Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“It won’t be long now,” he said. “Are you ready?”

The question was meant for Paul, who sat behind him in the crane operator’s seat. “Yes,” Paul said. “I’ve become an expert at operating cranes over the last week. I even know how to throw a submersible like I was casting for a fish.”

Joe could hear the mischievous tone in Paul’s words. “I heard how you launched the Angler from the deck of the Catalina,” Joe said. “A neat trick. At this point, it’s all about reeling in a big fish and not letting it get away.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Joe made another scan of the gauges. The engine temperature was running high, not in the red zone yet but getting there.

Hovering wasn’t easy on the turbines, it meant less airflow to cool the blades. It meant the engine had to work harder and hotter. And even though he was only fifty feet off the lake’s surface, the altimeter read ninety-four hundred and change. That meant the air was thin, the rotors getting less bite of air with each circular sweep.

Joe had studied plenty of crashes during his flight training. It was a way to learn from the mistakes of others. As he recalled with a certain morbidity, a great many of those crashes came when operating hot, high and heavy.

The old-timer who’d taught him to fly had insisted that was not a place any pilot ever wanted to find himself, but Joe had no choice. The Air-Crane was already hot and high; as soon as they pulled the Nighthawk free of the water, it would be very, very heavy.

He tapped the temperature gauge, thankful for the breeze that was helping cool the turbine. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Do you see any dye?” Paul asked.

Kurt and Emma had dye capsules with them. Red to indicate a problem; green to give the all clear and show Paul and Joe the exact flow of the current, so they could align themselves with it as they lifted.

“No,” Joe said. “But someone’s coming up.”

A diver appeared on the surface. In the full suit and helmet, it was impossible to tell which one. The diver flashed a light on and off three times, offered a thumbs-up, and then broke open the green dye capsule.

Joe responded by toggling the landing light on and off. The diver acknowledged and went back down. “Cables are in place,” he said. “Ready to lift.”

“Finally,” Paul replied. “Hauling in the slack.”

As Paul manipulated the controls, the cables began rising out of the dark lake. One led to the nose of the Nighthawk and one to a spot near the tail.

Joe felt weight on the helicopter as soon as the slack was taken up. “Lock it there,” he said. “I’ll do the rest.”

As Paul locked the winch, Joe added power slowly. This was the most dangerous point: the lift itself. Manipulating the controls with a light touch, he pulled up, allowed the Air-Crane to settle and then pulled up again.

The cables strained and stretched tight, shedding water each time, but after several attempts, the Nighthawk remained stuck in the silt down below.

“Come on, baby,” Joe whispered. “Don’t play hard to get.”

He pulled harder and longer on the next try. The rotors thundered above him. The turbines howled. The swirling pattern on the water below swept around and around, but despite continued attempts, the Nighthawk would not break free.

A yellow warning light came on indicating high temperature in turbine number one.

“It’s no good,” Paul shouted from behind him.

“It’s got to come loose soon,” Joe said.

Joe relaxed the power and watche

d the temperature stabilize just below the red line. “One more try,” he said. “I’m going to full power.”

Down below, Kurt and Emma could tell the Air-Crane was struggling. The cables had groaned and creaked with each successive pull while the drumming of the rotors rose to a crescendo, but the black spacecraft never moved.

“Is it caught on something?” Emma asked.

“It’s the suction,” Kurt said. “Get under the wing. Dig out as much silt as you can.”

Emma swam for the tip of the right wing and began digging with her gloved hands, scooping at the muck and pushing it out behind her.