“And so it shall be, my friend. You will have your tequila.”
“Why don't we run one more survey just to be sure?”
“A fine idea. As soon as the cruise ship leaves, I'll program another sub-bottom profile.” Cruz picked up the relic and gently placed it into a tank of salt water.
Skyler scanned the sleek lines of the West Wind as it prepared to move away from its berth. He watched the swirling dark currents created by the side thrusters stirring up the channel. Then he saw a small powerboat anchored across the waterway tossing about with no one aboard. He moved back to the bridge and grabbed a pair of binoculars. Focusing on the middle of the channel, he saw what he feared — the telltale trail of bubbles moving across the channel
“Damn!” Skyler turned to the man inside the cabin. “Captain, shut her down.” Then he rushed across the deck and grabbed a fresh tank out of the storage rack. “Crank up the scooter, Paco!”
“What is it?”
“Souvenir hunter.”
“Sweet Jesus, where?” Cruz tried to see what Skyler was talking about.
“This side of that outboard.” He pointed as he slipped on his tank and weight belt.
Cruz nodded then jumped off the stern to the lower platform and unhooked the AquaBike, a small battery-powered underwater scooter used for hauling objects up from the bottom. “You only have a twenty percent charge. It may not be enough to get you there.”
“Not much choice.” Skyler dropped down beside him. “If I don't get that jerk out of there, he'll be sliced to pieces.”
“Should we call the harbor police?” Cruz pushed the scooter off the platform.
“No time.” Skyler slipped into the water and gripped the throttle. With a spray of foam, he disappeared under the chop.
The boy knew he had only seconds to live. Oh God, help me, he prayed as the dark monster swept over him. Suddenly, out of the blackness came a flash — the edge of a large knife sliced through his tank harness setting him free. A powerful arm wrapped around him. Then a hard rubber mouthpiece was shoved in his face and he took a deep breath. He felt himself being pulled across the top of the grid faster than he had ever moved underwater.
Within seconds, the screws of the ship passed over the point where he had been trapped and the dive site became an enormous cloud of silt and mud. The light grew brighter as he and his rescuer approached the surface. A moment later, they broke into the blinding Mexican sun.
The boy stared at the wall of metal that made up the West Wind. Only a few moments before it had been a leviathan of deadly proportions. Now it moved with grace and beauty along the channel heading for the open ocean, its multi-colored pennants dancing in the tropical breeze.
The thin, high-pitched whine of the underwater scooter buzzed in his ears as the low rumble of the cruise ship faded. The man who saved his life kept a solid hold across his chest while he steered the scooter toward the runabout. Once they pulled alongside, he let go and cut the power to the scooter. Almost immediately, the San Felipe appeared and maneuvered to within a few meters of the smaller boat.
“Señor Skyler, are you okay?” someone called from the dive boat.
Flashing a thumbs-up, the man helped the boy grab hold of the side of the runabout. “You gonna make it, kid?” he asked after pushing his dive mask onto his forehead and removing his mouthpiece.
“I think so.” The boy’s voice was choked and raw. His head throbbed from the impact of the rock. “Stupid, I guess.”
“Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it. Diving alone is stupid. Being run over by a ship is downright insane. You really want to die that bad?”
“Forgive me, Señor, and gracias.” He coughed as he held on to the bobbing boat.
“Take care of yourself, kid.” The man patted the boy’s cheek then flipped the power switch and guided the scooter toward the stern of the government dive boat.
With his remaining strength, the boy pulled himself into the runabout and turned to watch his rescuer climb onto the rear platform of the San Felipe. For an instant, the man glanced back at him and smiled — a smile that warmed him more than the golden Mexican sun ever could.
Skyler turned to Cruz. “What's say we call it a day, amigo? I've had it.”
“I agree.” Cruz swabbed the sweat from his forehead then secured the AquaBike onto the stern platform. “Do you think the young one learned his lesson?”
“Who knows? Truth is, that's just the kind of stunt I would have pulled when I was his age.” Skyler dried his face on a towel and went to the ice chest inside the dive boat's cabin. This time he grabbed a Corona.
DEEP SCAN
“Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?” As he spoke, the President turned his back on the three men and stared out the window of the Oval Office. Dressed casually in slacks and golf shirt, he brushed his hand over his silver hair and watched the parade of tourists beyond the fences.
Dr. John Dolen answered. “Yes, Mr. President, we definitely understand.” Dolen leaned forward in his chair with a determined expression. The tall, lanky, fifty-year-old nuclear research scientist from the Princeton Plasma Physics Laboratory had a narrow, stern face sporting a peppered gray goatee, thick horn-rimmed glasses, and small, dark eyes. “We would never suggest anything like this if we didn't believe it to be a matter of gravest concern. We simply don't see any other course of action. As Professor Reynolds and I have explained, we have reason to believe someone gained access, copied, and then destroyed the original Project Candle Power files. If that proves true and this technology should fall into the wrong hands, the United States and the rest of the free world would be helpless to defend against it.”
The President moved to the leather chair behind the Resolute desk, his face pale and drawn. Only six months into his term and he already felt the accelerated aging process that came with the job. “Frankly, if it weren’t for your impeccable scientific credentials and the insistence of Colonel Argentine, I would assume you both were raving lunatics.”
“That's understandable, sir,” Reynolds said. Professor Carl Reynolds possessed doctorates in both biochemical engineering and quantum physics from MIT. Short and stocky, also in his mid-fifties, he had a shiny, balding head and a warm smile. His chubby fingers constantly pulled at the ends of his bushy mustache. “To understand our concern, you must realize the nature of our organization. Deep Scan is one of a handful of ultra-secret projects unknown even to the CIA and National Security Agency. Even your predecessor didn't know it existed.”
The President raised an eyebrow. “If that's the case, how do you get funding?”
“Actually,” Reynolds said, “Deep Scan is a modern offshoot of the old Strategic Defense Initiative. As I’m sure you recall, the original concept of SDI was to create a defensive shield against a surprise missile attack from the Soviet Union.”
“Star Wars had many levels,” Dolen said. “Most were Level One projects that involved the military and the Department of Defense. Then there were Level Two projects controlled directly by the NSA dealing with offensive weaponry. Finally, there were a couple of Level Three groups like Deep Scan — purely scientific in nature, answering only to the President. President Bush, forty-three, conceived the idea of Deep Scan. He authorized Colonel Argentine’s predecessor to set up a network of obscure research grants and bogus government agencies. They were buried deep in Washington's bureaucratic maze in places like the Department of Agriculture and the National Parks Service. Congress appropriated funds earmarked for everything from biological and chemical research to improving crop yields, farming techniques and fertilizer compounds. The funds really went for futuristic research into developing new energy sources.”