.
Was it real? Or had he imagined it…
Kicking downward, he was rewarded with the resistance of the packed shoreline sand.
Automatically he righted himself, stood up in the chest-deep water. “Touchdown!” he said weakly.
“Oh Jesus,” said Tommy as he tried to stand, wobbling to stay upright. “That feels so freakin’ good.”
“Easy now. Up to the beach, and head for those trees, okay?”
“I’ll try.” Tommy slogged forward, and either he tripped or his knees gave way; he toppled facedown into the brackish water. He thrashed upward, shaking his head like a big dog. “Man, I think I hate the water! I think my diving days are done, man.”
Reaching the beach, Dex resisted the urge to just collapse across its cool coarse bed. No way. Get the hell away from the water. Now. Crawling up off his knees, he grabbed Tommy under the shoulder and heaved him up to his feet. They covered the small stretch of sand in several staggering, arthritic, zombie strides, crossed a small unpaved service road and slipped into a thick wood of evergreens and tall poplars. As soon as they penetrated the green shade, they folded up like cheap lawn chairs. Even though soaked and trembling from the cool air, they felt unexposed and fairly safe.
“Jeez, I can’t move,” said Tommy. “That was brutal. Just freakin’ broo-tull.”
Dex pulled himself to a sitting position, back against a tall tree, tried to control his breathing. “Now we hope nobody saw us.”
“Huh? This place looks plenty deserted. You mean people live here?”
“Didn’t you see some of the slips when we were coming in?”
“I didn’t see shit. Too busy staying alive to do much sightseein’.”
“Well, anyway, yeah — there’s people here. Rich people. The houses are big and far apart.”
“No kiddin’.” Tommy had been laying flat on his back, but now he eased himself to a sitting position. His red diving suit a stark contrast to the muted colors surrounding them.
“I think some of the land is like state parks or something like that.”
Tommy nodded absently as if that info wasn’t terribly important to him. “So what do we do now?”
Dex half-grinned. “I had a feeling you were going to ask me that.”
Tommy tilted his head. “Meaning what — you have no ideas?”
“No, actually, I have plenty. Just not sure which are the good ones.”
“Well, whatever you got in mind,” said Tommy. “I hope it’s got some down-time in it — I’m beat. Can’t move.”
Dex nodded. “I’m thinking we sit tight for an hour or so, but then we should get going.”
“Like where?”
“We need to assume whoever hit the Sea Dog didn’t want any survivors. They dropped underwater charges on us, remember?”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
“No way to tell if they know who we are yet. But they probably will.”
“How you figure?” Tommy looked only half as interested as he was in maybe catching a few winks.
“If they know they hit Don Jordan’s boat, then they might be able to check who he charters to — which would include the dive shop. That might get them everybody’s name.”
Tommy grinned. “You think Don kept good records like that?”
“Probably not, but I’m figuring worst case for us. And that the people who did this are real pros.”
“Really? You think these guys’re that good?”
“Tommy, I got no idea how good they are. Or who they are. But so far, I have to figure they’re good. Real good.”
Dex didn’t want to say anything, but he was kicking himself for telling that Coast Guard Ensign so much. He didn’t want to think he was the reason the guys were dead. And then there was Kevin Cheever’s buddy at the lab — if he’d talked to that Naval Historical bunch in D.C.… well, maybe that’s how the “bad guys” found out. If they had connections to the military or one of the alphabet agencies, it would be easy.
Tommy had been weighing what Dex had said: “Okay, they’re good. But I still don’t get it.”
“Way I see it, the most probable deal is that people in the military knew about our U-boat, the one with the A-bomb, okay? They knew about it for a long time — probably back when the Germans were first getting it ready, but they never found it. They probably knew the mission was launched, but they never found out what happened to it.”