Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

Giordino didn’t wait for them to take aim. Without missing a beat, he stepped to the side rail, grabbed it, and vaulted over the side.

A spray of bullets peppered the rail a second later as Giordino plunged safely into the sea. He dug hard into the water, swimming deep and away from the ship. He traveled twenty yards before surfacing for air, and to take a quick look.

Dirk’s voice filled his ears. “Grab the line and hang on!”

A large dark object speckled with orange whisked by Giordino’s head. He felt a rope sliding by his body and he clamped onto it with both hands.

He was immediately ripped forward, dragged across the surface as a spray of water pounded his face. His arms felt like they were being ripped from their sockets, but he hung on for nearly a minute. Whenever his head broke the surface, he heard the intermittent crack of distant gunfire. He was choking on water and out of breath when the rope in his hands finally fell slack.

He treaded water a moment while catching his breath. The inflatable nudged up beside him and Dirk leaned over and offered a hand. Sporadic gunfire still sounded but in diminishing intensity.

Giordino lunged aboard and spit out a mouthful of saltwater. “Thanks for the keelhauling,” he sputtered.

“Sorry. I figured it was the fastest way out of Dodge. They nicked our inflatable pretty good, but we’re well out of view now.”

Giordino saw two of the Zodiac’s five airtight compartments were sagging. “They’re certainly gun happy.”

“Guess they weren’t too crazy about your shipboard mining demonstration.”

Giordino looked back toward the Sea Raker, several hundred yards distant. Somebody had pulled the power on the bulk cutter, but only after it had chewed up thirty feet of deck. He could just make out contingents of armed men swarming around the ship like a hive of bees.

Dirk hit the throttle and turned for home.

As they bounded over a rising sea, Giordino grimaced at the chaotic scene behind them. Their foray had been a complete failure. Somewhere aboard the mining ship, Pitt and Summer were being held captive, and now they would be hell to rescue.

43

A half-moon was still kindling the night sky when the tugboat carrying Pitt and Summer throttled down its engine. Pitt nudged his daughter awake as the boat scraped against a dock and its motor shut down.

She yawned. “How long was I out?”

“An hour or so.”

“Great. So we must be in Key West by now.”

The guard at the door had stood, stone-faced, the entire journey. Little changed in his demeanor as he held the captives in the cabin another full hour. Finally, another soldier

arrived, and together they marched Pitt and Summer off the tug and onto a long dock.

Summer scanned the area. “Funny, this doesn’t look like Florida.”

They had landed along a rugged stretch of verdant coast. Scattered lights were visible on the hills beyond, but the immediate landscape seemed isolated. A pair of illuminated buildings faced the extended dock, set in the base of a protected rocky cove.

The dock itself was massive, extending nearly four hundred feet. Pitt noticed the steel platform was painted a teal gray, which would make it hard to see from overhead. The tugboat was tied up just behind the large oceangoing barge it had pushed to shore. The barge held a mountain of ore, the now dried slurry that the Sea Raker had mined from the ocean floor.

As Pitt and Summer were marched along the dock, a contingent of workers approached from shore. Most wore military fatigues, like the soldiers on the Sea Raker. A few were attired in hazmat suits with breathing devices. These men began maneuvering into place a large conveyor system that would offload the barge’s cargo.

At the end of the dock, Pitt paused to eye several high mounds of ore already onshore, presumably awaiting shipment to a smelter. The barrel of an assault rifle nudged him in the back as a reminder that he wasn’t there to sightsee.

They were led past a helicopter pad and a two-story dormitory building to the doorway of a small, low-roofed structure. Inside, it was configured as a contemporary executive office space, complete with plush carpeting and paneled walls.

Summer’s eyes perked up at the sight of some Mesoamerican artifacts displayed in a glass case. She could give them only a cursory glance before they were shoved into a small office containing an empty desk and two stuffed chairs. The door was left open and an armed guard took his position at the threshold.

“At least we get a modicum of comfort before they pass out the blindfolds,” Pitt said. He sank sideways into one of the chairs, his wrists still bound behind him.

“That’s not funny.” Summer took the other seat and leaned toward her father. In a low voice she asked, “Why do you think they brought us here?”

“Guess they didn’t want us in the midst of their mining operation. Maybe they just want us out of the way until they’re finished working around the Alta site.”