Elise slowed the video clip. “Okay, here it comes gentlemen.”
The green phosphorescent sea appeared to flow away from the bow of the yacht. Like a tsunami, something was drawing all that water. Luke was slow to notice, and then turned and ran back. He then opened up a secure door and closed it behind him.
In the horizon, the wall of green water raised up, like a ghostly apparition.
“That’s more than a hundred feet!” Sam said.
A split second later, the wave reached the yacht. Then, microsecond by microsecond, the ship was disintegrated. The Mirabelle never even tried to ride the wave. Despite her unique blend of carbon fiber and advanced materials, her hull was simply obliterated by the wave.
And then the video clip ceased.
“No one could have ever survived that sort of accident,” Tom said.
Sam was the only person who appeared unaffected by the destructive force of the wave. In a room full of people who’d made their life’s ambition and goals on the sea, and knew firsthand how dangerous a rogue wave could be, it was hard to imagine why he of all people, was so disinterested in the wave. “Elise, can you play the last bit of that again. Only, this time, can you focus in on Luke?”
“Sure. Why?” she replied.
“There’s something strange about his face. Almost as though he knew we would be watching this.” Sam grinned. Surprised by what he spotted. “Just have a look.”
“No worries. You’re the boss.” Elise pressed play.
This time the clip focused entirely on Luke’s face. Behind the protective glass bubble, his eyes were wide with terror. But there was something else too.
“Pause it there,” Sam said.
Luke’s face was drawn into a rigid contour. Despite his confidence as he faced certain death, there was something else. His lips were curled upwards.
“What’s he got to look happy about?” Tom was the first to see it.
“It’s more than happy. I’ve seen that look before. That man’s proud of something. He almost looks as though he achieved it! Whatever the hell it is.” Sam nodded at Elise, “All right, let’s continue.”
Luke’s head stared at the wave, and in the split seconds before the Mirabelle disappeared completely, something else happened.
“Anyone else notice our friend just got shorter?” Sam asked.
No one said anything.
Elise replayed the clip again. Single frame at a time. It was now obvious. The man was either shrinking or his security pod was sinking. In the final frame before the camera was destroyed, you could no longer see Luke’s head.
Tom tapped his pen on a piece of paper in front of him. “So, you think Luke might have survived? Is it possible the security capsule was a single man submersible that shot downwards like an ejector seat in a plane?”
Sam grinned. “I’m saying, Luke might not be the victim after all.”
Chapter Twenty One
The tiny submarine bobbed on the surface of the water. Its dome-shaped glass bubble was open. The sole occupant sat with his feet half inside and half out as he stared at the sight of land on the horizon. Behind his unshaven face and unkempt hair, a smile formed. He’d seen it, like a mirage, for the past forty-eight hours. Each time the tide took him almost close enough to swim, it would change and drag him back out to sea. Now he was finally getting close enough that he might just make it if he tried to swim.
Designed as a safety device for use in a severe storm, the submarine had automatically broken away from the main ship and sunk to thirty feet, where it could stabilize itself despite the rogue wave. Luke Eldridge had then maneuvered the little submersible away from the remains of the Mirabelle in case THEY had come looking for him. His vessel was powered by a small electric motor. It was enough to adjust his depth and move several miles, but there was nowhere near enough battery life to reach the shore.
Luke had carefully examined the currents and positioned himself to increase the likelihood of reaching the American mainland. He could have just surfaced and contacted his on-shore support using his satellite phone. But he figured that once someone has attempted to kill you, it is best to let them continue to believe you’re already dead.
At least until he’d learned who his enemies really were and was in a position to deal with them. So, instead, he had bided his time, living off emergency rations, until the currents had taken him close enough to reach the shore.
Afraid that the swift and powerful gulfstream was going to tear him further away from the coast of Florida, Luke had wasted the submersible’s remaining energy supply. Now he was close. Two days ago, with a strong easterly wind, he was certain he was going to reach land. Then, at the change of tide, he was sucked further out again.
But now he was within reach of landfall.
By midday he was close enough to swim to the shore. He picked up his waterproof duffel bag, which housed his satellite smartphone and a clean set of clothes. He manually opened the water intake valves and the sub slowly returned to its neutrally buoyant position once more. It took nearly twenty minutes before the hatch was swamped by seawater and then the entire vessel disappeared under the water and sank like a stone. He couldn’t afford the risk of someone else finding the submarine washed up on the shore. It wouldn’t take long for them to make the natural connection — he was still alive.
Clutching his duffel bag in front of him with both hands, like a flotation device, Luke swam towards the shore. Ordinarily, it would have been an easy swim, but the days of confinement within the miniature submersible had made his otherwise strong muscles of his arms and legs atrophy. He’d misjudged the strength of the outgoing current just before the breakers.
Luke forced himself to breathe and swim across the rip. Rips are usually formed by a deeper channel carved in the sand by the outward flow of water returning from the beach. Most people drown trying to fight directly against it, whereas the best way to handle a rip is a relatively easy swim across the current.
He wasn’t afraid of drowning. Luke’s concern was more that in his weakened state, he might not have the stamina to ever reach the shore.
Holding onto his flotation device, he kicked as hard and as much as possible. Within two to three minutes he’d crossed the rip and settled on the calm side of the current. With his head just above water, the sandy beach now appeared very distant.
Gritting his teeth, he began the long, slow, swim to shore. Timing himself, he kicked for ten minutes and then rested for one minute. By the end of the third rotation, his bag caught a breaking wave. Gripping its handle as he was dragged under, Luke rode the mesh of whitewash all the way to the beach.
He then looked up at the sky. Wondered if THEY were watching him. Luke forced himself to walk up on to the dry sand. Where he promptly collapsed with relief.
Chapter Twenty Two
Luke unzipped the waterproof bag.
He removed the cash and fresh clothes stored inside. Took out a single brass sextant — sentimental antiquity more than real value. He burned his ID, credit cards and smartphone — the only three records of his survival. And then replaced the items of value in the duffle bag. He’d already disconnected his satellite phone. THEY would be watching it. If they were that powerful, they would reach his phone lines.
Luke sighed.
He had a long way to go. He walked to the end of the beach, and flagged down the first car he saw. It was a BMW. The driver ignored him and kept going. Twenty minutes later another car approached. A green Volkswagen Kombi Van. Luke raised his thumb and the driver pulled over to stop next to him.
“You want a lift?” The driver asked. He looked like he’d just been for a surf. He wore board shorts and no shirt. His long blond hair hung over his shoulders. Next to him, a sporty blonde girl still wore her bikini.