“What’s our rate of climb?” she asked.
“We’re down to two hundred feet per minute,” Paul said.
“Slower?” she said. “Why are we moving slower? Are we losing rpms?”
“No,” Paul said. “We’re gaining weight.”
He nodded toward the tail end of the sub, and she turned. At least thirty gallons of water had pooled in the Grouper’s tail. Thirty gallons, two hundred sixty pounds of added weight, and rising.
Gamay now realized they weren’t just in a race against the hull splitting open, they were in a race against time. Even with the reduced leak the Grouper would slowly take on water and continue to get heavier. Survival or destruction would be determined by the balance between how much water was coming in and how fast they could continue to rise. If they didn’t get to the surface soon, they’d reach a point where the Grouper’s buoyancy was overridden by the added weight. At that moment, their long slow climb would turn into an even longer and slower descent, one from which there would be no escape.
THE TIRES OF THE RENTAL CAR squealed on the macadam of the mountain road. Kurt looked behind them. Two sets of lights had suddenly appeared and were getting closer at every turn.
“We should have gone back into the restaurant,” she said.
He’d considered that, but there were only ten or so people in the building, and maybe a pair of cooks in the back. Not enough to really make it a secure location, and too many lives to endanger.
“Keep going,” he said. “We’re dead if they catch us up here. The best thing we can do is get to the city. We can find the police down there.”
Katarina kept her foot on the gas, whipping the car through the turns as she’d done on the way up the hill. It kept them ahead. But two long straightaways allowed the larger, more powerful Audis to catch them.
Another series of hairpins gave them some breathing room, but if Kurt remembered it right, the longest straight section was coming up.
“Do you have a weapon?” he asked.
Katarina shook her head.
Unfortunately, neither did he. The Azores had strict policies regarding guns and such. Perhaps that was a good thing. Otherwise, the thug at the top of the hill might have had a Lugar or a Glock instead of a pipe.
Still, it led to problems here and now.
“We’re coming up on another straight bit,” she said.
They rounded the curve, and Katarina stomped on the gas, but the Audis all but leapt toward them, moving up fast in the rearview.
Suddenly, the window shattered on Kurt’s side, and the sound of bullets punching holes in the sheet metal rang out. Kurt ducked down. So much for the no-gun policy.
Katarina began swerving back and forth, trying to keep the pursuers off them. As she did, Kurt spotted something sliding around in the backseat: the pipe he’d been hit with.
He grabbed it, glanced in the side mirror, and had an idea. The lead Audi was just a few feet back on his side.
“Hit the brakes,” he shouted.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Katarina shifted her weight, gripped the wheel, and slammed her foot on the brake pedal. As she did, Kurt threw open his door.
The rental car’s tires dug into the asphalt, screeching, streaming white smoke. The Audi’s driver was taken by surprise; he hit his brakes late, took the rental car’s door clean off, and then rumbled over it.
Shocked and confused, he didn’t notice Kurt leaning out of the car, holding on to the garment handle above the door and swinging the pipe with a backhand like Rafael Nadal’s.
The blow smashed in the windshield. A thick spiderweb of cracks spread out over the driver’s half, completely blocking the view. The Audi swerved away and then came back as if it would ram them.
Kurt swung again, this time a forehand coming in from the side. It took out the driv
er’s window, catching the driver in the side of the head. The Audi swerved hard this time, dropping back and moving toward the cliff, then swerving rapidly to the right. It hammered the rocky slope on that side of the road, flipped, and tumbled. It slid on its caved-in roof, shedding parts and glass for a hundred yards, but avoided going off the cliff.