Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

PAUL PULLED GAMAY toward the cockpit of the Grouper. She was clutching her leg as if she’d been injured.

“I’m okay,” she said.

Behind her, the sub was filling with water.

He turned to look at the depth gauge. 150. 140.

The needle continued to turn, but it moved slower and slower. Despite the props turning at full rpm, despite all the ballast being gone, the Grouper struggled to ascend. 135.

The gurgling water was filling the sub. It had reached the halfway point and was rapidly climbing toward them. Paul turned back to the controls. He angled the Grouper straight up, trying to maximize the vertical component of the propeller’s thrust. It gave them a slight kick, but as the water began to swirl around his legs he could feel their momentum failing.

The needle touched 130, went just below it, and then stopped.

The Grouper was standing on its tail now, the propeller straining to keep it going. It wasn’t going to be enough.

The water churned around Paul’s waist, Gamay clung to him tightly.

“Time to go,” he said.

Gamay was struggling to keep her head above water as the sea filled the little submersible like a bottle.

“Take a breath,” he said, pulling her up, feeling her shiver in the chill of the water. “Take three deep breaths,” he corrected. “Hold the last one. Remember to exhale as you ascend.” He saw her doing as he’d said, tilting her head back to suck in one last breath as the water covered her face. He managed to inhale once more, and then he went under. In a few seconds he’d reached the hatch. With the pressure now equal inside and out, the hatch opened easily.

He pushed it back and helped Gamay escape. As soon as she was free he shoved her upward, and she began kicking for the surface.

The Grouper was already dropping. Paul had to get himself free. He pushed off as the hull of the submarine slid out from under him. He kicked for the surface, trying to use smooth, long strokes.

The neoprene suits helped; they were buoyant. Witho

ut weight belts, they were almost as buoyant as life preservers. The desire to live helped. And the fact that they’d been at depth breathing compressed air helped. He exhaled slightly as he surged upward, hoping that Gamay remembered to do the same. Otherwise, the compressed, pressurized air would expand in the chest and explode the lungs like an overinflated balloon.

A minute into his ascent, Paul could feel his lungs burning. He continued to kick hard and smooth. Around him, he could see nothing but a watery void. Far below, a fading pinprick of light marked the Grouper as it plunged back into the depths.

Thirty seconds later he exhaled a little more, the pressure on his chest building. He could see light above but no sign of Gamay. At two minutes his muscles were screaming for oxygen, his head was pounding, and his strength waning.

He continued to kick, but ever more slowly. He could feel his muscles beginning to spasm, his body shaking, convulsing.

The spasms passed. The surface shimmered above, but Paul could no longer tell how far away it was. The light faded. The shimmering blue he could see narrowed to a small spot as his arms and legs became too heavy to move.

All movement stopped. His head lolled to the side, the light vanished, and Paul Trout’s last thought was Where’s… my… wife?

24

THE DUST AND THE DARKNESS gave cover as Kurt led Katarina across a grassy field on the cliff side. The approaching cars moved slowly, picking their way along the gravel road. Both cars had front-end damage, and one of them had only a single working headlight. The little game of chicken had worked out in Austin’s favor, both damaging the vehicles and delaying them.

As they approached, Kurt imagined the drivers wondering where their comrades had gone to. Or, for that matter, where their prey had gotten to and how they’d escaped in the underpowered little rental car.

Lying flat in the grass, Kurt waited for the cars to pass. Once they had, he and Katarina resumed their move across the grass, arriving at a cyclone fence.

Kurt looked through the fence. A small hangarlike building stood dark and quiet on the other side. A sign read “Ultralight Charters $50 Per Half Hour.”

“Climb over,” he said to Katarina. “Quietly.”

She put her hands on the top of the fence, stuck her toes into one of the diamond-shaped spaces, and scaled up and over in two quick steps. Kurt was glad to be on the run with an athlete.

He followed, dropping down quietly beside her.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked.