Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

“With no waiting.”

Pitt brought the submersible as close as he could, holding it at an angled hover while Giordino went to work. Using his own small manipulator, Giordino grasped one of the wires, then rotated the mechanical claw. The wire easily snapped under the manipulator’s hydraulic power.

Giordino made quick work of the remaining wires. But the Starfish failed to ascend.

Pitt brought his submersible in slowly and gave it a firm nudge. Nothing happened.

“She might be stuck in the mud,” Giordino said.

“Then let’s pull her out.” He hovered above the Starfish, creeping across its top until Giordino could snare a lift ring with the manipulator.

“I got her,” he said, “though that mechanical arm isn’t made for hauling.”

Pitt nodded. He slowly purged his ballast tanks. The Bullet rose slightly and stopped as the manipulator reached its full extension.

Pitt kept on the ballast pumps, then tapped his thrusters. The submersible pulled forward, tilting the Starfish. Then the yellow submersible broke free of the mud’s suction—and started to ascend.

The two submersibles rose together, but the ascent was too slow for Pitt’s liking. He powered the thrusters and angled toward the surface. The rise was still agonizing for him. There were no lights on inside the Starfish, indicating Summer’s battery reserves had expired.

Giordino released the manipulator’s grip at fifty feet, and the two vessels broke the surface together. Pitt had Giordino bring them alongside as he opened the hatch and hopped out.

A searchlight from the Sargasso Sea illuminated them as Pitt leaped aboard the Starfish. He attacked the main hatch, releasing its safety latch and spinning it open. He quickly slithered into the interior, which had turned icy.

Summer wrapped her arms around her father as he picked her up. She shivered suddenly, breathing hard. “Dad.”

He carried her to the hatch, where Giordino stood, reaching down with his thick arms.

“Hand her up.” He pulled her out like a rag doll.

Pitt climbed out to see Summer open her eyes and force a smile.

Cradled by the two men atop the submersible, she inhaled deep breaths of night air. “I don’t feel quite as foggy,” she said, “but I’m getting a headache you wouldn’t believe.”

“You nearly slept for good,” Giordino said as the Sargasso Sea closed in to pick them up.

“I saw a bright light,” she said in a weak voice. “I thought it was an angel calling me, then I realized it was something else.”

“What’s that?” Pitt asked, leaning close.

“It was you,” she said, reaching up to her father’s face and stroking away a tear.

78

General Alberto Gutier walked into the office of the vice president and sized it up for himself. It was a spacious enclave on the top floor of the Cuban Communist Party headquarters, featuring a private bathroom and an impressive city view. Gutier took a quick glance out the window at the José Marti Memorial, which stood illuminated against the night sky. The office would do quite nicely, he thought, once the antiquated décor of its current occupant was removed.

Although Vice President César Alvarez was over eighty and in frail health, his mind was still quick. He remained seated behind a large desk as Gutier was escorted into the room.

“Mr. Vice President,” Gutier said, “you are looking well this evening.”

“Thank you, General,” Alvarez said in a raspy voice. “Please, take a seat.”

“Why do you wish to see me at this late hour?”

“The news from the Cayman Islands is not good.”

“It is a terrible tragedy.”

“What is the latest information that you have?” Alvarez asked.