"Look out, Bill!" I nearly shouted, as Bill lifted his legs above him, and started to drop in front of the hatch opening. "That was too easy. He's got another one."
With the grace of a trained athlete, Bill arched his back, bracing his fins against the sealing ring while lifting his upper body back and away from the hatch — just as a flashing metal dart flew out of the hatch, grazing Bill's rebreather pack. Bill lifted his feet above him and reached into the hatch. He came out a moment later with a facemask in one hand and a regulator mouthpiece with two torn hoses in the other. He tossed them aside and pointed at Harry's come-home bottle. Harry pulled it off his harness and handed it to Bill.
Bill moved a couple of feet away from the hatch, and illuminated the bottle with his headlamp, gesturing for the diver to come out, and pointing to the bottle. He stayed there while the rest of us held our collective breaths. Thirty seconds… forty-five seconds… a full minute — and then a neoprene figure appeared and reached for the bottle. Harry came up behind him, knife in hand, and pressed the point through the thick neoprene into the skin to the right of the small of his back, over his liver. The Russian winced, but kept his hands on the bottle.
"We got about five minutes on this bottle," I said on the circuit and to everybody near the Dive Console. "Jer, meet them with your bottle. They'll need it. Watch yourself. We don't know what this guy's intentions are yet. He may just be waiting to take the lot of you out with him."
"Fat chance," Bill muttered.
"Ham," I said, "find some nylon electric ties quick. Pass them into the Can, and get them out to Jer as soon as he comes back. Have another come-home bottle ready for him too."
Ham nodded and sent Jack off to get the ties. In the meantime, we continued to watch the drama on the monitor. Just as Jer joined them, the Russian passed his hand in front of his throat and then pointed to his mouth in the universal diver signal for "give me air." Jer unhooked his bottle and handed it to Bill. Bill held it up in front of the Russian, but out of reach. The distressed diver started to lunge, but Harry jabbed his knife a bit deeper. The Russian stopped immediately and reached back to the knife with his right hand, but Harry pressed a bit more, and the Russian froze. Bill placed the bottle in his left hand, and the Russian took a deep breath.
I sent Jer back for the ties, and by the time they reached the stern of the sub, Jer met them with the ties and another bottle. After a bit of fumbling, Jer securely tied the Russian's gloved hands behind him. I told Jer to pull the ties tight, since he needed to compress the thick neoprene.
"Okay, guys, take a minute to relax and get your acts together." I paused. "It's going to be crowded in the can, and this guy can cause a lot of mischief. When you get him in the outer lock, cut his suit off, with Bill's knife at his throat the entire time. Strip him, get a Nomex jumper on him, and watch him while his hands are free." I paused again to let my words sink in. "Don't be shy about using your knife, Bill," I said.
"I can do anything Harry can," Bill said with a noticeable sneer that came through the Helium speak.
"Any of you guys speak Russian?" I asked.
"You're shittin' me, right El-Tee?" That was Ski.
"Dr. Banks and Senior Chief Blunt both speak Russian," the Skipper interjected.
"I need one of them here ASAP, Skipper," I said.
The Skipper picked up a sound-powered phone handset, and a couple of minutes later Senior Chief Blunt showed up.
"Yes Sir," he said to the Skipper.
The Skipper nodded toward me, and I briefly explained the situation to the Senior Chief. I finished by saying, "We need to get him into the Can, get his suit off, and get him into a dry Nomex. To do this, we need to remove his cuffs. I want you to tell him what we're going to do. Tell him in no uncertain terms that if he so much as blinks wrong, Bill will cut his throat. We'll clean up the mess afterward. Tell him exactly as I said it. You got that, Senior Chief?"
He nodded, wide eyed. "You got it, El-Tee; just like you said."
"I'm serious, Senior Chief," I tried to sound as earnest as possible. "His buddy tried to kill Harry, and this bastard tried to kill Bill, twice. I want him to understand in no uncertain terms that he has no options. He's alive right now because of us. We own his soul, so tell him just like I said, okay?"
This time there was no uncertainty in Blount's answer. "Aye, aye, sir!"
At that moment the Russian's head poked up through the Outer Lock hatch. Ski grabbed his come-home bottle and ripped it out of his mouth. Before the startled expression disappeared from the Russian's head, Ski had his head pinned back against the deck, hands still tied behind him.
I nudged the Senior Chief, and he began speaking slowly in Russian, clearly detailing the rules as I had outlined them. He finished by asking in Russian if the diver understood.
"Da… yes!" the Russian stammered, probably still disbelieving what he had just seen outside: a nuclear submarine with a lockout chamber attached to the rear deck.
Whitey's head appeared on the monitor. He gestured to the Russian to boost himself into the Outer Lock. As the Russian lifted himself using his fins, Whitey reached across the opening and grabbed the front of his suit with his left hand. One powerful jerk, and the Russian was inside the Outer Lock, facedown on the deck. Bill immediately followed him. With one smooth movement he rid himself of his breathing gear and fins, and straddled the prone Russian, pulling his head back, presenting his blade to the Russian's throat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
"Whitey," I said, watching the prone Russian diver, "Strip his suit, up the legs to the waist. Then get the rest off — without cutting his hands loose, okay."
"Right, Boss."
Two minutes later the Russian was shivering naked on the deck, trying hard not to cut his Adams apple on Bill's knife. He was well built with very little body fat. At just under six feet tall, he was a fine specimen of Soviet physique, with short-cropped hair and finely honed facial features that presented a slightly different cast than the typical North American of European heritage. Perhaps it was a slight Slavic influence, more pronounced cheekbones, but the effect was subtle.
"Show him the Nomex, Ski," I said.
Ski held up a blue one-piece jumpsuit made of fire-retardant Nomex fabric. The entire front, neck to crotch, sported a Velcro seal.
"Show him how the Velcro works," I said.
We could hear the "ripping sound" of Velcro being pulled apart as Ski closed and opened the Velcro strip down the front of the Nomex.
"Bill, cut him a bit, just enough to get his attention."
The Russian winced.
"Now, cut his hands free, Jer."
The Russian massaged his wrists, and then slipped the Nomex over his legs, and thrust his arms one at a time through the sleeves. He moved slowly and deliberately, not wanting to aggravate Bill.
"Okay, tie him up again," I said, once it was obvious the Russian had settled into the Nomex garment.
Our guest offered no resistance. He seemed overawed by what he was seeing and experiencing. I suspect he was also overwhelmed by the fact that he was still alive.
I looked at Senior Chief Blount. "Ask him if he's thirsty," I said.
The Russian started speaking, but was incomprehensible. I briefly told Blount about the helium speech distortion, and he translated for the Russian. Jer installed a throat mike on him, and he was still incomprehensible — to us, but not to Blount.
I arranged with the Skipper and Dr. Banks to have either Senior Chief Blount or the Dr. himself available on call. Then I motioned Ham over to me.