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Here’s the truth. I was beyond scared. I couldn’t believe I’d actually come up with this stupid idea. And I couldn’t believe I’d talked two other men into being accomplices. The phrase not thoroughly thought through came to mind.
Chuck looked over at me. “Are you breathing?”
“No.”
“You’re going to have to remember to breathe. It’s hard to pull someone in when they’re dead weight.”
We were directly over the stream, slightly above treetops. I looked down and caught a glimpse of the canister in the swirling water.
Chuck was smiling. “I see it,” he said. “Piece of cake. Go back with Ryan, and he’ll suit you up.”
I crawled back and Ryan sat me on the floor and started walking me through the equipment.
“This is a no-brainer,” he said. “Try to enjoy yourself. It’s not every day you get a chance to swing from a helicopter.”
I did an inadvertent whimper.
Ryan was grinning. “You’re going to be great,” he said. “I’m going to take your headset off now, and replace it with a full face mask. All you have to do is remember to breathe. When I get the mask on, you’re going to scoot over to the door. You’ll feel me holding you. Don’t worry about anything. I’m going to take good care of you. Stay as still as possible while you’re dropping. Look down so you know when you get to the water. Keep concentrating on the water and stay focused on your goal.” And then he took the headset and fixed the mask over my face. I felt his hand at my back, and I knew I was supposed to scoot to the door, but I was paralyzed. My heart was pounding so hard it was shaking my whole body. I turned and grabbed hold of Ryan’s shirt with both hands. We’re talking genuine death grip, my fingers curled into the fabric, possibly drawing blood. I was shaking my head no, no, no, and I was babbling gibberish into the mask.
Ryan tapped a finger on the visor to get my attention. He pried my fingers loose from his shirt, and he eased me over in a crab-walk to the open doorway. And then somehow, I was dangling from the cable, slowly dropping to the water.
I have a dim memory of screaming. My screams getting lost in the whoosh of air in my mask and the beat of the chopper blades. I was swinging under the chopper, and I was choking on a fresh wave of panic. I tried to conjure up Hooker naked, but I was way beyond that as a mental health aid. Water was whipping up from the chopper’s downdraft and spraying onto my mask. My mind was scrambling. I didn’t realize at first that my feet were splashing in water. Ryan was holding me at stream level, waiting for me to get calm and give him the signal to drop me farther.
I started an internal dialogue. Okay, Barney, it’s up to you now. Get it together so you don’t screw up when you’re underwater. Remember to breathe. Focus. Do the job.
I waved at Ryan, and he started letting out more cable. I was in water up to my knees, my waist, my chest, and then the water was over my head. More panic. Push it away, I thought. Trust Ryan. Get the job done. I realized I was breathing underwater and the panic became manageable.
The water was murky. I flashed my wrist light around, but I didn’t see the canister. I was disoriented, and I was reluctant to move from my drop point. And then I saw a slim, fluorescent green laser beam cut through the water in front of me. Ryan could see the canister from the air and was trying to guide me. I followed the beam, and I found the canister. It had only been about ten feet away. I attached the collar and made sure it was secure. Then I flashed my light at Ryan, and he pulled me up.
This time the trip was exhilarating. The fear was gone. Or maybe I’d learned to enjoy the fear. At any rate, I was smiling when Ryan pulled me through the door and removed my mask.
“I did it,” I said. “I did it!”
Ryan was grinning, too, “You were amazing!” he yelled.
I took my seat and watched as Ryan raised the canister from the water. Six million lethal doses of SovarK2 swinging below me. I closed my eyes for a moment, and my hand reflexively went to my heart. I didn’t know all the mechanical details, but I suspected it wouldn’t be good if the canister dropped from this height. Ryan got the canister to the door and hauled it in. His expression turned sober when he saw the markings. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure this was some sort of bomb. He secured the canister in the back of the cargo area without comment. Before Ryan was even back in his seat, Chuck lifted the chopper, our eyes held for a moment, and then he angled off, and we were over open ocean, on our way to Key West.
I rented a car and drove it across the runway to the helicopter where Chuck and Ryan were waiting. They were sitting in the open door, feet dangling, guarding the canister. I could see the bulk of a gun on Chuck’s hip, under his orange-and-purple flowered shirt.
“Do you always carry a gun?” I asked, getting out of the car.
“Need it for gators,” Chuck said.
They transferred the canister to the trunk of the rental and took a step back.
“Be careful,” Chuck said.
I gave them both a hug, got into the car, and left the airport behind. I took South Roosevelt Boulevard to Route 1 and began my trek through the Keys. I checked my rearview mirror from time to time to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I kept the radio silent so I could listen for a helicopter. I was pretty sure I was a couple steps ahead of Salzar and Slick and Gimpy, but I was being careful.
I hadn’t heard from Hooker. No messages on my cell. No missed calls. That wasn’t good. It meant Bill and Hooker were still being held captive… or worse. The sadness took over my heart and radiated out into every part of me. Not an emotion I wanted to embrace. Better to channel my emotional energy in more positive directions, I thought. Stay alert. Get the job done. That was my mantra. Get the job done.
The job was simple to articulate. Not so simple to complete. Rescue Bill and Hooker and Maria without letting the canister fall into the hands of the bad guys. And that meant I had to make sure the good guys weren’t bad guys.
The sun was low in the sky when I reached Key Largo. I’d felt especially vulnerable in the Keys. One road in and one road out didn’t leave a lot of escape routes. Scary when traveling with a much-sought-after warhead in the trunk. I drove onto the last bridge and was relieved to be back on the mainland.
I was still wearing the same clothes I’d worn diving, and I was anxious to get out of them. When I approached Homestead I made a fast stop at a Wal-Mart and got a complete new outfit, including sneakers. I got a bag of food at the snack bar. And I got a charger for my cell phone.
I didn’t have much direction, other than north to Miami. I needed a place to spend the night (or at least to take a shower), and I thought I would be safer in Homestead than I was in Miami. I took the first motel that popped up. It was an affordable chain. I paid cash, and I gave a fake name. If you’re going to be paranoid, go all the way. The canister was in the trunk of the rental car, in the parking lot. I couldn’t do much about that.
