The creature patted him heavily on his back, encouraging him to breathe.
I can’t breathe this, it’s just water.
I’m dreaming, but I know I can’t breathe water!
He felt two more heavy blows to his back. The ghost was persistent if nothing else. Sam no longer had the strength to resist. He took a deep breath in and waited for his lungs to fill with water. The breath was followed by another one.
It felt good. Cold but good. Not at all like what he expected drowning, or even death for that matter, to feel like.
A moment later, he started to move.
The creature was pulling him downward. Sam no longer had any fear. And why should he? Nothing can harm the dead, can it? It didn’t take long, and he was pulled through an opening, and dragged to the surface.
Sam felt his head broach the sea. The mouthpiece was removed from his mouth. He closed his eyes he took a deep breath of fresh air. It tasted salty but fresh.
Next to him, the ghost was removing something that covered its face.
He opened his eyes and stared at the specter.
“Tom?”
Tom suppressed a grin. “Who the hell else did you expect to save your sorry ass from the bottom of the hull?”
Chapter Seventeen
Sam climbed the ladder on the side of the Buckholtz until he reached the bridge. It was a quarter past two in the afternoon, and the sun shined warmly on the deck. Once there, he laid down over the warm external wing, taking in the radiating heat. He was exhausted and could have slept there for a week.
Instead, he turned to Tom. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Like I said, if not me, then who? Besides, you came back for me in the first place.” Tom crossed his arms. “Obviously, I could have taken care of the three attackers by myself, but you did help speed the process up a little.”
Sam smiled. “About that. Last I saw you, you were still fighting one of them. So, what happened?”
“It was easy. While you cleverly distracted him by losing your dive mask, and nearly drowning, I knocked him off me. In the subsequent fight, he took one look at me and decided to swim after the container.”
Sam sat up. “We should try and find it.”
“I wouldn’t bother. That team was filled with pros. The container was already being towed by a submarine. That submarine’s well on its way into deep water, and we’re never going to see it again.”
“We might get lucky and spot it from the air if we get on the helicopter.”
“Sure. But we’d need a helicopter first, and the Maria Helena won’t be here for a few hours.”
Sam said, “Maybe we can resume the search once they get here?”
“What?” Tom laughed. “And get lucky finding a submarine that’s had a three-hour head start?”
“You think it’s unlikely?”
“Unlikely?” Tom shook his head. “It’s impossible. If you know of a way to do that, you should talk to my dad. He’s spent his life trying to locate submarines that wanted to remain hidden.”
“All right. That’s fair. So, we lost the container.”
“Yeah, now we just need to see Gene and find out what he wants us to do about it.”
Right on cue, Gene Cuttings approached. “I see you two made it back okay without any trouble?”
Sam suppressed a grin. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Gene sighed heavily. “Well? What’s the damage? How bad is it?”
Sam ran a towel over his face, running the palm of his hands and fingers through his thick, wavy, brown hair. “I’m sorry, Gene. You’ve got big problems.”
“That bad?” Gene’s eyebrows narrowed. “How long will it take to retrieve?”
Sam shook his head. “No. You misunderstand me. It’s not just difficult to retrieve. I found the storage room.”
“And?”
“It’s missing. There’s a 20-foot gash in the hull, where someone has attacked it with surgical precision to remove your specialized shipping container.”
“How long ago do you think it was stolen?” Gene asked.
Sam shrugged. “About twenty minutes ago.”
“Jesus! Why don’t you get back down there? Didn’t you try and stop them?”
Sam crossed his arms. “We did.”
Gene noticed the small scratch marks on Sam’s face. Lines of tension creased his hardened face. “What happened?”
“We were attacked. They, whoever they were, fitted the shipping container onto a large cradle and were in the process of towing it out to sea with a large submarine, when a group of divers attacked us.”
“So the whole accident was set up as an elaborate plan to steal it?”
“It would appear so,” Sam replied.
“How?”
“I have no idea, but I’m still keen to find out. I’d like to have a look around the island, to see if I can spot anything that might reveal what went wrong. At first, I would just assume that your crew was involved, but those digital recordings were pretty convincing — someone set the Buckholtz up to crash into Neuwerk Island.”
“What about my ship?”
“It won’t take much to seal the gap in the hull and then pump out the water. Once we do that, she’ll mostly float off on the next high tide. Tom’s already contacted the Maria Helena. She will be here by tomorrow morning, along with two tugboats, and will be able to coordinate the operation to bring her back into the water. Once we do that, they will be able to tow her into dry dock in Hamburg for more extensive repairs.”
Gene visibly relaxed. “That’s something at least. Thank you.”
One of the engineers shouted something to Gene, which Sam couldn’t quite hear. He turned to Gene and asked, “What did he say?”
Gene frowned. “There appears to be a dead scuba diver floating in the water.”
Sam said, “Sorry. That’s my fault. You’d better send your guys out to retrieve the body. The German police are going to want to examine it. If we get lucky, we might find out who stole your cargo, too.”
Gene sighed. “All right, I’ll organize it. Anything else you want to let me know about?”
“Yeah. You have another dead guy in your duct keel. This one has a note.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed. “What did the note say?”
“I’m Sorry Svetlana, they made me do it.” Sam squinted his eyes. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing.”
Chapter Eighteen
After some discussion about who was responsible for the retrieval of the body, Sam and Tom ended up climbing onto the rubber Zodiac and making the retrieval themselves. Sam opened the throttle, and the little 2-stroke engine whined, sending the Zodiac skipping off the wavelets. It took less than five minutes to round the stern of the Buckholtz and then spot the body.
Twenty feet out from the body, Sam released the throttle, and the bow of the Zodiac dropped into the water again. He idled to a stop on the starboard side of the body. Tom reached over and pulled the scuba diver on board.
The man’s throat had been slashed, and there was no doubt he would not have survived.
Even so, Tom checked for a pulse, before confirming, “He’s dead.”
“It was him or me,” Sam said.
“I don’t blame you.”
Sam pulled off the diver’s facemask. He looked about 45–50 years old, with a gray beard, steely blue eyes, and no distinguishing marks.
Tom folded back the diver’s hood and read the brand name. “It’s a British brand.”
Sam glanced at it and suppressed a grin. “It looks decidedly British, doesn’t it?”
“It isn’t?”
“No. This was made for the Russian SVR — Foreign Intelligence Service — formerly known as the KGB.”