She tumbled out of the helicopter into the dark, freezing night.
Hawke swam toward the Rán. The storm was rising and the swell was difficult work as he plowed onward with the salty spray lashing his face. On the deck, Sala looked less than impressed at the sight of Lea Donovan drilling holes all over the deck casing of his two billion dollar rubber duck. He began ranting and raving at Smets, barking orders to go below decks and get the sub underwater, but then the woman fell from the chopper.
By now, the storm was raging and knocking the Migaloo all over the place. By the time Hawke had touched down beside it, the sub was already partially submerged and the sea water was beginning to slosh over the deck. At the bow, the freezing water was churned into milky bubbles by the forward hydroplanes and with every second it moved deeper into the water.
Hawke knew he had to act fast. In a few minutes there would be no submarine — just him and an awful lot of freezing, tumultuous water. He’d paddled ashore from subs enough times in the past to know how quickly they could vanish from sight, and he didn’t fancy it happening in the middle of a storm.
Then he watched grimly as Sala, Smets and Ryan disappeared inside the aft hatch and went below decks.
He knew the deck would be awash in seconds now, and he swam hard for the rear of the boat. As he swam around to the hangar he heard the sub’s klaxon ring out the unmistakable sound of a diving alarm. This was followed seconds later by the sound of men screaming and the other airlock hatches slamming shut, and he knew from long experience in the Royal Marines and Special Boat Service that Sala had ordered a crash dive. This was a maneuver used by sub captains to submerge beneath the surface as fast as possible to avoid being seen or even to avoid colliding with another vessel.
With the bow planes at the maximum possible downward angle, Hawke knew the crew would be flooding the forward ballast tanks as fast as they could and forcing the submarine down into the icy water at double quick speed. He only had seconds to react. Being stranded in the hangar when the sub dived was a bad idea, so he sprinted across to the hatch door and spun the wheel to open it. He swung it open just in time to see a man running toward him with his fist raised. Hawke dodged the blow, ducking to one side then he brought his fist into the man’s face and knocked him out in one punch.
With seawater rushing into the hangar, Hawke slammed the door shut and secured it before moving along the corridor in search of Ryan, but he didn’t have to look for long. A few moments after entering the corridor he heard the sound of Ryan shouting at some of the men, and then the sound of a heavy punch which was followed by silence. It seemed to be coming from the control room up on the right.
Hawke peered into the room and his eyes confirmed what his ears already knew — Ryan was being held captive by one of Sala’s mercs and it looked like he’d been struck in the face. The young computer hacker from London could add a black eye to the wounded arm this mission had already given to him.
Sala was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Smets, but he counted only one guard in the room alongside a handful of technicians.
Hawke entered the small space and marched right up to them.
The man recognized Hawke from Thor’s tomb, and reacted fast, grabbing Ryan and reaching for something to use as a weapon, but all he could find was a pen which he fumbled, sending it to the floor with a clatter.
Hawke made his move.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Joe Hawke pushed Ryan out of the way and lunged forward hard, punching the guard in the stomach. The man doubled over in agony but the former Commando gave no quarter, powering a devastating uppercut into his lower jaw which cracked shut hard and broke several of his teeth.
The merc staggered back with a wild look in his eyes and waved his arms frantically behind him in a bid to find something to arrest his fall. His right hand caught the edge of the forward auxiliary switchboard but slipped off, and he fell down hard, scarring his back deeply on the corner of the low pressure air manifold gauge. He screamed in agony as he tried to stagger back to his feet.
A technician stood to confront the Englishman but Hawke knocked him out cold with a single punch. “Sorry, no time for introductions…”
Another of the men looked at his unconscious colleague and ran from the control room, presumably to get back-up.
Hawke knew he had no time to waste and padded forward, snatching a wrench from the top of the diving control station. “If you want to fight someone, then have a go with me and leave the kid alone, got it?”
The guard was up now and stared at Hawke hard with a bloody smashed-tooth grin. He wiped a gnarled hand across his mouth and left a smear of engine grease and blood on his face. “You will pay for this!” he said, spitting a thick glob of blood on the mesh floor.
Hawke glanced at Ryan’s black eye and then back to the man. “If you think I owe you something, then come and get it, you dick!”
The man’s beady eyes swivelled around the control room in search of a weapon, but before he found one Hawke stormed forward and swung the spanner at him a second time, striking him across the nose. This produced a terrible wet crunching sound that made Ryan wince.
With more blood now pouring from his smashed nose, the man’s face warped into a rictus of hatred for Hawke. His eyes wide now, and neck veins pulsing with high-pressure blood, he stormed forward, nothing on his mind but revenge.
Hawke showed no mercy, lashing out with the spanner again and hitting the technician on the right temple with a savage backhand swipe.
The man staggered backwards and crashed into the dive controls, sending the sub lurching forward to the sea floor.
“That’s handy,” Hawke said, pulling the unconscious man from the yoke and levelling the submarine. “Right, let’s get out of here!”
Ryan looked confused. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Like what?”
“We’re underwater!”
Hawke tapped the depth gauge. “We’re only at twenty meters, mate. You’ve seen You Only Live Twice, right? These gauges here indicate Sala put in a nice bespoke torpedo room.”
“Yes, but…” a look of horror and disbelief spread over Ryan’s face. “If you mean the scene where Sean Connery is fired into the Sea of Japan as a human torpedo, forget it!”
Hawke shook his head in disappointment. “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
They ran to the torpedo room and Hawke slammed the bulkhead door shut. It was a modest affair for a private submarine, presumably built so the Andorran could take out commercial ships, but today it would serve another purpose. With Sala’s goons hammering on the internal door, Hawke swung open the hatch of one of the tubes. “In you go.”
Ryan peered inside. “But what about you?”
“I’ll fire you out, then open the hatch and swim out the same way.”
“Won’t that flood the submarine?”
“Sort of what I’m aiming for, Ryan, but they could contain the flooding easily enough so let’s hurry. Get in!”
“I cannot believe I’m doing this! At least Bond got to meet Blofeld at the end of it.”
“Listen, hurry up or…” Hawke paused and looked at Ryan for a second, a smile growing on his face. “Wait, you don’t think you’re Bond in this scenario, do you?”
“Well…”
“Put this on.” Hawke smiled and let it go, handing the younger man a lifejacket. “Hold your breath and the second you’re outside the sub make for the surface. It’s going to be choppy up there but I’ll be right behind you.”