by David DeLee
Tolliver nodded. “They are.”
It had already been decided Kayla would remain on the Putnam and work with Tolliver to see if she could determine who could be trusted, and who could not, going forward. Everyone was still of the mindset Haddad’s last-minute absence from the doomed submersible trips was suspicious, but as a loyal cabinet member to the President for the last six years, no one was ready to throw her under the bus quite yet. Not without proof.
McMurphy nodded to Tara. “You ready?”
She stood up. “Since this whole fiasco started.”
He noticed the urumi blade she wore as a belt. He pointed at it. “You missed a spot.”
She looked down, seeing a faint line of dried blood still on the razor-sharp blade. She scrapped it off with her fingernail. “Let’s go.”
She tossed the door open and left the cabin. McMurphy looked at Kayla. “She okay?”
Kayla shrugged. “Yes. No. Probably not.”
McMurphy gave her a perplexed look. Which is it?
“When she thought you…she took it hard. Very hard.”
McMurphy got that. If he’d thought she or Brice were dead…Well, he couldn’t imagine how horrible that would feel. Would be. Or what he’d do in response.
Kayla added, “With Brice still down there, and Grayson at risk. Not knowing whether they’re dead or alive...it’s a lot.”
McMurphy got it, figuring she was talking as much about herself as Tara Sardana. “Then let’s go get ‘em back.”
From the Putnam’s stores, McMurphy and Tara suited up in deep water 6/5mm neoprene wetsuits. They carried their fins, gloves, hoods, and facemasks as they made their way to the submersibles. The hydrofoils were dry cockpit vessels so they hadn’t worked out how they were going to get from the vessels inside Tiamat Bluff yet. The facility had docking ports, but the hydrofoils weren’t equipped to connect to the hatches. Nor were the canopies constructed to open up under the extreme pressure of the ocean at that depth. Any attempt to do so would result in a crushing, imploded death.
When Tolliver and Kayla questioned him about it, McMurphy said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
They collectively shook their heads, praying he had at least a vague idea of how to accomplish such a miracle and was just being coy.
With parkas on, they crossed the open deck, shivering in the cold night air. The hydrofoils were prepped on the stern’s inclined launching ramp, facing downward, the canopies open.
Like Tara, McMurphy tossed his fins, gloves, and facemask into the cockpit. Stored inside each vehicle were weight belts, a buoyancy compensator vest, and two air tanks.
McMurphy turned to Tolliver. “What about the guns?”
He’d requested two Beretta M9 pistols for each of them and an M4 carbine. McMurphy preferred the M18 Mod 1 with its shorter ten-inch barrel that had been standard issue when they operated under the Deployable Operations Group, but after its disbandment, the weapons were in short supply around the service. The M4 would have to do.
“Loaded up and stored in the backpack like you asked.” He smiled. “I tossed in a few extra goodies for you as well.”
McMurphy shook his hand. “Thanks.”
“Be safe and Godspeed,” Tolliver said. “Both of you.”
McMurphy climbed into Bannon’s dolphin-motif hydrofoil, Flipper, belted in. and glanced over at Tara in her plain-jane gunmetal gray vehicle. He activated the vessel’s communications panel. “Ready?”
Tara replied, “Ready.”
She gave the launch crew a thumbs up and McMurphy followed suit.
Kayla and Tolliver backed up the ramp and the launch sequence began.
McMurphy tugged the canopy closed, watching as the water rose and bubbled up around him, after only about a half-hour out of the water he was diving back in. The frothy water quickly swept over the canopy and McMurphy heard the tie-down clips snap away. With a jerk, the hydrofoil slid down the ramp leaving the Putnam behind.
In the gloomy darkness below the surface, he located Tara’s hydrofoil’s lighted cockpit on his starboard side. She gave him a thumbs up. He keyed the Bluetooth. “Radio check.”
“Five-by-five.”
McMurphy smiled at her use of the somewhat antiquated reporting sign. Lima Charlie for loud and clear was in vogue in military circles nowadays, he’d heard. It was still difficult for him to realize they hadn’t been part of the Coast Guard, other than reserve weekend warrior stuff, for over five years now. It had been all he’d known his entire adult life up until then.
“How far to Tiamat Bluff?” Tara asked.
“Twenty minutes if we book it.”
Tara actually grinned at him. Her ink-black hair tied back in a ponytail. “Race ya!”
Her dark hydrofoil pitched downward and zoomed ahead. McMurphy plunged his joystick forward in pursuit. While seeing Tara’s playful side emerge was a good thing, he couldn’t shake the feeling they were already too late to save the next hostage Lang threatened to kill.
McMurphy’s stomach soured at that thought. All they could do was get there as fast as they could and hope Bannon could do something on-site in the meantime.
Before he got too morose, McMurphy figured music would lift his spirits. He activated Bannon’s playlist and the speakers exploded with old-time country singer Barbara Mandrell singing about being country when country wasn’t cool.
“Oh, hell, no!” He flipped through the offerings until he found and settled on Waylon Jennings’ Ain’t Living Long Like This.
McMurphy groused. “Not exactly “Highway to Hell,” but it’ll do.”
He pushed the foot pedals down and shoved the joystick forward while he sang along with Waylon about being on the wrong side of a lawman’s guns, handcuffs, and steel reel racks.
Tara remained a vehicle length ahead of him until they were within sight of Tiamat Bluff.
Having been locked in the windowless tube that was the SEAL delivery vessel, McMurphy had missed the splendor that was the approach to the magnificent underwater achievement, having only caught a glimpse of it in the distance, an afterthought during his desperate attempt to save himself and Bradley Jones from a watery grave.
The large sphere that was Tiamat Bluff was bathed in a red glow from the exterior lights, still operational. The red light facilitated the view of the aquatic life around the structure which was pitch dark otherwise. A color the deep sea creatures didn’t see, he was told.
Only a few of the structure’s long, narrow windows were lit with bright yellow light. The dark, ruined dome on top was a gut-wrenching reminder of the bad things that had gone down within the facility over the last two days.
He shut off the music and keyed the mic. “Keep an eye out for those damn mines. They’re small. The size of softballs but they pack quite the wallop.”
“Roger that,” Tara said. With her slightly ahead of him, he watched as her hydrofoil ducked and weaved. “I see ’em. The field’s not tight, plenty of room, but they zip around fast.”
“Understood,” McMurphy said. “Let’s just hope they don’t have any homing capacity we don’t know about.”
As he piloted closer, he picked up several of the little buggers as they ping-ponged about. Tara was right, there was plenty of room to slip through between them, as long as he kept an eye on them. Nor did they seem to react or change course based on the hydrofoils’ presence, remaining true to only their own chaotic pre-programmed pattern.
A rare, lucky break for them.
Minutes later, confident they’d both navigated through the minefield successfully, McMurphy aimed his hydrofoil toward Tiamat Bluff once more with a sigh of relief.
He radioed Tara again. “I’d say that puts them safely behind us.”
“And brings us to that metaphorical bridge you talked about with Tolliver. Are you any closer to figuring out how we cross it?”
At first, McMurphy frowned but then thinking about it, he smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do have an idea.”<
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“Want to share with the class?”
McMurphy pushed Flipper’s joystick forward and threw the throttle full open, as he surged past Tara, aiming the hydrofoil on a collision course with Tiamat Bluff, he said, “Nope. Just follow my lead. This is gonna be fun.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
They needed to get to Neptune’s Glen. According to Holloway, that was where Lang was holding the hostages, including POTUS and Garcia. The two people besides Grayson most important to Bannon’s plans.
With time running out, if he had to scrap his original plan, being close to the restaurant and Lang, Bannon would be better positioned to turn himself in. If he had to, to prevent another death.
Lang’s loudspeaker announcement continued to ring in Bannon’s ears as he and Larson made their way through the dark, back tunnels and stairwells deep in the inner central core of Tiamat Bluff. A move they made to more easily avoid the surveillance camera in the public access corridors.
Now ducking and racing through the facility’s maintenance tunnels, shafts, and metallic stairways and ladders Bannon glanced at his dive watch. They were short on time. “How much farther?”
His voice echoed along with the sound of their footfalls on the metal ladder rungs, climbing from one level to the next. Larson was on the ladder above him. She scrambled onto the grated catwalk with an athleticism that at first surprised Bannon until he remembered her mentioning what an avid jogger she was.
He joined her on the platform, more winded than he wanted to let on. Tension, lack of sleep, and physical altercations were beginning to take their toll.
“We’re on the south side of level two. Neptune’s Glen is on level five in the north section.”
“So, three more flights up.”
“Yes.”
Bannon again glanced at his watch. It had been twenty-two minutes since Lang killed a hostage and gave Bannon his ultimate. Eight minutes to go before another hostage would be killed, and then Grayson was next. Knowing what he knew now, Bannon suspected that had been Lang’s goal from the beginning. Revenge against the woman, and the government, that left him behind.
“This way,” Larson said, snapping him from his thoughts.
She waved for him to follow as she sprinted down a catwalk, their footsteps hollow and loud.
It couldn’t be helped. Time took precedence of stealth at the moment. Bannon was desperate to not have another innocent death on his hands.
They reached the far end of the chamber, a machine room really. The air thick and tainted with the smell of grease and oil. There an open flight of metal stairs—Bannon was grateful it wasn’t more ladders—led to a door.
Larson pointed at it. “That’s level three.”
Bannon urged her along. “Let’s go.”
They raced up the stairs to only get about halfway up before a hail of bullets stitched the wall and pinged off the metal rails cut them off, forcing them to retreat back down to the metal landing below. They pressed into a narrow indentation in the wall.
Breathing hard, Larson blurted. “Where did that come from?”
Bannon risked poking his head out. He was immediately brushed back by another barrage of automatic gunfire. “Below us at two-o’clock. Two hostiles.”
“What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to make a run for that door,” Bannon said. “I’m going to provide cover fire.”
“Like hell! We go back. Take another way.”
Bannon checked his watch. “There’s no time. This is the only way.”
She studied him hard. “You can keep them from killing me?”
“Yes.” He hoped.
“Then what?”
“If I don’t get lucky and kill them.” He pointed at the machine pistol she still carried. “You cover me.”
“You saw me before, right? I couldn’t hit the broadside of an ocean liner.”
Bannon grinned. “They don’t know that. Ready?”
She nodded but said, “No.”
He jumped out from behind their cover, pointed his weapon over the railing and down, and started shooting. Over the rattle of gunfire, he shouted, “Go! Go! Go!”
Larson ran up the stairs hugging the wall.
Bannon located the two men. A level below, one was behind a wall to his nine o’clock, the other crouched behind a group of drums. Dark and oily on the outside.
Bannon concentrated his fire on the guy behind the drums. But he wasn’t shooting at him. He fired into the drums. Thick dark liquid began to pour out of the bullet holes that pierced the metal skin. He glanced up the stairs.
Larson had made it about three-quarters of the way up, running hard.
Bannon swung his aim toward the man behind the wall. He’d been getting brave and leaned forward, squeezing off a burst of fire. Bannon ducked, brushed him back, and then emptied his magazine into the drums. In the sudden silence that followed, he stared at the drums, watching, waiting, and getting disappointed. “Huh.”
He started evaluating other plans in his head when his efforts were rewarded with a loud whoosh. The thick, brown liquid in the drums turned out to flammable after all. As he’d hoped. The drums exploded. The hostile behind them leaped away, but too late. The erupting orange and black fireball caught his pant legs which had been doused with the spilling liquid. His clothes went up like a lighter fluid-soaked bonfire on Hampton Beach. He screamed.
Bannon tossed his empty machine pistol and charged up the stairwell.
Larson watched from the platform above.
She aimed the weapon at the area where the other gunman remained concealed.
Bannon made it halfway up the flight of stairs when bullets started to ping all around him. The rapid gunfire echoed in the hollow, mostly metallic chamber. He glanced down to see the threat wasn’t coming from the man pinned down behind the wall.
A third shooter.
Bannon shouted, “Where’s that coming from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well shoot back!”
“Where?”
Bannon, covering his head as he ducked and ran. “Everywhere!”
Larson swept the weapon from right to left and in circles and screamed like she was in a Rambo movie. Tracer bullets flew every which way.
Bannon ran up to her, ducking under swinging arms before grabbing the weapon from her, twisting, and returning more effective fire. He located the third shooter hidden in a doorway at the farthest reaches of the machine pistol. Still, his field of fire was closer to target than Larson’s attempt, and enough to keep the man from shooting back.
Bannon pushed her toward the door. “Go! Go!”
They rushed through the doorway and Bannon slammed the heavy metal door shut behind them.
He found a fire ax in a glass case. The kind that says: In Case of Emergency Break Glass.
He figured this counted.
He broke the glass with the butt of the machine pistol and pulled the ax from its securing clips. With the ax handle slipped through the hatch wheel, jamming the door shut he took Larson by the elbow, directing her away. “Come on.”
If Lang was true to his word, the next hostage—whoever it might be—had less than four minutes to live. “Can we make it to the restaurant in four minutes?”
“Not even if we had rocket-powered jetpacks and could fly through walls.”
That was how he had it figured, too. Bannon tapped the earpiece Holloway had given him, activating the link between himself and the agent.
“Holloway. This is Bannon. We’re on our way to Neptune’s Glen, but we’re not going to make it in time.”
He didn’t expect her to respond, figuring she could be in close quarters with Lang or some of his men. To be seen talking to herself wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Bannon went on, hoping at least she was listening. “I need you to stall Lang. Stop him from killing anyone. I’m on my way to surrender.”
To his surprise, she answered. Her voice lower than a whisper. “
Is my family safe?”
Bannon hesitated. He didn’t know. There’d been no way for him to contact Tara again, to find out how the raid on Holloway’s home had gone. If it had even happened yet.
Holloway hissed again. “Are they?”
Bannon opened his mouth then closed it again. What to say? What to say?
He made up his mind.
“Yes. They’re fine. My people got to them. Got them out. Your husband and your girls are perfectly safe.”
Larson watched him with a recriminating look. He was lying and she knew.
Skeptical, Holloway asked, “How do you know?”
Her voice, though it was low as a butterfly’s wings fluttering near his ear, he could hear the hope in it, the relief in knowing her family had been rescued. It was an almost tangible thing. And made him feel worse about the deception.
Bannon stared at Larson, then looked away. Not seeing another option, he doubled down on the lie. “Dr. Larson tapped into an old communication feed. A redundant system after upgrades were made. I spoke to my people. Your family…”
He couldn’t repeat the lie again.
Holloway needed confirmation. “Is safe?”
Bannon hated himself. “Yes.”
“I’ll do what I can to stall him. But get here fast.”
“On our way,” Bannon tapped the earpiece, terminating the connection.
Larson stood facing him. “You lied to her.”
“We need to keep moving.”
He started to walk past her but she grabbed his arm and spun him to a stop. “No. Not until you explain. Why?”
“I had no choice. I need Holloway to do her job. People’s lives count on it.”
“At what cost? What about Holloway?”
“My people are good,” he insisted. “I’ve counted on them time and time again. They’ve never let me down. This time will be no different.”
“You don’t know that,” she said. “You can’t know. How could you lie to her like that?”
“Because…because it’s the only way.”
“And if you’re wrong. If your people didn’t get them out. How do you explain that to her?”
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I’ll deal with it…if I need to. Now, let’s go.”