“No need for any of that now,” Bones said in a friendly tone. “We’ve got a cooler in the cabin. Maybe you dudes would like a Diet Mountain Dew or something?”
Bones was stalling for time, waiting for Dane to do something to help them out. Hoping he would not be heard over the sound of the cutter’s idling engine, Dane quickly submerged and dove back down to the tuna boat. He had an idea.
He re-entered the submerged vessel, scraping his shoulder on a jagged piece of metal. The salt water burned, but he had no time to think about it. He checked his watch again. Less than three minutes now. He had to hurry.
A quick swim through the dimly lit vessel, and he soon found what he was looking for. He hefted it and turned to find himself blind. In his haste, he had disturbed the silt on the bottom of the craft, and the interior of the submerged craft was now filled with a thick, opaque cloud of sediment.
More angry than concerned, he took a moment to orient himself. It was a small boat, and he should not have any problem getting out, but precious seconds were ticking away. He blew out a few bubbles just to make sure he knew which direction was up, and reached up to put a hand on the ceiling. He swam his way to the opposite side of the boat, the side in which the hole was rent, and hugged the wall as he worked his way back.
The way out appeared like a sliver of sky through gray clouds. Exiting the sunken craft, he made ready to return to the Sea Foam and his crew. Something moved in his peripheral vision. The shark again! This time he had no choice but to make a bolt for the surface and hope that the primordial creature would continue to ignore him. He set his jaw and swam to the surface as fast as he could. The shark ignored him, and he surfaced without drawing notice.
Tensions were at a peak. The leader of the intruders was waving his arms and shouting in Spanish. Dane caught a few of the words, enough to know that they contained threats of bodily harm. Bones’ eyes flitted in Dane’s direction for the briefest of instants. It was enough to let him know that Bones had seen him, and was ready. Dane kicked free of his flippers and slipped out of his dive tank just as the bull shark resurfaced on the other side of the boats and made straight toward him, its fin slicing through the calm gulf waters. The cut on his shoulder! It had scented him. First things first, though.
This had better work, Dane thought. He hefted the fire extinguisher he had retrieved from the drug runner’s boat, and opened it up full blast on the pirates.
Surprised shouts rang out from the men on the cutter, and gunshots erupted as Bones used the diversion to draw his Glock and open fire. The two intruders farthest from Dane went down immediately. The man in the stern opened up wildly with his AK, spraying the Sea Foam with a deadly torrent of hot lead.
The shark was ten meters away and closing fast. Flinging the fire extinguisher in its direction, Dane grasped the side of the boat and heaved himself out of the water. He tumbled over the stern and sprang to his feet, freeing his dive knife as he went. Only a few paces away, the confused attacker, still struggling to keep his burning eyes open, spotted Dane and turned, bringing his weapon to bear.
Bullets buzzed past Dane’s ear as he closed the gap between himself and the Cuban. He lashed out with his left hand, smacking the barrel of the weapon to the side. Simultaneously, he thrust hard with his right. Still gripping his rifle, the Cuban could not protect himself. Dane drove his knife into the man’s chest. Giving it a quick jerk to the left, then back to the right, he yanked the weapon free, and shoved the dying, self-styled pirate away.
The last enemy was down on one knee, exchanging gunfire with Bones. He was armed with a .38-caliber revolver, of all things. Holding his breath, Dane dashed toward him. The brigand must have espied him in the corner of his vision. He turned and leveled his pistol at Dane, and pulled the trigger. The hollow sound of a hammer striking repeatedly an empty cylinder seemed deafening to Dane as he charged in. Cursing in Spanish, the man threw the useless weapon at Dane’s head, and then jumped up to meet his attacker.
Dane thrust low and hard at the man’s midsection, but his opponent was a skilled fighter. The Cuban spun to the right, grasping Dane’s left wrist in both hands, and tried a shoulder throw. Dane saw the move coming, and managed to grab hold of the man by the loose fabric of his uniform pants behind his left thigh. He yanked up hard, throwing them both off balance. As they tumbled to the deck, the Cuban struck Dane’s wrist, sending his dive knife sliding across the deck. He rolled away, sprang to his feet, and leapt at Dane again.
Years of combat training kicked in. Dane dropped into a long stance, bending at the knees. He wrapped one arm around the man’s waist and the other between his legs. Allowing the attacker’s momentum to carry him, he heaved the man onto his shoulder like a log. Ignoring the pain from his wound, he turned and dropped his opponent over the side of the boat and into the water.
The Cuban broke the surface, shouting angrily, but his cries quickly turned to frightened shrieks as the water around him began to churn and froth. The bull shark ripped into him in an eerie, silent assault. The man shrieked and beat at the shark with his fists, but to no avail. Dane saw Bones, who had held his fire during the fight for fear of hitting the wrong man, raise his pistol and take aim at the shark. Just then, the Cuban ceased his struggles. Great gouts of blood erupted from his mouth as the ferocious predator carried him under, leaving a crimson pool spreading between the two boats. It was surely his imagination, but Dane thought he could smell the coppery scent of carnage.
The strength left his legs and he leaned heavily against the rail
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” he called across the intervening waters to his friends.
“Hey man, just because he didn’t see the shark doesn’t mean we all missed it,” Bones yelled back. “The guy was a moron, anyway.” The big, ponytailed native leaned his muscled, six-foot frame over the rail, cupped his hands, and shouted down at the water, “How many shots in a revolver, pal?”
“That’s cold,” Dane said, feeling a touch guilty at his enjoyment of the dark humor Bones had adopted as a means of coping with the realities of combat they had experienced in the service.
“Yeah, but I’m right.” Bones’ mirthless grin reminded Dane too strongly of the action they had seen in the SEALS.
“I put a call in to the Coast Guard when we first saw these guys coming,” Matt said, leaning against the rail of the Sea Foam. He ran his long, tan, fingers through his spiky brown hair, and scanned the horizon. The condition of his hair was always of paramount importance to him. “They should be here any minute.” Matt was a former army grunt, but the skinny mate and engineer had proven himself an able seaman.
“You know what that means,” Corey, the fair-skinned, redheaded computer specialist interjected. He sat on the deck behind Bones with his elbows propped on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands, looking despondent.
“I know,” Dane groaned, “back to the docks.” They could not afford a delay. Business had been slow, and he had been counting on the Spanish galleon to change their fortunes. He had done his homework, researched it thoroughly, and was certain he had a line on it. But nothing remained secret for long in this business. His competitors would hear about the shootout and wonder what he was looking for out here.
“It should only be for a day,” Bones said hopefully. “It’s pretty obvious what these guys are. Or should I say were?” He twisted his mouth in a wry smile.
“It had better not be for long,” Dane said. “We’ve got to get back to work.” He did not add, or we’re going to go under. Everyone knew that fact already. “If somebody finds that wreck before us…” His words trailed away as a Coast Guard cutter appeared on the horizon.