“Maeve?”
Maeve walked to the front of the bus. “Yes?” she said quietly.
“How long can you hold your breath?”
“I don’t know; maybe a minute.”
“Al? What are they doing?”
“Walking toward the bus, holding nasty-looking clubs.”
“They want us alive,” said Pitt. “Okay, gang, take a seat and hold on tight.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Maeve.
“We, love of my life, are going for a swim. Al, open all the windows. I want this thing to sink like a brick.”
“I hope the water’s warm,” said Giordino as he unlatched the windows. “I hate cold water.”
To Maeve, Pitt said, “Take several deep breaths and get as much oxygen as you can into your bloodstream. Exhale and then inhale as we go over the side.”
“I bet I can swim underwater farther than you,” she said with gutsy resolve.
“Here’s your chance to prove it,” he said admiringly.
“Don’t waste time waiting for an air pocket. Go out the windows on your right and swim under the pier as soon as the water stops surging inside the bus.”
Pitt reached behind the driver’s seat, unzipped his overnight bag, retrieved a nylon packet and stuffed it down the front of his pants, leaving a larger-than-life bulge.
“What in the world are you doing?” asked Maeve.
“My emergency goody bag,” explained Pitt. “I never leave home without it.”
“They’re almost on us,” Giordino announced calmly.
Pitt slipped on a leather coat, zipped it to his collar, turned and gripped the wheel. “Okay, let’s see if we can get high marks from the judges.”
He revved up the engine and shifted the automatic transmission into sow. The battered bus jerked forward, right front tire flapping, steam billowing so thick he could hardly see ahead, gathering speed for the plunge. There was no railing along the pier, only a low, wooden horizontal beam that acted as a curb for vehicles. The front wheels took the brunt of the impact. The already weakened front suspension tore away as the wheelless chassis ground over it, the rear tires tearing rubber as they spun, pushing what was left of the Toyota bus over the side of the pier.
The bus seemed to fall in slow motion before the heavier front end dropped and struck the water with a great splash. The last thing Pitt remembered before the windshield fell inward and the seawater surged through the open passenger door was the loud hiss of the overheated engine as it was inundated.
The bus bobbed once, hung for an instant and they sank into the green water of the bay. All Dorsett’s security people saw when they ran to the edge of the dock and looked down, was a cloud of steam, a mass of gurgling bubbles and a spreading oil slick. The waves created by the impact spread and rippled into the pilings beneath the pier. They waited expectantly for heads to appear, but no indication of life emerged from the green depths.
Pitt guessed that if the docks could accommodate large cargo ships the water depth had to be at least fifteen meters. The bus sank, wheels down, into the muck on the bottom of the harbor, disturbing the silt, which burst into a rolling cloud. Pushing away from the wheel, he stroked toward the rear of the bus to make sure Maeve and Giordino were not injured and had exited through a window. Satisfied they had escaped, he snaked through the opening and kicked into the blinding silt. When he burst into the clear, visibility was better than he had expected, the water temperature a degree or two colder. The incoming tide brought in fairly clean water, and he could easily distinguish the individual pilings under the pier. He estimated visibility at twenty meters.
He recognized the indistinct shapes of Maeve and Giordino about four meters in front, swimming strongly into the void ahead. He looked up, but the surface was only a vague pattern of broken light from a cloudy sky. And then suddenly the water darkened considerably as he swam under the pier and between the pilings. He temporarily lost the others in the shadowy murk, and his lungs began to tighten in complaint from the growing lack of air. He swam on an angle toward the surface, allowing the buoyancy of his body to carry him upward, one hand raised above his head to ward off imbedding something hard and sharp in his scalp. He finally surfaced in the midst of a small sea of floating litter. He sucked in several breaths of salty air and swung around to find Maeve and Giordino bobbing in the water a short distance behind him.
They swam over, and his regard for Maeve heightened when he saw her smiling. “Show-off,” she whispered, aware that voices could be heard by the Dorsett men above. “I bet you almost drowned trying to outdistance me.”
“There’s life in the old man yet,” Pitt murmured.
“I don’t think anyone saw us,” muttered Giordino. “I was almost under the dock before I broke free of the silt cloud.”
Pitt motioned in the general direction of the main dock area. “Our best hope is to swim under the pier until we can find a safe place to climb clear.”
“What about boarding the nearest ship we can find?” asked Giordino.
Maeve looked doubtful. Her long blond hair floated in the water behind her like golden reeds on a pond. “If my father’s people picked up our trail, he’d find a way to force the crew to turn us over to him.”
Giordino looked at her, “You don’t think the crew would hold us until we were under the protection of local authorities?”
Pitt shook his head, flinging drops of water in a spiral. “If you were the captain of a ship or the commander in charge of dock police, would you believe a trio of half drowned rats or the word of someone representing Arthur Dorsett?”
“Probably not us,” Giordino admitted.
“If only we could reach the Ocean Angler.”
“That would be the first place they’d expect us to go,” said Maeve.
“Once we were on board, Dorsett’s men would have a fight on their hands if they tried to drag us off,” Pitt assured her.
“A moot point,” Giordino said under his breath. “We haven’t the foggiest idea where the Ocean Angler is berthed.”
Pitt stared at his friend reproachfully. “I hate it when you’re sober minded.”
“Has she a turquoise hull and white on the cabins above like the Ice Hunter?” asked Maeve.
“All NUMA ships have the same color scheme,” Giordino answered.
“Then I saw her. She’s tied to Pier 16.”
“I give up. Where’s Pier 16 from here?”
“The fourth one north of here,” replied hid.
“How would you know that?”
“The signs on the warehouses. I noticed number 19 before I drove off of Pier 20.”
“Now that we’ve fixed our location and have a direction, we’d best get a move on,” Giordino suggested. “If they have half a brain they’ll be sending down divers to look for bodies in the bus.”
“Stay clear of the pilings,” cautioned Pitt. “Beneath the surface, they’re packed with colonies of mussels. Their shells can cut through flesh like a razor blade.”
“Is that why you’re swimming in a leather jacket?” asked Maeve.
“You never know who you’ll meet,” Pitt said dryly.
Without a visual sighting, there was no calculating how far they had to go before reaching the research ship. Conserving their strength, they breaststroked slowly and steadily through the maze of pilings, out of sight of Dorsett’s men on the dock above. They reached the based Pier 20, then passed beneath the main dockyard thoroughfare, which connected to all the loading docks, be, fore turning north toward Pier 16. The better part of as hour crept by before Maeve spotted the turquoise hull reflected in the water beneath the pier.
“We made it,” she cried out happily.
“Don’t count your prize money,” Pitt warned her. “The dock might be crawling with your father’s muscle patrol.”