Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

He twisted his hands to align the card against a taut section of rope and began to saw. Though it wasn’t a hot knife through butter, he could feel the sharpened badge slowly cut through the nylon fibers.

“I’ll be taking a rather large drink soon, just so you know,” Giordino said as the water splashed about his chin.

Pitt stepped up his efforts. He could feel the rope begin to give and he pressed harder. Finally, the rope snapped free.

“Got it, Al,” he said.

It was only one section of rope, and he struggled to loosen the wrist bindings and slip his hands free. Then he pulled his arms clear of the rope that pinned his elbows to the ladder.

Giordino said nothing, but Pitt could hear his strains and gasps to keep his face above water.

Pitt reached around to Giordino’s elbows and felt for a free end of the wet line. It had been drawn tight. Pitt, ducking underwater to get better leverage, quickly freed it from the ladder, then untied the remaining ropes, freeing Giordino’s hands.

“Thanks . . . brother . . .” Giordino said, coughing and gasping. “I was almost pickled.”

Pitt had already moved on to Perkins, who stood a head taller than Giordino. Pitt released the scientist’s bindings as the water approached his chin. The three men clung on the ladder, recuperating, for a few moments.

“Now we need to get the door open,” Pitt said.

They swam to the far wall, probing with their hands to find the hatch. Pitt felt it first and again ducked underwater to reach the wheel lock. He rotated the dog lever to unlock the hatch, then pulled on it. The door didn’t budge. He popped back to the surface to take a breath.

“The hatch is here. I need some additional leverage against the force of all this water.”

Giordino splashed alongside an instant later. “Ready when you are.”

They ducked under and grabbed the lever. Pitt braced a foot against the tank wall, and together they pulled on the hatch. The door inched open, then slammed back from the force of the liquid. They returned to the surface to catch their breath.

“We need,” Pitt said, “to wedge something inside the opening until the pressure can be relieved.”

“Not much to work with in here,” Giordino said.

Perkins had returned to the ladder and had seen a flash of light when the hatch briefly opened. “I’m wearing a stout pair of work boots,” he said. “If you can open it again, I can try slipping a toe in. A foot in the door, so to speak.” He swam over and joined them.

“You could lose it,” Giordino said.

“A foot for a life seems a fair trade.”

Pitt and Giordino plunged underwater once more. Both braced against the tank wall and pulled on the lever. The door nudged open a fraction, then again slammed shut. Their hope was dwindling, and both knew it.

Pitt tapped Giordino’s arm with one, then two, then three fingers, and they heaved once more. The hatch sprung open a few inches as they strained with maximum effort. They held it until their strength waned, then released their grip and burst to the surface.

The tank had a different look. A sliver of light shone through, creating wavy shadows on the ceiling. Near the source of the light, Perkins stood with a twisted look. Around him came a deep rushing sound.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

The thick leather sole of his boot started to buckle, but held the door open, allowing a rush of water to escape. Perkins struggled to keep his foot steady, flattening his body against the side of the tank to minimize the suction.

The water level was slow to drop, and Perkins had to hold his position for a minute or two until it reached waist level. Pitt and Giordino then forced the door fully open, allowing the remaining fluid to gush out.

Perkins stumbled into the outflow, thankful to exit the tank even as he lost his footing and sprawled onto the wet floor. Pitt helped him to his feet, then pulled him aside.

Alarms were sounding as the water sloshed across the floor. Too late, Pitt heard a yell and saw an armed man run toward them from the control station. A younger replacement for the earlier technician, he wore a brown jumpsuit and held a pistol in front of him. He stopped well short of Pitt and Perkins and, with a shaky hand, aimed the gun.

Pitt could see he was no trained guard and stepped toward him with Perkins, following the curved wall of the tank.

“Stay where you are!” the man said.

Pitt raised one arm, but kept walking, helping Perkins along with him.