A ladder dropped from the helicopter’s side and splashed into the water a few yards away. She pointed to Tesla and shook her head. He wasn’t going to be climbing that ladder, and she couldn’t drag him up. Awkwardly, she started to tow him toward the ladder, and the dog followed, tugging on Tesla’s suit. This was going to take a while.
Someone understood the problem, because a floating basket stretcher and a diver landed in the water less than a minute later. The diver swam over so quickly he looked like a movie on fast forward. He wore a full wetsuit, but a curl of black hair had escaped the hood and was plastered to his forehead.
He grabbed hold of the back of Tesla’s BCD.
“There’s another sub,” she yelled. “One guy still on the bottom.”
The man tapped his ear. He couldn’t hear her over the sound of the helicopter.
She’d have to wait until she was on board. The other guy was probably long dead at this point anyway.
The diver heaved Tesla into the basket and started clipping him in. He darted around easily. She held on to the basket’s metal side with one arm and wished for dry land. Every so often, a wave slapped her in the face to remind her exactly why she hated the ocean.
Edison struggled to climb in with his master. She put a hand on the dog’s back and looked to the diver to make sure Edison could get into the basket right now, or if he needed to wait for the next one. She wasn’t getting out until the dog was safe. No man or dog left behind, that was her new motto.
The diver scooped up Edison and dumped him on Tesla’s chest. Edison nudged Tesla’s shoulder with his bubble head. She’d have to get that bubble off him once they got aboard. He was a patient dog, but it had to be driving him nuts.
The diver clipped Edison into the basket. Then he moved her back and gestured to someone in the helicopter. They started lifting Tesla and his dog. Her job was done.
Now her arm throbbed in earnest. It had been waiting for the adrenaline to clear. She shivered. Water had leaked into her suit when she’d been bringing Tesla up, and she was drenched. Her teeth chattered.
She paddled one-handed back toward the ladder. The diver drew up even with her and pointed at her arm.
“Broken,” she yelled.
He grabbed hold of her collar. Ordinarily, she’d never let herself be towed around like a toddler in a pool, but she hurt too much and was too cold to stand on pride.
Once they got to the ladder, she dragged herself onto the lowest rung. She hung there like a drowned rat until they dropped the basket again. With the diver’s help, she flopped in. She lay flat on her back and felt the rotor wash pummel her face while the diver clipped her in. Every beat meant she wasn’t alone, and soon she was going to be on dry land.
Her basket dangled from a silver cable that moved steadily upward, swinging from side to side as the helicopter fought the wind. She focused on the pontoon skids that must let the machine land on water. Just over those pontoons was an open door. It would be a minute, and then another minute and another after, but she didn’t sweat it. Tesla was safe. Edison was safe. She was safe.
Now, she was starting to get angry. Someone had smashed into them, nearly killed them, killed the guy in the other sub, and then done nothing to help. The giant sub must have had an exit, if Tesla’s sub did. Probably full of fit young sailors and medics. But not one of them had come out to try to undo the damage they’d caused. They couldn’t even be bothered to back off Tesla’s sub so she could get out. If he hadn’t been there with his knife, she’d be dead.
Hands guided the basket into the helicopter’s belly, and the basket came to rest on a metal floor. Tesla was flat on a stretcher with Edison strapped in next to him. A redheaded man started unfastening the clips that held her in. A familiar dark head appeared, and the diver hauled himself up next to her.
As soon as he was inside, the sound of the rotors changed, and they rose and headed for shore. She sat. Her arm reminded her it was broken, and she needed to be more careful with it. Another thing the driver of that giant sub had to answer for.
She leaned forward and ripped off Edison’s helmet one-handed, so the dog could breathe regular air. He licked her hand, clearly to say thank you, then went back to cuddling up to his master. She wished she had a big warm dog. She wouldn’t even mind the wet-dog smell.
“There are subs down there,” she yelled. “Three. A big one and two little ones.”
“We’ll have ships here soon to investigate, ma’am.” The diver helped her out of the basket and into a seat. Her knees had gone rubbery, and she shook too much to fasten her own seat belt.
The diver fastened straps across her shoulders, and the medic with bristly red hair gently touched her injured arm.
She gasped. “Broken.”
Red took a splint out of a white box.
“The guy down there won’t last long,” she yelled. “If he’s even still alive.”
“I understand that, ma’am.” The diver finished buckling her in. “Help is on its way.”
“What happened to your friend?” The medic slipped the splint over her forearm and pointed at Tesla.
“He might have hit his head,” she said. He might have, and she couldn’t tell them he was drugged to the gills.
“Is he under the influence of any medication?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and leaned back. Her teeth chattered so hard she decided she didn’t have to answer.
Chapter 8
Joe moved his head and decided he never wanted to do that again. Each heartbeat slammed painfully inside his head. He started to count each throbbing beat, but that caused the corresponding colors to flash across his mind, which made everything so much worse. He worried he would vomit.
Nails clicked on the floor as Edison approached the bed. He brought with him the smell of a fish market at the end of the day. Joe stumbled into the bathroom, relieved to be home safe and sound with Edison. Vivian had been with him before he lost track of what was going on. So, they were all three (red) safe and sound. Unlike the driver of Prince Timgad’s sub.
A damp nose nudged Joe’s hand before a cool tongue lapped his cheek.
“Hey. Good boy.”
Edison stopped licking him.
He wobbled, but managed to stay upright, so he was counting that as a win. He opened the old-fashioned medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of aspirin. He knocked back a few and cup after cup of cold water. Edison’s brown eyes followed every movement.
“I’m fine. But you’re not going to like what comes next.”
Edison cocked his head.
“Bath.”
Probably thinking of escaping, Edison looked toward the door.
“Nope. Sorry.”
Joe turned on the shower and filled up the antique claw-foot tub, adding a dollop of oatmeal dog shampoo. “You first.”
Edison gave him a long-suffering look before he jumped in, and Joe grinned. Life was back to normal. By the time he’d washed the dog, washed himself, brushed his teeth, and gotten dressed, he felt almost human.
He grabbed the laptop from his nightstand and booted it up. He wanted to identify the sub that had hit him while the memory was fresh in his mind. First, he sketched it out, trying to remember the dimensions, the outline, and the shape and location of the crow’s nest thing perched on top. He had a good visual memory, and the sketch came easily.
Then he brought up a list of current submarines. At around two hundred feet (blue, black, black), the sub he’d seen was too small to be nuclear, but it had looked fairly modern. Pattern recognition was his superpower, and he quickly identified the vessel that had run him down: a Swedish Gotland-class submarine.