“What about the North African coast?” Mercer asked, still amazed by the level of coordination even though he was at the center of it.
“Even more deserted than normal. The UN has done a good job there. Are the divers set to go?”
Just as Mercer didn’t need to know the details of the world reaction to the crisis, he wouldn’t bother Ira with the attack on Charlie Williams or how he would be making the dive. “Ready and willing.” Mercer didn’t know how to ask the next question. It wasn’t in his nature to question success, but he had to make plans. “Listen, Ira, I’d like you to do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“If this doesn’t work and they call for a full evacuation I want you to look after Harry.”
“Already taken care of. He and Tiny have your car gassed and loaded, and a hotel reservation near Lynchburg, Tennessee.”
Their choice of destination was no surprise.
Lynchburg was the home of the Jack Daniel’s distillery. “Just make sure they leave.”
“I will but you shouldn’t worry. I think they’re going whether the president makes the announcement or not.”
That brought a smile to Mercer’s face. “Then tell him if his dog scratches my leather seats I’m going to reupholster them with his wrinkled hide.”
“You got it. I have to go, Mercer. Keep me posted.”
“I might be out of touch but I’ll make sure Jim McKenzie or Tisa are available.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
Mercer returned the phone to the pocket of the overalls he’d been given by Scott. Glass stood by his ADS talking with Spirit. “How’s C.W.?” Mercer asked.
Spirit glowered at him and said nothing.
“Still unconscious,” Scott answered, not understanding the animosity. “The engineer pumped a third IV into him. Spirit says his color is better and the bleeding has stopped.”
“That’s good.”
Tisa stepped through the open container doors. Spirit shot her a sharp glare and wheeled on Mercer. “I see you’re not man enough to use Charlie’s suit.” Then she stormed out.
“Told you,” Tisa said to Mercer.
“I’m afraid you’re way off base about her. If possible she hates me even more.”
She stroked his arm. “You don’t know much about women. Bad for you. Good for me.”
“How is that bad for me?”
“You’ll never see my feminine tricks coming.”
Of all the burdens and distractions Mercer was shouldering, all the directions he was being pulled in, all the demands that were draining him down, only Tisa, and the promise of their relationship, gave him sustenance and the strength to carry on. Sometimes all it took was a sly comment to make him forget everything else. He reached for her hand as he addressed Scott. “We have five hours before the president orders the evacuation of the eastern U.S. and causes a panic that will claim thousands. The bomb has a three-hour delay timer once it’s set and I want at least an hour after the blast to evaluate the results.”
“Leaves us an hour to pull Conseil out of the vent and place the bomb,” Scott grunted. “Not a whole lot of time.”
“All the more reason to get going. How are we going to carry the weapon?”
“My suit will take the brunt of the weight from the towline. We’ll mount the bomb to yours in a quick-release harness. Onboard gyroscopes will compensate for the added weight and keep the ADS trimmed.”
“Okay then.” Mercer shook Scott’s hand.
Two Petromax workers helped Mercer and Scott Glass climb into the NewtSuits. Before sealing the back, Mercer motioned Tisa over to him. “I’ll see you soon.”
“What time is it?”
“Ah, eight thirty. Oh God! Did the oracle predict something else for today?”
“No. I was just curious.” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “If I hadn’t lost it on the ferry, I think I’d start wearing the watch you gave me.”
“I’ll get you another,” he promised.
Tisa stepped back and Mercer’s suit was closed and the seals engaged. The ventilation fans were already working, but he needed several deep breaths to feel his lungs fill with air.
“Can you hear me, Mercer?” Scott called from his own suit.
“Loud and clear. Jim, are we on-line in the van?”
“I read you both. Everything looks good from my end. Say the word and they’ll maneuver the cradle to the stern and lower you in.”
“Give us a minute,” Scott requested. “Mercer, do one more check of your motors. Make sure everything’s okay.”
Mercer rocked his feet on the large toggle switches in the base of each leg and was rewarded with the buzz of the appropriate propeller. Outside the thick faceplate, Tisa gave Mercer a thumbs-up, then pretended to be impressed with the size of his biceps by squeezing the suit’s armored skin. In the air, the suit was too heavy to move so he couldn’t respond other than to flash a smile she couldn’t see.
“We’re ready, Jim.”
Mercer watched one of the technicians motion Tisa away from the heavy steel cage that would lower the divers to the tunnel entrance. Before she would allow him to vanish, Tisa stepped forward, leaning over the bomb strapped to the suit’s torso, and left a lipstick kiss on Mercer’s helmet. With her face inches from his there was no mistaking the words she mouthed.
“I love you.”
Adrenaline surged through Mercer’s heart. But before he could react the A-frame crane hanging over the stern took up the slack and the cradle rolled back on tracks embedded in the deck. The drizzling rain couldn’t smear the impression of her mouth from the plastic.
He shook thoughts of her words, and his reply, from his head and concentrated on the task at hand. With a quick glance he checked the electronic monitors ringing the bottom of his helmet. Power, oxygen and coolant levels were all in the green. Condensation formed on his faceplate. Mercer used the finger controls to adjust the ventilator and concentrated on slowing his breathing. He had more than enough air for the dive, but Scott, and his scuba instructor months earlier, cautioned about taking nothing for granted.
The cradle reached the end of the track and the crane lifted the large basket into the air. Mercer and Scott stood solid as statues as the heavy-duty hydraulics raised them up and over the crane’s apex and held them suspended over the scummy water. With the suits in a neutral hunched position, Mercer could just see the ocean under his feet.
“Okay, Jim, we’re set,” Scott radioed. “Lower away. Just keep an eye on the tow spool.” The drum of thick cable was bolted just below the crane’s legs.
“Here you go.”
The crane unwound its line and the basket sank past the deck height. In a moment they could see where the service boat’s name had been painted on her stern and then the top few inches of her rudder. Inside the armored suits there was no sensation when water began to fill the lifting basket and surge around their legs. Mercer watched it climb higher, past the bomb on his chest and up his torso. A weak wave splashed filthy water against his helmet. Tisa’s kiss washed away.
And then they were submerged. The water was completely black, choked with sediment. The lights atop the cradle gave them barely two feet of visibility.
“It’ll clear when we get under the layers of ash,” Scott remarked.
The cradle and crane acted like an elevator, dropping the divers into the abyss without them having to rely on their suit’s batteries. When the mission was over they’d be able to climb into it again for the ride to the surface.
The descent took ten minutes, but with no references it felt much longer. The water was as cloudy at this depth as it was near the surface. Mercer and Scott would have to work virtually blind.
“Jim, we’re here,” Scott reported after turning on his suit’s powerful halogen lamps. “I can see the vent opening. It’s right in front of us. Only problem is the water temperature is up to ninety degrees.”