Submerged

by Thomas F Monteleone

  Another ten minutes, with a few in between to rest by back-floating, and they were very close to catching the tide off the channel—a big assist that would pull them toward the southern tip of Gibson Island. Good thing too. Tommy was running out of steam, and Dex figured the guy was just this side of giving up. He’d seen it happen to people marooned in the water. So, a few minutes of calm on their backs was a good idea right about now.

  But before he could suggest it, he saw the approach of the cutter from south. It was way below them, but he could ID its profile along the horizon line. The next few minutes would be critical.

  “Coast Guard,” he said, and pointed to the far-away ship.

  “They lookin’ for us?” Tommy barely got the words. He was exhausted.

  “Could be. I don’t know. Just keep moving. We’re not trusting anybody at this point, remember?”

  They sidestroked their way toward the shallows. Not much farther now.

  “Man, I hate this.” Tommy’s voice was getting weak.

  “Almost there, man. C’mon.”

  Out in the bay, at least a couple miles out, Dex saw the Coast Guard boat move in lazy circles in the general area where the Sea Dog had blown. If they were looking for Dex and Tommy, they were doing a damned good job of disguising it. More likely, they’d responded to a garbled distress call, and were now confused to find nothing in the vicinity. If they spotted any debris, it would keep them focused on that general area.

  And away from us, thought Dex.

  “We should be close to touching bottom,” he said. Tommy needed something to work for.

  “You sure?”

  “It gets shallow pretty far out. Any second now. Just keep pushing that water behind you, okay?”

  “I’m with you.”

  Dex said nothing as he continued to pull himself toward the sloping sand. He was just about used up. Every pull with his arms had become a near impossible task. Rolling over on his back for maximum flotation, he reached down and unclipped the videocam from the utility belt, consigning it to the oblivion of the sandy bottom. The slight lessening of weight allowed him to move forward in the water just a little easier. But at this point, every ounce was enough to mean something. Next, he unclipped the heavy iron prybar, and he felt instantly lighter. His arms felt as if they were ready to disconnect from his shoulders; Tommy was probably way beyond that. Dex forced himself forward. No idea how far they’d swum, but he’d most likely underestimated it.

  “Dex… Dex, I’m done.” Tommy’s voice sounded so weak, so frail.

  “No you’re not, man. Don’t talk like that.”

  “I can’t do it! I feel like I’m not movin’ forward anymore. I got nothin’ left…”

  “Hang on,” said Dex, feeling a fire in his thigh muscles as he tread water in languid half-assed leg-pumps. “Tommy, roll over on your back. You’ll float naturally till I get to you.”

  “I can’t…”

  “Yeah, you can.” Dex closed the several feet of distance between them, and it felt infinitely farther. When he grabbed Tommy’s arm, and helped turn him onto his back, he was amazed at how massive the kid felt. “Easy now. That’s it.”

  Tommy rolled over, but his breathing increased as he started to panic, not believing he could keep his head above the light chop.

  “Just relax, I’ve got you.” Dex was helping him float, but not entirely. Now he reached across his stomach, fumbling for the release on Tommy’s utility belt. “I’m going to get this off you. You’ll be lighter. You’ll be able to float better.”

  “Okay…” Tommy’s voice remained shaky, on the edge of panic. But his breathing had steadied as he slowly realized he wasn’t sinking.

  When he squeezed the edges of the quick-release buckle, Tommy’s belt fell away instantly, and he noticed the difference in weight. “All right, stay on your back, and I’m going to tow you. Kick your legs to help…but only if you can.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “We’re gonna be fine. We’ll make it.” Dex looked ahead to the shoreline, which hadn’t appeared any closer lately. The seabed should be sloping up soon, getting more shallow. Eventually. And Dex hoped he could make it with Tommy as lax as he’d become. Dex had seen it before where guys just reached a point where they couldn’t push it another inch. Where it became weirdly preferable to let everything go and slip beneath the water.

  “Okay, here we go. Ready?”

  Tommy tried to nod, and the water splashed around his ears. Dex felt him tense. He hooked his arm under Tommy’s and across his chest, then stretched out and did a modified sidestroke to start towing him toward shore again. They should be in the soft currents that run westwardly and even if Dex did nothing but drift, they might eventually make the coastline.

  But might can be a very dangerous word.

  Minutes dragged past them like the brackish water, and Dex’s arms and legs screamed from maximum muscle burn. Each pull, each kick agony. Like he was trying to pull a bank safe through quicksand.

  Too much weight. He was at the point where every ounce became critical, and he knew what he should do next. The only thing still attached to his own belt was the specimen bag and that weird metal slab. Half the thickness of a brick, it weighed at least five time a brick’s weight. Dex knew it could make the difference between getting ashore safely or not.

  Can’t let that go.

  Thoughts flashed though him in alternating currents of doubt and conviction, and he knew there was only one choice. Reluctantly, with his free hand, he reached down and squeezed the release on his utility belt. As soon as the bag with the heavy slab slipped free, he felt immediate added buoyancy.

  Partially psychological, certainly, but it was enough to revitalize his energy and his resolve. Despite the fire in his limbs, Dex yanked them through the water.

  Tommy must have sensed it because he started kicking weakly. It wasn’t much, but it helped. Big time. Every joule of extra energy helped, and they were going to make it.

  More minutes, more splashing and pulling the dead weight of the water. The best way to do it was just wipe your mind clean and slip into a trance-like state where the motions of survival became the total sphere of your existence.

  There was no room for recriminations about losing the most important piece of evidence of what the 5001 might signify. No sense even worrying about it. That weird slab of metal lay fathoms beneath them, already losing itself in the silty bottom.

  They continued to struggle toward the shore. There wasn’t much beach due to the erosion at the south end of Gibson. This had happened despite the presence of substantial jetties spaced evenly along the eastern shoreline. Dex had been vaguely steering them to bisect a couple of the jetties where plenty of trees stood as close to the water as possible. Best place where they could duck into quick cover.

  It didn’t seem possible, but the fire in his legs became more intense. So much so, he knew the next stage was some kind of autonomic paralysis. If he could—

  Suddenly his feet and knees touched the mushy sand and mud beneath him.

  Was it real? Or had he imagined it…

  Kicking downward, he was rewarded with the resistance of the packed shoreline sand.

  Automatically he righted himself, stood up in the chest-deep water. “Touchdown!” he said weakly.

  “Oh Jesus,” said Tommy as he tried to stand, wobbling to stay upright. “That feels so freakin’ good.”

  “Easy now. Up to the beach, and head for those trees, okay?”

  “I’ll try.” Tommy slogged forward, and either he tripped or his knees gave way; he toppled facedown into the brackish water. He thrashed upward, shaking his head like a big dog. “Man, I think I hate the water! I think my diving days are done, man.”

  Reaching the beach, Dex resisted the urge to just collapse across its cool coarse bed. No way. Get the hell away from the
water. Now. Crawling up off his knees, he grabbed Tommy under the shoulder and heaved him up to his feet. They covered the small stretch of sand in several staggering, arthritic, zombie strides, crossed a small unpaved service road and slipped into a thick wood of evergreens and tall poplars. As soon as they penetrated the green shade, they folded up like cheap lawn chairs. Even though soaked and trembling from the cool air, they felt unexposed and fairly safe.

  “Jeez, I can’t move,” said Tommy. “That was brutal. Just freakin’ broo-tull.”

  Dex pulled himself to a sitting position, back against a tall tree, tried to control his breathing. “Now we hope nobody saw us.”

  “Huh? This place looks plenty deserted. You mean people live here?”

  “Didn’t you see some of the slips when we were coming in?”

  “I didn’t see shit. Too busy staying alive to do much sightseein’.”

  “Well, anyway, yeah—there’s people here. Rich people. The houses are big and far apart.”

  “No kiddin’.” Tommy had been laying flat on his back, but now he eased himself to a sitting position. His red diving suit a stark contrast to the muted colors surrounding them.

  “I think some of the land is like state parks or something like that.”

  Tommy nodded absently as if that info wasn’t terribly important to him. “So what do we do now?”

  Dex half-grinned. “I had a feeling you were going to ask me that.”

  Tommy tilted his head. “Meaning what—you have no ideas?”

  “No, actually, I have plenty. Just not sure which are the good ones.”

  “Well, whatever you got in mind,” said Tommy. “I hope it’s got some down-time in it—I’m beat. Can’t move.”

  Dex nodded. “I’m thinking we sit tight for an hour or so, but then we should get going.”

  “Like where?”

  “We need to assume whoever hit the Sea Dog didn’t want any survivors. They dropped underwater charges on us, remember?”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

  “No way to tell if they know who we are yet. But they probably will.”

  “How you figure?” Tommy looked only half as interested as he was in maybe catching a few winks.

  “If they know they hit Don Jordan’s boat, then they might be able to check who he charters to—which would include the dive shop. That might get them everybody’s name.”

  Tommy grinned. “You think Don kept good records like that?”

  “Probably not, but I’m figuring worst case for us. And that the people who did this are real pros.”

  “Really? You think these guys’re that good?”

  “Tommy, I got no idea how good they are. Or who they are. But so far, I have to figure they’re good. Real good.”

  Dex didn’t want to say anything, but he was kicking himself for telling that Coast Guard Ensign so much. He didn’t want to think he was the reason the guys were dead. And then there was Kevin Cheever’s buddy at the lab—if he’d talked to that Naval Historical bunch in D.C.…well, maybe that’s how the “bad guys” found out. If they had connections to the military or one of the alphabet agencies, it would be easy.

  Tommy had been weighing what Dex had said: “Okay, they’re good. But I still don’t get it.”

  “Way I see it, the most probable deal is that people in the military knew about our U-boat, the one with the A-bomb, okay? They knew about it for a long time—probably back when the Germans were first getting it ready, but they never found it. They probably knew the mission was launched, but they never found out what happened to it.”

  “Wow. One of them unsolved mysteries, huh?”

  Dex nodded. “Something like that. And when we found it, somebody didn’t want us talking about it.”

  “So they’re going to try and find us, shut us up too?” Tommy was looking more awake than several seconds earlier. “You jokin’ me?”

  “No joke. I figure, if we’re lucky, we have maybe an hour or two to safely get back to the dock and get our vehicles out of there. If we don’t, somebody’s going to notice there’s a lot of cars sitting around with no owners showing up to claim them. A real red flag.”

  “Oh yeah, I see that.”

  “Of course, that could be wildly optimistic. They might already know who we are, and they could have people staked out watching our cars to see if we show up.”

  Tommy shifted uncomfortably, said nothing.

  “And,” Dex continued, “if they get wind of our identities, they’ll be going through our houses like rats in a wheel of cheese.”

  “These bastards mean business.”

  “And let’s not forget—right now, we don’t have clothes, money, or even access to it. If these guys are top drawer, they can lock up our bank accounts, credit cards, everything.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “You make it sound so easy for them, like hitting a beachball right over the plate.”

  “Could be.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Dex shrugged. “Not a lot of options. We get off this island as fast as we can, get out of this gear. Once we find out how hot they’ve been looking for us, we gotta make some decisions that will greatly affect our futures.”

  Tommy shook his head. “You know, I don’t know how you’re thinkin’ so clearly about all this stuff. Sounds to me like we’re in deep shit.”

  Dex grinned. “I’d say that’s a pretty cogent assessment.”

  Standing up, Dex scanned the immediate area. The trees were not so thickly spaced they couldn’t move north on the island without being seen. At least for a little while. Then there were some McMansion neighborhoods that would be very tough to negotiate in the daylight. And they couldn’t afford to wait all day for the cover of darkness.

  He explained all this to Tommy, not really expecting much assistance, but he wanted to keep him in the loop. Dex looked at him and gestured north.

  “We need to get moving.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Tommy stood up, stretched. “What do we do if we run into anybody?”

  “Worry about it when it happens.”

  They moved as far as they could in the wooded land until they reached a tree line bordering a large home enclosed by a manicured, landscaped lawn. To the east lay a paved road and the Bay. Dex held up for a second, assessing the scene.

  “You know, I think we’re crazy to try to stay hidden. Somebody will see us and call the cops.”

  “Can’t the cops help us?” said Tommy “I mean, c’mon, we haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “At this point, I trust no one in the power grid, okay? Not till we find out who killed our friends.”

  His last words kind of lingered in the air, and they seemed to affect Dex and Tommy with equal weight. It was as if actually articulating the truth of what had happened somehow made it all the more real. Kevin and Don and Doc and Andy—all dead, their bodies probably blown into chum for the bottom feeders. Dex squirmed at the thought.

  Tommy looked as if he wanted to speak, but said nothing.

  Dex pointed past the house and yard in front of them to a residential street. “Let’s just cut across to that road and start walking. The only way off this island is up the causeway road. We’ve got no choice anyway.”

  “Guess you’re right.” Tommy followed him as he angled along the trees and the presumed property line to the road.

  “We’ve got to get back to Annapolis as soon as possible,” said Dex. “We need to see if the cars have been covered yet.”

  “You know the way to get there?”

  “I have a good idea.”

  They didn’t talk much for the next ten minutes as they walked along the shoulder of Broadwater Way. Tommy’s red dry-suit was brighter than Dex’s pale green, but both made them as conspicuous as highway maintenance workers. As the two of
them moved deeper into the heart of the wealthy neighborhood, Dex felt more and more exposed. He could feel the gaze of clandestine eyes burning him from all directions.

  As they passed a gated driveway, Dex saw a woman dressed casually, carrying a pair of gardening gloves and wearing a straw hat, stop to stare at them through heavy black iron posts.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” she said, erecting a flimsy smile.

  Dex paused, smiled back, and approached the gate. “Actually, maybe you can.”

  As he drew closer, he could see the woman was probably a well-preserved seventy or so. She didn’t back away or look apprehensive, and held her jaw high and proud like Katherine Hepburn in any of her films. She waited for him to continue, so he did.

  “We lost our rubber dinghy,” said. “Had to swim ashore down by the point.”

  “How unfortunate.” She looked at them as if they were a couple of little boys lying through their teeth. Despite her age, there was an impish, gamine quality about her.

  Dex decided he liked her, and stood mute for a long few seconds. He smiled before speaking. “Sorry, but I thought I heard you ask if you could ‘help’ us…”

  “So I did. My name is Eleanor. Eleanor Winthrop.”

  Dex held out his hand, eased it between the bars of the gate slowly. “Dexter McCauley, US Navy, retired. This is Thomas Chipiarelli, Baltimore City Fire Department.”

  “Very nice to meet you. Are either of you injured?”

  “No ma’am,” said Tommy. “But thanks for askin’.”

  “Very well,” said Eleanor. “What can I do for you? I could call the police, if you’d like.”

  “Hmm, maybe that’s not such a great idea.” Tommy smiled and looked down as if embarrassed.