Natalya’s spear tore through the first man’s leg while McCracken’s ripped straight through the throat of the second. The first managed to get his spear off but the shot was hopelessly errant and lodged in the rotted wall behind Natalya. She swam for it, thinking she could use it herself. She had gotten her hand on it when Blaine saw her gesture to him. He swam to her and looked where she pointed, to an insignia printed on the shaft of the enemy spear. It was Russian.
Their attackers were Russians!
Blaine motioned for her to forget the spear and continue on. More figures were pushing through the deck opening now to give chase. Blaine and Natalya swam as fast as they dared through the serpentine corridors, the sensation reminding McCracken of his experience in Fass’s Labyrinth just days before.
Their luck held. A slight brightening up ahead signaled Blaine they had located another way out. The plan was obvious now. Climb back out of the warship and take their chances with a mad surface dash. If they could outswim their Russian pursuit and reach Captain Bob far enough ahead of them, they would have a chance.
Too many “ifs,” thought McCracken, none of which took into account that these Russians hadn’t swum all the way from the Biminis. They surely had a ship nearby with plenty more firepower than the single shotgun Captain Bob had brought along.
Natalya went up through the escape hole first, but her progress was arrested by an arm snaking around from behind her. She swung in time to stop the man whose leg still held her spear from cutting her throat but not her air hose. Bubbles lurched through the water and she knew the horror of having her breath taken from her. She fought against panic and turned the severed air hose on the man, blinding him with bubbles, which gave McCracken enough time to emerge from the portal with his own knife. The Russian turned toward him much too late, seeing only a glimmer as Blaine’s blade whipped across his throat. The blood gushed out in a sudden burst, then swirled slowly through the water.
Blaine paddled fast for Natalya, who had drifted away, and jammed his auxiliary regulator in her open mouth. She breathed gratefully and signaled him to start a rise to the surface. Blaine yanked the cord on his vest which inflated it all at once, then did the same to Natalya’s. To avoid an embolism, never rise faster than your air bubbles, went the popular scuba teaching, but now that seemed the least of their problems.
The remaining three Russians were already even with them fifteen yards to their left. Blaine and Natalya fought to rise faster but sharing air from the same tank proved cumbersome and slowed them up considerably. Blaine looked toward the Russians, and saw yet another shape beyond them coming fast. Oh no, not another one. This figure was not wearing a wet suit, and he moved through the water as gracefully as if it was his home. He might have moved even faster if not for the spearguns he held in both hands. He fired both from twenty yards behind the Russians.
The Russians were unaware of the figure’s presence until his spears sliced through two of their midsections. The two who’d been hit pawed around them as if to grab fistfuls of water, then sank toward the bottom. The third turned and aimed his speargun in the same motion. It would be impossible for him to miss from such close range. The spear leaped dead on target, and what Blaine saw next would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t watched it himself. At the last possible instant the figure reached out a hand and redirected the spear away from him without slowing his pace. Then the figure had his knife out and was upon the last Russian before the man could try anything else. McCracken didn’t see the rest from this distance but he didn’t have to. The sight of the final black-suited figure floating toward the bottom was enough to tell him the results.
Blaine turned his eyes back on the figure drawing closer to them and saw the long hair dangling free. The figure grasped a closed fist to his heart in an underwater signal not of the standard, but of the Indian, variety.
It was Johnny Wareagle.
McCracken steered for a dark shape on the surface with Natalya by his side. They surfaced not more than ten yards from the cruiser.
“We’ve got visitors,” Captain Bob shouted at them. He pointed off the stern of the cruiser.
Blaine started swimming for the boat while he looked where Captain Bob pointed, toward a fishing trawler about three hundred yards away. Now that its occupants had seen them surface, the results of the underwater battle would be obvious and they were certain to attack.
Johnny Wareagle surfaced just as Blaine pushed Natalya up to Captain Bob’s helping hand. A small powerboat lay a hundred yards off their bow, obviously the vehicle the Indian had miraculously steered to their rescue.
“Who the hell is that?” Captain Bob wondered as Blaine joined Natalya on the deck.
“Charlie the Tuna,” McCracken told him. “Starkist finally gave him the call.”
Captain Bob’s mind was elsewhere and he moved for the bridge. “I’d better get this heap moving ‘fore the shootin’ starts.”
“They’ve probably got enough firepower on board to sink another fleet of ships,” Blaine shouted at him grimly.
“Won’t do ’em no good nohow if I can run ’em onto the reef.” He gunned the engine and gazed up at the sky reflectively. “Night’s comin’ and we’s headin’ straight into the feedin’ waters of the Dragon Fish.”
If there was regret in the captain’s voice, Blaine couldn’t find it. “That’s the least of our worries,” he told him.
The fishing boat was already steaming forward, chancing the reef, and Johnny Wareagle was barely halfway on board when Captain Bob finally gave his cruiser gas.
“Spirits guide you out here, Indian?” Blaine asked Johnny.
“Not this time, Blainey. I just followed the men in the boat behind us. Their presence in Bimini seemed too great a coincidence.”
“Sure beats Club Med if you ask me.”
The humor failed to impress Wareagle. He was breathing hard. “The scientist Sundowner is dead, Blainey.”
“What? How?” Blaine shook his head. “Never mind. The Farmer Boy must have got to him, probably before he reached the President with the truth about the replacement satellite. Damnit, I should have known….”
“No, you couldn’t have, because there’s more. Just before the scientist left, he learned that Atragon has been discovered in Colorado.”
“Colorado?” It was Natalya, numbed to the bone.
They both looked at her. Wareagle spoke.
“A town called Pamosa—”
“Springs!” completed Natalya abruptly. “In the plane to Algiers I overheard Raskowski and Katlov speaking about that town! Troops mobilized to hold it. But what would he want with—” She stopped, the realization striking her at the same time it struck McCracken.
“The Atragon!” he exclaimed. “The source for his death beam!” Then, thinking it out as he continued, “His first satellite blows up, and all of a sudden he needs more. The Farmer Boy somehow learns it’s there in Colorado, so Raskowski takes the town over. Mines all of the crystals he can use.” A puzzled look crossed McCracken’s features. “Only what does he do with it then? He used his deception to get his reflector into orbit but he still would need—”
The first bullets started blazing from the fishing boat, a few smacking into the sides. The three of them dove for cover.
“Their boatman’s damn good,” Captain Bob called from behind the wheel. “Knows these waters almost as good as me. But he won’t know the shallows. Ain’t a man alive who knows ’em like I do.”