Kurt felt a laugh trying to break through. He didn’t have enough air for it yet, but the feeling was grand.
“I couldn’t hit the switch,” Kurt said. “I was blacking out.”
“You must have been short on air,” Joe said. “Long rambling conversations with lunatics on the surface will do that to you.”
Kurt nodded. Next time he’d just keep his mouth shut and breathe through his nose. With the Barracuda’s air starting to feed into his body, he felt his strength returning.
“Never thought I’d owe my life to your gorilla-like feet,” he said. “Good work.”
Joe laughed, then turned serious. “The vents are full open, and the system is trying to compensate for the bleed-off. That’ll keep us in this little oasis for a while, but the supply won’t last. Maybe twenty minutes before it’s exhausted.”
Kurt looked around. The Barracuda rested at an odd angle, and while Kurt and Joe were able to keep their heads and shoulders in the air pocket without too much trouble their hands were still cuffed outside, and the bubbles were streaming out of an upturned corner of the cockpit.
Kurt took a breath, ducked his head down, and swung it outside. He looked around in the muted green light. There, dangling just beyond his reach, was the key, and the knife that Andras had stabbed into the Barracuda’s hull.
He had no idea why Andras would give them such a chance — maybe just to taunt them, maybe for some other sick reason — but Kurt didn’t care at this point. He swung around, kicked his shoes and socks off just as Joe had, and stretched for the lanyard.
He touched it but couldn’t grasp it on his first attempt.
He ducked his head back inside for another breath and then tried again. This time, he caught the lanyard with his toes and tangled it up around his foot. Then he brought up his other foot and kicked the knife firmly but with control.
It moved but didn’t break loose. A second kick jarred it free, and Kurt reeled it in, gripping the length of thin twine as forcefully as his toes could.
He ducked his head back into the cockpit, reveled in another deep breath, and brought his foot to the surface.
Joe laughed. “I make you an honorary King Kong.”
“I’ll take it,” Kurt replied. “But neither one of us is going to undo these cuffs with our feet.”
Kurt took another breath, ducked his head back outside again, and swung around. With great effort he bent his knee and twisted his hip. It was awkward, but in a moment he’d brought his foot up beside their hands and the lift bar.
He felt the edge of the knife first and then the twine of the lanyard. He grabbed it and held tight.
Shifting his head back inside, he took another breath. He had the key in his hand. They were one step closer.
“Are you free?” Joe asked.
“Not yet,” Kurt said. “I’m not exactly up to speed on playing Houdini. But it’s only a matter of time.”
Unable to see his hands from inside the cockpit, he had to go by feel. He reminded himself to be careful; above all else he could not afford to drop the key like some bungling idiot in a bad movie.
He slowed his breathing a bit and felt for the keyhole on the cuffs. Despite the cold water that was rapidly numbing his fingers, he could feel an indentation. He angled the key, jiggled it a bit, and slid it into place. It turned, and the cuff on his left hand clicked.
His left hand was free. He slid it out and was then able to slide the loose cuffs under the lift bar and bring them back into the cockpit.
“Voilà!” he said, raising his hands like an amateur magician for Joe to see.
“Beautiful,” Joe said.
“And for your next trick?” Joe asked.
“I will release the amateur cochampion of the greater southern Azorean islands boxing league.”
Joe laughed. “Make it quick, my hands are getting numb.”
Kurt nodded. The water temperature around them was probably no more than 60 degrees. Hypothermia would set in fairly soon.
He ducked outside, went to work on Joe’s cuffs, and found there was a problem. He jiggled and forced the key in, but it wouldn’t turn. He tried again, but had no better luck. Pulling the key out, he surfaced back in the air pocket.