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“No, sir. The torpedo exploded prematurely. It was hit by the second defensive torpedo. I’m reading a small sub leaving the stern of the Kansas City.”
He still had an unidentified hostile down there, one that had fired two mini-torpedoes.
“Prepare to fire torpedo number two,” he ordered.
“Aye, captain. Torpedo Two ready to fire in all respects.”
Before he could give the command to launch it, he heard a sailor yell, “Men in the water!”
It was an officer on the bridge wing. He was pointing in the direction of the Kansas City’s location.
Vega raised the binoculars and saw two men in yellow bobbing in the water. He recognized the immersion suits worn by submariners in an emergency. Could they be from the Kansas City? Was the phantom sub actually helping them?
“Stand down the torpedo!” Vega shouted. “Get a rescue boat in the water.”
Before the boat got out to them, another two men appeared on the surface. Over the next two hours, twenty-six sailors miraculously came up.
The mystery sub eventually surfaced. Empty. It was identified as the Kansas City’s SEAL Delivery Vehicle. Vega theorized that a crewman somehow made it out of the dry deck shelter and saved his fellow sailors before succumbing to nitrogen narcosis at that depth and exiting the SDV in a stupor. They’d keep searching for his body until the Americans arrived.
Vega was so busy with the extensive search and recovery effort that he paid little attention to the cargo ship that sailed slowly by two miles away.
41
Having completed the decompression in the Nomad’s air lock, Juan gave Lieutenant Bradley some clean overalls, a bottle of water, and one of the sandwiches they’d brought along. After wolfing down the sandwich and draining the bottle, Bradley dozed during the long ride back to the Oregon.
When they surfaced in the moon pool, Julia Huxley was there to meet them and take Bradley to the infirmary. Once she had treated his injuries, she brought him to the boardroom, where Juan and Max were waiting with a spread of food laid out by Maurice. Bradley came in with a fiberglass cast on his arm.
“You sure have been keeping me busy,” Julia said as she escorted him into the room. “I’ve delivered so many patched-up patients to you over the last week or so that I feel like I’m in Groundhog Day.”
“How’s our new friend doing?” Juan asked as Bradley cautiously took a seat.
“Hairline of the radius and ulna. But they’ve been healing nicely, t
hanks to the excellent temporary duct tape cast that Lieutenant Bradley made for himself.”
“What is this ship?” Bradley asked. “Your medical bay is way better than any I’ve seen in base hospitals.”
“By the way, he’s been asking a lot of questions,” Julia said. “I told him to wait, but he kept pestering me. Now you and Max can answer them.”
She closed the door, leaving Bradley looking at Juan and Max with a skeptical expression.
“I imagine this is all pretty disorienting for you,” Juan said.
“You think?” Bradley shot back. “When can I get back to my unit?”
“I’m not sure. I think you’d better hear what we have to say first.”
“I have no idea what’s going on. You rescue twenty-six of the KC’s crew, plus me, but you’re being shot at by the Brazilians? And you’re not with the Navy?”
“We’re a private organization,” Max said. “But we do most of our work for the U.S. government.”
“Then why a covert mission to save us?”
“We’re not exactly in the U.S.’s good graces right now,” Juan said. “They think we’ve been sinking ships.”
“Have you? Did you sink the KC?”
“No. A former CIA agent named Zachariah Tate did. Before you went down, did your crew experience any strange behavior?”
