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They let go of the Nomad and swam toward the capsule. Linc was carrying a snorkeling mask for Overholt, who would buddy breathe using one of their backup octopus regulators.
Eddie checked his watch. It had been more than a minute since Juan started the countdown on the camera feed interrupter. He held a whiteboard up to the window and knocked.
You can move now. We’re getting you out of there.
Overholt looked at it and nodded.
Linc pointed at the bomb stuck to the capsule.
Eddie nodded. “Let’s move.”
They sank to the bottom of the diving bell and swam to the hatch.
Eddie yanked on the wheel to open it. The wheel spun, and Eddie felt the mechanism click, but when he pulled on it the hatch wouldn’t budge.
“Tate wasn’t going to make it that easy,” Linc said and traced his finger along the edge of the hatch.
Eddie looked more closely and understood what he meant. Scalloped beads of hardened metal were evident around the entire circumference.
The hatch was welded shut.
27
Zachariah Tate watched the diving bell’s video feed from the Portland’s submersible, the Deceiver. Like the Oregon’s Gator, it could operate underwater for lengthy periods of time on its batteries alone, but it could also surface quickly and engage its twin diesels to shoot across the water at high speed. They were keeping station only a hundred yards away from the diving bell.
Tate could see the marker buoy via a high-powered telescopic camera mounted on the Portland. It was clear that Juan Cabrillo hadn’t lost his planning skills. The parachute jump to the bell was clever, but it wouldn’t do Cabrillo any good if he couldn’t get Overholt out. Of course, Tate’s ex–CIA partner would have been expecting the hatch to be welded shut, so the case he descended with might have held a mini-blowtorch or some other device to break the seal.
On the well-hidden exterior cameras, he saw Cabrillo descending to the capsule. Cabrillo clipped something to the cable leading to the surface, which Tate assumed was some kind of signal interrupter for the camera feeds. Sure enough, a few moments later, when Juan had swum to the diving bell’s window, the interior and exterior feeds went to loop mode. Soon after that, Tate could see Cabrillo on the monitor descending to the diving bell all over again. Overholt just sat there inside.
“Set course for the diving bell,” Tate ordered the Deceiver’s pilot. “He must have a sub ready to pick him up.”
“Aye, Commander.”
The Deceiver was armed with miniature torpedoes. Tate would destroy the sub before Cabrillo and Overholt could board, along with any chance for their rescue.
Before the Deceiver got halfway there, Tate was surprised by what he saw on the video feed from the Portland. Cabrillo had surfaced. And he was holding Overholt under the arms.
“We’ve got a Rigid-Hulled Inflatable Boat nearing the buoy,” said Catherine Ballard over the radio from her position in the Portland’s op center. “But I don’t see anyone on board.”
“It must be remote controlled,” Tate replied. “That’s how he’s planning to escape.” He turned and yelled at the Deceiver’s pilot, “Surface the boat and intercept them!”
The RHIB was closing fast, but it would take time for Cabrillo and Overholt to climb aboard once it stopped. The Deceiver would be there in moments, plenty of time to disable the RHIB and capture them.
The submersible popped out of the water, and the pilot started the diesels. They rocketed forward.
The RHIB raced toward the swimming men, but it wasn’t slowing down. At that speed, it would overshoot the two of them by a considerable margin. A malfunction in the remote control? Tate wondered, before quickly dismissing the thought. Cabrillo didn’t make mistakes like that.
Then he noticed a thin nylon rope trailing behind the RHIB. The boat was towing a boogie board.
“Faster!” Tate yelled.
They had closed just half the distance when the RHIB’s motor cut out. The boogie swung by Cabrillo, who snagged the rope and pulled it to him. He clipped his parachute harness to the board and lay on his back with Overholt cradled in his arms. The RHIB went back to full power, yanking Cabrillo and Overholt through its wake.
It turned away from the Deceiver and flew across the harbor. In the distance, the floatplane that Cabrillo had jumped from was descending toward the water.
Tate leaped into the cockpit and shoved the throttles against their stops, and snarled at the sub’s pilot, “If you let them get away, you’re a dead man.”
* * *
