The men glanced at one another in surprise.
“Hey, some privacy here,” Ryder said. The others turned away.
Grace rolled down her trousers and pants to expose her buttocks.
Ryder glanced admiringly at what he saw, but winced when Grace removed a gauze patch from the side of her lower right buttock to expose an inflamed, swollen area with two pin-prick black puncture marks at the centre.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Bitten.”
“By what?”
“Snake.”
“Snake! – When?”
“Three days ago, squatting.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say?” Ryder shot.
“Too embarrassed. Didn’t want to hold things up.”
“You see it? You must’ve been right over it.”
“No; it was small, well camouflaged; I missed it amongst the leaves. Obviously not that venomous, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now,” she mumbled.
“Looks septic.”
“I’m not in any pain; it’s the stiffness that bothers me. I feel it around the lower back – real muscle tension – puts everything a little off balance… it slows me down.”
Ryder hoped she was right about the snake; they could not afford to lose her now. If it was more than mildly venomous, she would have been laid real low by now.
“Are you feeling okay? Has the swelling gone down?” he pressed, concerned more than he would have been if it had been a man.
“Yes, on both counts. The stiffness, however, will not go away.”
Ryder nodded and studied the punctures, keeping his eyes strictly on the swelling. “You still up to going into the mountain?” He prayed she was.
“I’ll be okay once the stiffness eases.”
“Can you continue the search?”
“When I can catch my breath.”
“Grace, is this why you’ve been quiet lately?” he asked softly.
“You are full of questions,” she replied. “The answer to that is yes.”
He reached into his sack and removed a fresh dressing. “I’ll clean you up, then we’ll leave.”
Ryder gently swabbed the affected spot with a little water and applied the dressing. Satisfied with his handiwork he stood and said with a grin, “Be more careful when you take a leak. You’re lucky the hit wasn’t in a more sensitive place.” He then turned to the others. “Okay, move out.”
She grimaced at his last remark – it wasn’t funny. Grace pulled up her pants and trousers and stood, somewhat coyly, but relieved she would not have to keep the problem to herself any longer. Shouldering her sack, she made her way stiffly to join the others. They were back in search mode and no time was to be lost.
As the last man left the ledge, they heard a sudden beating of wings, a screech and then saw it. The hawk still had its hare clutched firmly within its claws. It swept down from the leafy canopy, flew straight into the rock face below and vanished.
“Maybe we can have our hare after all,” said Bom, scrambling down the slope with the intention of shooting the bird and taking the hare for the larder.
Suddenly stopping in his tracks, Bom turned and stood staring at the rock overhang. Seconds later, he exclaimed, “Jesus! Hey, look what the fuck we have here!”
The others, except Grace, slid quickly down the slope.
When they reached where he stood, they too stared in amazement.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Song. “A vent! – Big one too.”
“Jeez, I’d given up hope,” added Chol.
“Second favour from the bird,” Ryder said, relieved. “Greg, let it live to enjoy the hare. Now, let’s take a closer look at what we have here.”
They moved into the shadow of the overhang and looked up at a short, naturally formed shaft, curving upwards to meet the wall of the mountain about twelve feet back from the thick rocky edge of the outcrop. In the wall, several feet off the ground and midway along the forty-foot overhang, sat a ten-foot long by six-foot high metal grille. The bottom of the grille lined up with the outer edge of the outcrop, seen only from below and only if you were close up.
The bird of prey eyed them from its nest on a shelf at the top of the curve.
“Clever, this is definitely well hidden from the sats,” said Chol. “The infra-reds beaten too by that chunk of rock,” he pointed to the overhang. “No heat emission either, just a vent taking in air up the slope.”
“Now we know what that patrol was looking at: checking the grille right below us,” said Ryder.
“What now?” Bom asked, turning to Ryder.
“We go back to the ledge, rest up and go in at dawn.
26
Almost two weeks had passed since K267, commanded by Captain Vasily Denko, rounded the Cape of Good Hope and headed north along the African continent in search of the rogue compatriot submarine K449. The journey so far had been uneventful with no sign whatsoever of any submarines as they made their way cautiously between ten and fifteen knots, at a depth of 400 feet. They had crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, headed up past the equator, and turned westwards at the Gulf of Guinea. They were now on a course parallel with the Ivory Coast, which was twenty miles off the starboard beam.
Captain Denko and his second in command, Lieutenant Sergio Alexander Nanovich, sat together in the small wardroom sipping coffee after handing control over to the duty officer.
“Where the fuck can K449 be?” asked Nanovich.
“Here in the Atlantic I hope. Otherwise we might as well head home right now.”
“You don’t suppose those bastards kept Grosky on board?”
“No; I believe he went down with that freighter and we are up against a very good foreigner and his crew.”
Nanovich shrugged. “He was a good man. The thought of him dead at the bottom of the ocean saddens me.”
“The Koreans cannot do much real damage with only four Stingrays minus warheads. What the fuck are that Korean admiral’s intentions? That’s what I would like to know.”
“Maybe to sink American or English ships, perhaps even one of our own.”
“Warheads could’ve been obtained somewhere along the line.”
“True, they did appear to be loading things at that island,” Denko agreed. “Probably provisions, but it is difficult to see how without the Americans knowing from their many eyes in the sky.”
“I guess you’re right. But the remoteness of that part of the ocean would cancel out that possibility.”
“Perhaps a carrier or maybe if she has acquired warheads – a city?” offered the XO.
“The order to destroy K449 tells me the intentions are far from good. As for the options, your guess is as good as mine. But what, Sergio, and where?”
“We know a big Battle Group is patrolling north of the Azores. Taking out a carrier would be a coup for the Koreans.”
“If you are right and the sub has warheads, and if you had one throw of the dice, what would be your target?” said Denko, more to himself than to his XO.
“The eastern seaboard – Washington or New York,” came the quick reply.
“Mmm,” Denko murmured thoughtfully, then asked, “Which course would you suggest we take then, Sergio Alexander?”
“Flip a coin, but my choice would be north to the Azores. They have torpedoes; we are only guessing they have warheads.”
Captain Denko remained silent for several seconds before speaking. “I think we should go west. A gut feeling is telling me so, although my head is telling me you are right. However, I have decided, we go west.”
With that decision, the two Russians worked out a course that would take them along the African coastline, past Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea, and up to Senegal where they would turn due west on latitude 15 degrees north and head out into the Atlantic. This course would take them south of the Cape Verdi Islands and 3,000 miles later, if all went well, they would arrive at the Windward Islands off Dominica and Martinique. Here they would turn northwest towards the Puerto Rico Trench, the Bahamas and on to the Florida coastline where Captain Denko hoped he would eventually find the elusive rogue submarine – the K449.