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He took aim on the RHIB and fired. The Rocket-Propelled Grenade shot across the water and hit the RHIB dead amidships. It blew in half, and the boogie board it was towing plowed to a halt.
The floatplane’s pilot must have seen the carnage because he abruptly pulled up and banked away from the Deceiver.
Cabrillo and Overholt bobbed in the water with nowhere to go.
Tate tossed the spent RPG launcher into the water, and the Deceiver pulled alongside the two men. His crew pulled them aboard.
Cabrillo got to his feet and blew water out of his mouth. “Can’t say it’s good to see you again, Tate.”
“You should have known it would end this way,” Tate said with a smile.
“I did,” Cabrillo answered with his own grin.
Tate frowned at the odd response, then looked down at Overholt, who just lay there facedown.
“What’s wrong with him?” Tate asked. “Did you kill him during your ‘rescue’?”
“Not at all. He was never alive.”
Tate looked closely and saw that something was wrong with the man’s limbs. He yanked an arm to turn Overholt over and discovered it was merely a dummy with the same suit and hair as the CIA administrator.
“No!” He kicked the mannequin off the Deceiver and sneered at Cabrillo as he ordered his men, “Get him inside!”
Tate dropped through the hatch first and looked at the video coming from the diving bell. It was no longer showing the loop. He could see a wisp of smoke inside the capsule and the real Overholt lowering his hands to look down at a diver surfacing through the opening.
Cabrillo landed next to Tate with four different guns trained on him. He peered at the video screen and shook his head.
“There he is,” Cabrillo said with mock annoyance. “I knew something was off with the other guy.”
The hatch closed, and Tate said, “Dive the boat and get us back to the Portland.”
He turned back to the monitor and saw Overholt donning a mask. Tate flipped the cover off the DETONATOR button for the explosives attached to the diving bell.
As he placed his finger over the button, he looked at Cabrillo. Tate wanted to see his expression when he pushed it.
“You just killed your friend.”
* * *
—
Eddie and Linc had a tight hold on Overholt and the sub as the Nomad motored away from the diving bell at a stately eight knots. The video feed now being broadcast was on a one-minute delay, but Eddie didn’t know how long the ruse would protect them.
He got his answer a second later.
A bow wave of pressure and noise pummeled them as the explosives ripped the diving bell apart. The Nomad bucked from the impact, tearing the handhold from their grips.
They also lost Overholt.
Eddie tumbled for a few seconds, and his mask was torn from his face. When the shock wave had passed, he steadied himself and reached around to find the hose connected to his mask. With a practiced hand, he put it back on, clearing the water, so he could breathe again.
The buddy hose dangled in front of him, the damaged regulator bubbling. Overholt was no longer attached to it.
Eddie retrieved the flashlight lashed to his wrist and rotated until he saw Linc putting on his own mask in the swirling mud. When he was breathing again, he gave the OK. Then he noticed that neither of them had Overholt.
They frantically searched the seafloor for him, but it wasn’t until the Nomad swung around and focused its powerful lights through the gloom that they saw Overholt floating motionless nearby, his mask askew.
Eddie grabbed his arms and pulled him toward the Nomad’s open air lock hatch. There was room for only two people, so Linc closed the hatch behind them and waited outside while Eddie held Overholt as he waited for the air lock to drain. Overholt was unconscious or dead, Eddie couldn’t tell.
