The Drägers recycled the air they were breathing into a closed circuit, where it was filtered of carbon dioxide. As a result, the SEALs were taking in pure oxygen and not producing bubbles, which was ideal for a clandestine mission like this. But there were drawbacks. One, the closed-circuit underwater breathing apparatuses (CCUBA) were only operational at a maximum depth of seventy feet. And two, since the men were breathing pure oxygen, they could only use the Drägers for four hours before the high concentration of CO2 became toxic.
Each diver constantly monitored the primary and backup gauges, which measured the oxygen pressure in the loop. A low concentration could result in hypoxia, unconsciousness, and eventual death. A dive exceeding O2 depth-time standards could produce hyperoxia and convulsions, which could cause a diver to lose his mouthpiece and drown. Crocker had seen it happen.
It took them an hour and a half of vigorous swimming to reach the mouth of the Almendares River. Now it was 0458, according to Crocker’s watch.
The water was murkier and the current hit them head-on. Crocker squeezed Akil’s shoulder, indicating that he wanted him to pick up the pace.
Akil did for a leg and a half, but as they approached the first tunnel, he stopped, looked back at Crocker, squeezed his arm three times, and pointed to the MUGR, which detected the presence of a sonar device to spot intruders and submerged vehicles. Crocker passed the three-squeeze message to the next diver, Mancini, who relayed it to Suárez.
Mancini, who was the only man wearing DVS-110 underwater night-vision goggles, located the square sonar device on a pylon that rose four feet from the top of the tunnel. Akil led the team in formation along the west shore of the river and circled around the back of the pylon. He disabled the sonar device by cutting through the cable with his knife.
Just when Crocker’s body begged him to stop, he felt an enormous rush of adrenaline that pushed him past the second tunnel and under the Avenida Septima Bridge. It was another quarter mile to the park. His legs and shoulders burning, he glanced at the luminescent dial on his watch: 0518 hours.
He squeezed Akil’s shoulder again, and the two men pushed their bodies harder than they wanted to go.
Crocker was concerned about overswimming the rigs and developing a CO2 hit, which felt like an ice pick thrust into your brain. Reaching the bend in the river that marked the location of Parque Almendares, Akil stopped, changed bearing, and continued the leg until they neared the shoreline. Even in less than three feet of water, the SEALs were undetectable from the surface.
Akil conducted a slow, quiet recon of the beach, exposing only the top of his hooded head and mask. When he saw that all was clear, he squeezed Crocker’s shoulder four times in succession, which was the signal to climb up the rocky slope to shore.
They peeled off the Drägers and masks and replaced their diving boots with black ankle-high trekking shoes that they’d carried in their packs. Then, moving together, they removed their weapons from the watertight bags and slipped the Drägers back into the water, along with the discarded dive boots, fins, weapons bags, and masks, tied to their weight belts so they wouldn’t resurface.
Akil, in his role as point man, led the way through the park, which rested deep in shadows with secrets hidden behind Spanish moss. They passed the figure of a life-sized Tyrannosaurus rex, then entered a narrow street with large houses behind overgrown walls that ran into one another. Akil indicated “heads down,” and they knelt behind an ancient Mercedes sedan as a delivery truck with only one working headlight rumbled past and turned.
The sun was starting to rise past Crocker’s right shoulder. His heart leapt when he recognized the Clínica Central Cira García on the corner-an image he had memorized. The white-and-beige three-story layer cake looked like it had been built in the 1950s.
Akil turned right and hugged the wall along the opposite side of the street from the circular drive in front. Then he looked in both directions for oncoming traffic and motioned to the men to cross.
They passed through a modest-sized parking lot that was empty except for an old Toyota van and a newer Russian-built sedan and hid behind thick tropical foliage that covered the end of the building that had no windows. Crocker decided this was a good place for Mancini to launch the cannon-shaped RAIL, which made a loud whistling sound as its titanium claw shot into the air and landed on the roof.
As the lead climber, Crocker tested the sturdy nylon-jacketed line to make sure it was secure to the lip, then proceeded to grapple up the side of the building the way he’d done so many times on oil rigs and ships.
“Show-off,” Akil whispered as he joined him on the roof, lugging his pack, ammo, and weapons.
The four SEALs knelt on the flat surface and huddled around Crocker. He used hand signals to remind them that he and Suárez would enter the third deck and clear right while Mancini and Akil cleared left.
Suárez readied an explosive charge to blast through the door. But it wasn’t needed, because the door was wired shut. Mancini snipped it open. Heckler & Koch 45 automatic pistols and MP7A1 submachine guns ready, they ran down the concrete steps.
A split second after entering the fluorescent-lit hallway and turning right, Crocker saw a soldier in a blue-and-white uniform hurrying toward him carrying a Soviet-made SKS carbine. The man looked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Before he was able to shout a warning, Crocker cut him down with three 4.65x30mm rounds to the chest.
When the guard’s SKS banged against the linoleum floor and echoed, the element of surprise was lost.
Olivia Clark lay on something soft. She wanted to focus and see where she was but couldn’t lift her head. Nor could she see, because a strong light blinded her.
Her body felt as though it had been inflated with air.
Something brushed across her arm, sending shivers up into her neck and head.
“Miss Clark, can you hear me?” a gentle voice asked in accented English.
She tried to say the word “yes.”
“Please squeeze my hand.”
As she squeezed, someone pressed a rubber mask over her nose and mouth. She inhaled something with a metallic sweetness, then lost consciousness and drifted across a black sea that seemed to go on forever.
She drifted until light broke through the darkness and she heard the sound of voices whispering in Spanish.
From near the ceiling, she looked down at heads and figures in light blue and white huddled on either side of a long table. Lights, monitors, and little tables were scattered behind them in no order. When they stepped back, she saw a woman lying on her back, with long blond hair. She was naked from her neck to her groin, which was covered with a white sheet, and she had a clear tube in her mouth.
She appraised the young woman’s smooth pale skin and the contours of her breasts and stomach, then realized she was looking at herself, or someone who looked just like her.
A male doctor wearing a face mask stood to the right of a table covered with stainless steel instruments. Behind the table hung a thick blue curtain.
The doctor gestured to a female doctor who was looking at a machine with glowing numbers.
Olivia watched as the doctor pressed two fingers into the flesh on the right side of her abdomen, beneath her diaphragm and above her stomach. Then he used a little sponge to paint iodine on her skin. He stopped, placed a hand on her forehead, and grew still, as though he was saying a prayer.
When he finished, he nodded to a female nurse, who grabbed the blue curtain and pulled it aside with a metallic squeal. On the other side sat another long table, occupied by a man with sallow skin, covered with a blue blanket and breathing through a tube.