by Glen Robins
****
In the darkness, Collin’s senses heightened. The sounds around him were terrifying. Water gurgling in, air whooshing out. Pots and pans and boxes and books striking hard surfaces, then splashing. Lots of splashing. Collin glimpsed Stinky flailing across the cabin, a scene of desperation and panic. Stinky’s terror-stricken screams rent the chaos-filled space.
The feel of the water, salty and cool, soaking his clothes as he lay on the ceiling, sent him scrambling. Collin struggled to a kneeling position as the boat gyrated. The water quickly reached his ribs. The coolness felt good on his tied and swollen wrists bound behind his back, but the sense of sinking was terrorizing.
Light flickered on, a pale blue glow from the bunk area in the rear. Then another appeared from the kitchen, illuminating Stinky’s panic-stricken countenance. His head turned in all directions, as did his arms and legs. He quickly locked onto Collin and lunged toward him in a violent series of frantic movements that resembled swimming strokes. Collin knew his intentions and acted on his primal survival instincts, sucking in as much air as he could and diving under the water, the surface of which approached his chest as he stood on the ceiling. Using his head as a battering ram, Collin threw himself into Stinky’s gut, driving him through the water-filled cabin as he scissor-kicked with his legs. Stinky froze momentarily as the two of them sloshed about without footing or balance. Collin had only his feet, legs, and head as weapons. He also had no idea where the Uzi had gone.
Stinky, however, had use of his hands and began tearing wildly at Collin’s head and back as Collin’s momentum and the agitation of the sea propelled him underwater, back-first into a wall in the galley. Air bubbles escaped Stinky’s mouth at impact and he began to sink, motionless. Collin whirled his body around, pointing his feet toward Stinky, and thrust them into Stinky’s ribs and throat as hard as he could through the water. This was a kill-or-be-killed situation. Instinct and adrenaline were in full control. The contact with Collin’s feet propelled Stinky the short distance into the wall behind him, magnifying the force of the blows. Another stream of bubbles, much smaller ones this time, poured out.
Collin kicked to the surface, took two deep breathes, and went back under. He found Stinky coming to and fighting his way to the surface for more air. Collin didn’t get to him in time. As Stinky focused on air, Collin positioned himself for another crushing blow. He knew Stinky was struggling to breathe. Stinky clutched his throat with one hand and kicked with his feet until they found purchase on the edge of one of the bunks. With his other hand, he steadied his weight by pushing on the floor above him.
Collin’s next strike was again on the money. The heel of one foot charged powerfully into Stinky’s groin, the other slammed his kneecap straight on. Stinky was caught mid-breath and hurled face first back into the water. He was doubled over and appeared to be gulping in water. Collin surfaced and used his head to brace himself against the ceiling as he pushed down on Stinky’s shoulders and back with his feet. Stinky struggled to break free, but before he could reach the surface, Collin worked one leg around his neck, then squeezed like a vice with the other leg in Stinky’s back. Stinky fought and struggled desperately. His convulsions pulled Collin back underwater, but Collin had a full breath and Stinky had none. Collin pushed harder with his legs and twisted his body to keep Stinky off-balance and underwater. He thrashed again in an attempt to maintain leverage, but he had none.
****
As soon as he felt air and refilled his lungs, Miguel began to tear off his life vest. This was no easy task in the midst of the wind, rain, and waves. He fumbled with the buckles until all four of them released. That was the easy part. Removing his arms from the armholes proved more difficult. As he struggled to break free, he felt someone wrap their arms around him. It was Rojas.
“Take it easy, man, you’re OK,” yelled Rojas. “You’re going to be all right.”
“No. The Captain. He’s down there,” shouted Miguel.
“The Captain? Where?”
“Get this thing off me,” screamed Miguel as he continued to thrash.
Rojas held the jacket and Miguel squirmed free, gulped a lungful of air, then disappeared below the storm-tossed waves.
Rojas waved his arms and hollered to Jaime, who had surfaced some distance away. Jaime rotated in a circle but disappeared behind a wave. Rojas continued to call out and kept one arm raised until finally Jaime spotted him and swam toward him.
“Where’s Miguel?” asked Jaime.
“Down there. He’s going for the Captain.”
At that moment, Miguel resurfaced fifteen yards away. He was straining. Rojas and Jaime paddled through the surf and huddled around Miguel, helping him pull his load up to the surface. Rojas grabbed the Captain’s arm and fought the waves until he had him wrapped up under both arms and around his chest. Jaime helped Miguel get his life vest back on.
The three men worked together to get the Captain’s face out of the water. They clung to each other and to the Captain. Knowing their best chance of survival was to stay together. Rojas squeezed the Captain’s chest, moving a fist into his diaphragm and continually jabbing it inward. After repeating this several times, the Captain spit and sputtered and came to life. He looked around, eyes wide and wild.
“What? Where am I?” he said, still dazed. His head spun around in all directions, trying to ascertain his surroundings. Relief spread across his face as recognition of his friends and crew members dawned. “I thought I was dead.”
His three crew members nodded to him and to each other, as traces of smiles worked their way up. Shouts of gratitude, relief, and hope boomed within the circle of men bobbing amidst the torrent. They held on to each other and to their Captain, a newfound appreciation for life and for each other taking hold while the bleakness of their situation retreated.
“Together, we can survive,” said Rojas.
The Captain’s smile faded. “Where are the bad guys?” he asked.
“We’ve been looking, but we can’t see them,” Rojas said. His face, too, grew dim.
“Keep looking,” demanded Captain Sewell.
“Aye, sir,” they replied, almost in unison.
“Where’s Collin?” shouted the Captain.
The four men bobbed and dipped in the waves. The three crew members took turns diving down to search for their missing brother while the other two held the Captain. When one man exhausted his energy, the next removed his life jacket and dove down for as long as he could and searched as far as he could. This continued until they were all so stripped of energy that they could not stay under for more than a few seconds at a time, frantically searching for their missing client and friend. It was no use. The sunlight was gone, the sea was too fierce, and their own lives in imminent peril. They were compelled to focus on keeping the Captain afloat and themselves clear of the hazards surrounding them, as they negotiated huge swells.
The seas calmed as the waves and current pushed the huddle of men westward, out of the channel. They were surrounded by four–to–six-foot swells now, instead of twelve–to–fifteen footers in the channel. The Admiral appeared, bottom up, near the rocky edge of the channel. Wave after wave pushed and rolled the boat toward the rocks. The Captain eyed the vessel that was both his home and his livelihood with a melancholy expression as the waves continually swept over its barnacled underside, two hundred yards to their north. His mouth pulled tight and he turned away.
****
Stinky continued to twist and punch and pry. His hands tore at Collin’s knee and ribs simultaneously. Collin felt he had an advantage thanks to all the years he’d spent surfing and building up his lung capacity to help him endure underwater after a wipeout. Collin held tight at first, but Stinky dug the tips of his fingers into a pressure point along the saphenous nerve of Collin’s inner knee until Collin’s leg muscles involuntarily released their captive.
Stinky clawed his way to the surface before Collin, and in a torrent of wild movement, managed to cu
ff Collin across the face and knee him in the chest. As Collin tried to recover and kick to the surface for air, he realized Stinky’s hands were bearing down on his shoulders with tremendous force. Collin tried to wrestle free of Stinky’s grip but couldn’t. Every time his feet were set under him, Stinky would kick them out and knee him in the face or chest or back. Stinky’s hands were on Collin’s shoulders, then his neck, pushing down, holding him underwater.
Collin’s lungs burned. Every cell in his body screamed for oxygen. Things were turning gray and cloudy at the edges of his vision. He felt like an old sock in an old washing machine, being shaken about in an agitated pool of murky water.
The need for air was all consuming, but without hands, Collin couldn’t do much to free himself. Stinky’s hands and legs continued to push Collin down with surprising force. Collin struggled to get his feet set on something below him, but the constant convulsions of the boat and the roiling water made it impossible. Stinky maintained the downward pressure while Collin’s eyes began to bulge. Lungs, veins, brain all screamed for air he couldn’t deliver. Collin felt his eyes close. His body began to slump down toward the ceiling. A sweet, inviting peace washed through him. He was almost done, ready to let go of all the hurt. And rest.
Chapter Twenty-One
Washington, DC
June 15, 9:11 p.m. Eastern Time
“Stay in position. Keep a perimeter until I tell you,” Lukas instructed calmly. Then he listened for a moment. “I know, but let the drone do one more pass before we move. I want to be sure there are no reinforcements patrolling the area. The last thing we want is a chopper shot while transporting patients.”
Lukas paused and cupped a hand over the earphone.
“What’s that? Shine some light on it so I can see it better.” Lukas said as he tapped the keyboard to zoom in on the live feed.
Another pause to listen.
“Did that camera capture you guys? Is it recording?”
Lukas again listened to the assessment coming in from the field and looked at the images from the helmet camera.
“Get your Comm Engineer to create a loop to overlay those few minutes and feed it back into the camera,” said Lukas. “While you’re at it, have him copy the signal and clone the IP address of the computer it’s linked to.”
After the man on the other end of the conversation confirmed, Lukas replied, “The mission was to rescue the hostages and retrieve any and all actionable intel we could. This is a fortunate find, indeed . . . We need to get as much information from that phone and camera as we can.”
Lukas listened again.
“Let’s keep a team there for stealth security. At some point the guy at the other end will realize they’re not coming back. He’ll send in a backup team to recover the equipment, I’d imagine. Let’s be ready for that, too.”
****
Northbound Interstate 5, Southern Orange County, California
June 15, 6:12 p.m. Pacific Time
“They’re airborne, en route to Scripps Clinic,” Lukas said as soon as Rob answered the phone, breaking the agitated silence Rob had endured for over an hour. “Should only take ten minutes by medivac helicopter.”
“That’s good to hear. What took so long?”
“Had to secure the area and make sure no more bad guys showed up. Frankly, we expected them, but they never came.”
“Maybe they got caught in traffic, too. It’s a nightmare out here,” joked Rob.
“The important thing is that both Emily and Sarah are safe. They’ve been through a lot, but they’re going to be fine,” said Lukas.
“You had me worried, pal. Wasn’t sure you’d be able to get a team in place on such short notice.”
“It helps when you report to the director of the NSA,” said Lukas.
“Probably helps that he thinks you walk on water,” said Rob.
“Yeah, probably. But you should get Henry and take him there to see her.”
“Good thing I followed my own best instincts,” said Rob.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it was driving me crazy to just sit around waiting for something to happen, so I decided to head up to Huntington Beach to see Henry,” said Rob. “I’m glad I left when I did. With this horrible traffic, it would’ve been midnight before I made it back down to San Diego.”
“Where are you now?” asked Lukas.
“Nearly to John Wayne Airport to pick up Collin’s sister and brother. Megan landed fifteen minutes ago, and Richard’s flight is due in about twenty minutes.”
“Perfect. What about Henry?”
“Interesting story. I got to the hospital and discovered that his room is being guarded by FBI agents. Imagine that. They show up now that he’s in the hospital and Sarah’s gone.”
“It’s not their fault. Penh got the jump on all of us. He’s been a step ahead of us since Collin showed up in Grand Cayman,” said Lukas.
“No matter. I was able to gather the information I needed another way.”
“What other way is that?” asked Lukas.
“I found a friendly young nurse who thought I was one of Henry’s doctors—”
“I don’t think I want to know the rest.”
“OK, but to answer your original question, the hospital tells me they are ready to release him as soon as there’s a family member to release him to,” said Rob.
“How’s he doing?”
“The nurse says he basically feels all right—bit of a headache and some painful bruises on his face. The whole situation doesn’t sit well with him. He feels terrible that he wasn’t able to defend his wife and, as you might imagine, he’s sick with worry and anxious to see her. In fact, he’s been so restless the nurse had to sedate him to keep him from walking out of the hospital when she turned her back.”
“That sounds like Henry. What’s your ETA to get him back down to Scripps to see her?” asked Lukas.
“With traffic, probably two hours at least, if everything goes smoothly at the hospital.”
“That should be OK. I’m sure it will take some time for the doctors at Scripps to work on Sarah and Emily before they’ll let anyone see them,” said Lukas. “Do the best you can, but hurry. The medics tell me Sarah’s been asking for him already.”
“Will do. How’s our friend, Emily, doing?”
Lukas gave Rob the run down, telling him what was happening when the rescue team rushed in and found her tied to the table. “She’s pretty traumatized by the whole thing, not talking much at this point. Apparently, she’s really worried about the rats. She keeps mentioning them and pointing to her chest.”
“Sounds awful. The poor thing. Maybe it will help her to have me there,” said Rob.
“I’m sure she could use a friend right now. Having someone she knows and trusts there will do a world of good, I’d imagine.”
“Thanks for doing all this, Lukas. Pretty amazing stuff.”
“Just happy it all worked out. Glad I’m in a position to make a difference for my friends,” said Lukas.
****
Scripps Cancer Research Patient Clinic, La Jolla, California
June 15, 6:33 p.m. Pacific Time
Sarah Cook whispered to Emily in the bed next to her. After cleaning the two of them up, giving Sarah some much needed nutrition, and bandaging and disinfecting Emily’s wounds, the clinic staff had put the two together in a room on the second floor where a nursing staff kept watch twenty-four hours a day. Typically, the most critical patients were kept there overnight during their treatment sessions. Dr. Navarro and Emily had discussed this option for Sarah two days prior but had determined that she would be better off at home. Little did they know at the time the trouble that awaited.
Now they waited for Dr. Navarro.
“Emily, are you asleep?”
“No. What’s the matter?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
Emily heard sniffling, so she crawled out from under the covers and
made her way to Sarah’s side, carefully maneuvering between the wires and machines and pulling her IV stand with her. Her tattered and stained clothes had been replaced by a fresh clean set of light blue scrubs. She had recovered from the shock, but still felt numb and oddly disconnected from the rest of the world. She couldn’t be sure exactly what she was feeling. It felt almost as if she hovered above her own body, watching herself from a distance. Her mind had not yet processed all that had transpired in the past several hours and no one had asked about how she was coping with the trauma or what it was like going through it. Who could she talk to other than Sarah?
The room was mostly dark, illuminated by only a few shards of fading sunlight sneaking in through the gap at the top of the heavy curtains and the green, pulsating lights from the medical machines hooked up to monitor Sarah. Emily touched Sarah’s shoulder and said softly, “What is it, Sarah?”
In the pale light, Sarah stared at her hands clasped tightly together on her lap. When Sarah tried to speak, no sound came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Collin,” was the only word that made its way out. Sarah’s voice was thick and hoarse.
Emily hesitated, not sure what to make of it. “Collin’s not here, Sarah. I’m not sure where he is.” She didn’t want to say, “I’m not sure he’s alive.” She helped Sarah drink from a cup of water placed on the nightstand next to her bed.
After taking a pull on the water, Sarah tried again. “He never wanted you to get hurt. I know that much. But it’s my fault. I got you involved.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” said Emily faintly. She tried to fight through her feelings of detachment. “Bad stuff happens.”
“I wish those bad things didn’t happen to you.”
“I know, Sarah, but I don’t want you to worry about me. You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. You need to rest and get your strength back.”