by Glen Robins
The words didn’t sink in at first, but Collin’s bewilderment soon turned to joy. Billy Bob was a nickname Collin gave Lukas in high school after Lukas declared his undying love for Angelina Jolie. The thought brought a grin to his weary face. “I need to talk to my mom?” called Collin over the noise. Collin smiled a wide knowing smile as he began to paddle his way toward the plane.
“Come on, let’s get you in here,” said the pilot as he waved a hand toward the door on the passenger’s side.
The pilot had gray, curly hair sticking out from under a baseball cap and a handlebar mustache that matched. It was all accented with a thick soul patch of similar color in roughly the shape of an arrow below his bottom lip. The gray hair stood out from his tanned, leathery skin. He spoke with that familiar Texas drawl.
Exhausted, Collin struggled to pull himself into the plane. His weight and the push of the waves nearly tipped the plane over.
“Bring me your vest on this side,” yelled the pilot, a look of worry spreading across his face as he surveyed the waves. They were pushing the plane toward the shore and making it unstable.
Collin swam to the other side, unclipped the mesh bag and handed it up, followed by his dive light, mask, and fins. Then he unzipped the vest and wiggled his way out of it. The pilot grabbed the vest’s looped handle behind Collin’s head and yanked the vest off Collin and set it on the pontoon. It was an awkward and heavy load and it nearly pulled the pilot out of the plane, but he managed to regain his balance, open the back door of the plane, and shove the load in the back seat.
By the time the pilot had secured the buoyancy compensator and tank assembly, Collin had pulled himself into the plane on the other side and sat dripping in the seat next to the pilot.
“Welcome,” said the pilot, taking in Collin’s bedraggled appearance. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. I feel like it, too.”
“Buckle in. We gotta get outta here.” The pilot was already firing up the engine and working the switches and controls to get the plane ready to go.
Soon enough they were charging forward in the surf, headed out to sea. The ride was bumpy until the plane started to gain altitude and slowly rose above the waves. It leveled out at about forty feet, though. The pilot signaled for Collin to don the headphones hanging on a handle in front of him. Once he did, the pilot spoke into his microphone and Collin heard it through the headset. “This is known as flying under the radar, son,” the pilot replied to Collin’s unspoken concern. “Hopefully, no one saw me coming or going. A sleepy resort island like this—chances are good we’re safe.”
“Where are we going?” asked Collin once he regained his mental footing.
“That’s up to your friend. Here, I’ve got him on the line,” the pilot said as he flipped a switch connected to his headset.
“Collin, this is Billy Bob. How’re you doing?” Lukas’s soft Germanic accent was like soothing music. Collin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was the sound of security, a blessing from above. He knew he could relax now.
“All right, I guess . . .”
“Good. The pilot wants to know where to go. I’ve just texted him the coordinates of the wreck. He’s taking you there now, but you don’t have much time. You have to hurry.”
“Wait . . . what are you talking about?”
“I assume you left your computer on board the boat. Am I right?”
“Yeah, I didn’t even think about it. Why?”
“You can’t leave it there. There is too much valuable information on it. You’re going back for it before the Colombians get there. Now hurry.”
“Colombians?”
“Yes, they own the islands you just swam to. Their Coast Guard is patrolling the area, looking for boats in distress. They know about you guys. Interpol alerted them. They’ve already picked up seven people and are heading back to the islands.”
“That must be the boat that almost ran me over.”
“Probably. Their communications indicate they spotted the wreckage as they searched for survivors. Found them drifting a few miles away. You’ve got to get in and get out as quickly as possible. You can’t let them see you. This is risky enough as it is, but we have to retrieve that laptop.”
“OK,” said Collin, his voice hesitant and shaky. He shot a look at the pilot, who was pointing straight ahead at the sliver of white peeking above the surf. It was the bottom of the Admiral Risty. “But it’s got to be wrecked, right? It’s been in the water for hours now.”
“The hard drives I installed are solid state drives. Very durable. Maybe not waterproof, but surprisingly tough and resistant. If you know what you’re doing, the data can still be retrieved from them, and if they got in the wrong hands that would be a very bad thing.”
“But I think they already cloned the drive. They hooked it up to some sort of modem-looking thing and a satellite phone. They already have all the data,” said Collin.
“They may have gotten some of it, but they couldn’t have gotten it all. Not without my knowing,” said Lukas. “I installed a phantom drive as further protection.”
Collin shook his head, remembering his one and only priority at the moment. “But what about my mom? The pilot said something about talking to her,” said Collin. “But I need your help to save her from—”
“No, you don’t,” said Lukas. “She’s already been saved. A group of Marines from Pendleton air-lifted her to the hospital already.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about her or Emily, Collin. I’ve been tracking them both and sent a team in as fast as I could. They’re safe and doing fine. Right now, your focus needs to be to get that hard drive. Good luck, Collin.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
The pilot signaled with his hand to interrupt the conversation. “Listen up, boys. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to discuss, but for now I’m gonna have to land this plane for you—out there a ways,” said the pilot, pointing to an area ahead on the right. “You gotta swim about two hundred yards. I just can’t get any closer—not with those waves and rocks. You OK?”
“I guess I’ll have to be,” sighed Collin, the sense of security already banished.
“Good,” said the pilot. Collin looked out the window at the fast-approaching tips of the waves. “I’m going for that calm water over there, to the north. See it?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“That little rock island is creating a nice little runway for me in the water.”
Within a minute, the pilot brought the plane down the short distance to the water, spun it around, taxied toward the Admiral’s sunken hull, and turned away from the islet with the nose heading back the way Collin escaped.
“Well, you best be getting started. We oughta be outta here in five minutes or less,” said the pilot, gesturing with a thumb toward the dive equipment crammed in the rear seat.
Collin climbed into the seat behind the pilot and began putting his gear on. He was back in the water, head still reeling, ninety seconds later. Just before he dropped below the surface, the pilot rolled his hand as one does when trying to hurry someone along.
With the dive light on low beam, Collin dropped under water and headed toward the boat. A wall of silvery fish parted like a curtain as he kicked and pulled himself toward the submerged vessel. As he approached, the sounds coming from the Admiral were haunting. A low moan, followed by a splintering sound, permeated the water.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Western Caribbean Sea, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island
June 15, 10:34 p.m. Caribbean Time
Collin had no time to think or worry. He knew what he had to do, dangerous as it was, and knew why the risk was necessary. Nonetheless, the noises coming from the leaning boat gave him pause. Switching the beam on the light to high as he approached the sunken hull, he was alarmed by the angle at which the boat slanted downhill. Time was running out. He swam straight to the open doorway of the upside-down cabin he had esca
ped from two hours earlier. Clouds had moved in again to obscure nearly all light from the moon and stars overhead. Twelve feet underwater felt like a closet. An inky blackness enveloped the space he had occupied for most of the last three days, making it as dark a place as he had ever been.
Getting inside proved to be a tight squeeze through the hatch door with the tank and dive gear on, complicated by the surging tide. Once inside the cabin, he realized all the lights were now out. The flashlight’s beam created an eerie, turquoise glow as it reflected off the white fiberglass walls and ceiling.
Moving cautiously through the inverted cabin, he swept his light left, then right to orient himself. As he rotated to his left, and swept the light farther, the grayish-blue skin of Stinky’s bloated face surged at his, bumping into his cheek, as the boat rocked to its starboard side. The wide-open eyes and ghastly expression of terror made Collin jump back and scream through his regulator in an explosion of massive bubbles. He turned away and shut his eyes and used the nearest object he could find to push the body toward the front of the cabin.
Despite knowing Stinky’s body was still nearby, it surprised him with its sudden appearance. Collin’s heart hammered in his chest and his breathing was out of control. As Collin worked to regain his composure and slow his breathing, he stared at the lifeless corpse. Something inside him drew his attention to the body. Was it morbid curiosity or some sort of sick pleasure in seeing the man he had killed? Was it a primal need to glory in his triumph over the mercilessness and evil that Stinky had come to represent?
No, it was something else, something more substantial. It was as if Stinky was posthumously taunting him with a secret. A scene flashed in Collin’s memory: Stinky holding the phone in front of Collin’s face as Penh spoke with his mom and Emily. His jaw muscles tightened, and his stomach quivered at the thought. But he replayed the scene again. His mind was drawn to something else, something beyond the image on the screen. The phone call. That was it. The phone. That phone had been in contact with Penh. That phone could be a treasure trove of useful information that Lukas could use. Yes, he needed that phone.
Wasting no time, Collin swam toward the bloated mass as it moved away from him. He grabbed one of its ankles. The squishiness of its flesh made him convulse, but he kept dragging it toward him, manipulating it until he was digging through the pockets and at last extracting the phone in its waterproof case.
Collin stuffed the phone in his own pocket as he pinched his eyes shut and fought back the urge to regurgitate.
His next thought was of the Colombians and how they may be patrolling the area again soon. Collin went straight to the secret compartment where he had stashed his sea bag that still contained cash and other items he used to live his fugitive life. These things would all be necessary, he thought, so he pulled the bag out and set it down next to him. Lukas never mentioned the money, but as long as he was here, there was no sense in leaving behind half a million dollars in cash.
Now he had to find the laptop. Think, where did he see it last? He remembered watching Long Hair deposit the computer in a nylon gym bag, but the bag wasn’t readily visible.
As he began to paw through the debris scattered across the ceiling, somehow the boat felt even more unstable than it had prior to his escape. Each wave that slammed against the side of the hull caused it to rock harder and move more fluidly than before. There was more motion inside. The debris piled on the ceiling had rolled to one side, creating mounds stacked up against the walls on the downhill side of the boat, adding to its instability. Collin struggled to hold himself in place close to the ceiling below him as he searched through the litter. The wave action kept knocking him off balance.
Collin searched the entire cabin for the nylon bag. It was nowhere to be found. Panic began to build. It wasn’t safe in the boat; he could feel it. Then he thought about the closet next to the bunk. That’s where Long Hair had stashed it before, so he tried it. It did not open easily. The jarring turmoil to which the boat had been subjected had lodged a bevy of heavy objects against the door, blocking its intended movement. By shifting some of the items around, Collin was able to grab the edge of the door as it popped open just wide enough to insert his fingers and pry. As he applied leverage, gradually pressing with all of his strength, the boat teetered harder than ever into the rocks and Collin lost his grip and drifted back into the cabin with the current. He repositioned himself and went at it again with the same result. His fingers weren’t strong enough to lever open the door with all the weight pressing against it.
He stopped and tried to think through the problem. Moving the heap of items would take too long and use up all of his air. Since he wasn’t positive the bag was in there, he didn’t want to spend all that time for nothing. That’s when he remembered the Captain’s rifles under the bunk. He levered that compartment open, caught one of the rifles as it dropped through the opening, and moved back into position. With renewed zeal, he approached the closet and searched for a way to put pressure on the door in just the right place. Finding it awkward to maneuver with the fins on his feet, he removed them. With his booted feet, he was easily able to get in a position where he could use his legs for maximum strength as he held the rifle in place like a crow bar and exerted force upward and outward until there was just enough movement to allow Collin to insert an arm into the gap, push outward a little more, and shine his light inside the closet. The nylon gym bag’s fluorescent striping gleamed, so he pried a little more until he could grasp a handful of the gym bag and yank it from its pinned position. He continued to tug and pull until one edge of the bag poked through the opening. With both hands firmly gripping the corners of the bag, Collin again used his feet and legs and heaved with all his might until the bag broke through the door.
As he pulled the gym bag free from its lodging, there was a frightful crashing sound reverberating through the water. He hurriedly stuffed the rubbery sea bag into the mostly empty gym bag. As he did so, Collin realized it was more than just the breaking of the door hinge. Something had come loose with all of his prying and yanking. His weight and exertion, along with the power of the ocean waves, had snapped something and the entire boat was now dislodged and tumbling through space. Collin sensed a flowing, cascading motion until there was a jolt. Everything inside the boat was tossed up or out. The heavier objects crashed into walls or floors or ceilings. The lighter ones swirled weightlessly in the cabin. Collin, like the other heavy objects, bounced and collided with the hard surfaces around him as other hard things pummeled his body.
The boat was plunging deeper into the ocean and bouncing on rocks.
Panic flashed through his mind as he assessed his situation. The gym bag was tucked under his arm and the door to the outside was open just a few feet from him, but he was battered and disoriented. When he kicked toward the opening, he remembered he had no fins to propel him through the water. The additional weight and bulk of the gym bag made it difficult to swim quickly enough to free himself from the fast-sinking boat. Instinctively, Collin kicked with his finless feet and pulled with his free arm against the current toward the opening. Without hesitation, he wiggled through.
The surge of adrenaline brought a flash of brilliance to his mind: If he filled his buoyancy compensator and dropped the lead weights, the flotation device would bring him to the surface much faster. A quick shot of air in the vest helped him start to rise. As he struggled through the murky water, he managed to tug on the Velcro weight holder on the right side of his vest with his free hand. The first lead packet came loose and fell into the abyss below. That prompted him to pull the bag’s strap over his neck so he could use his other hand to let loose the other pouch of lead. With the bag in place, he first gave his vest another short burst of air by pressing on the inflator button and felt his body begin to rise more steadily. That wasn’t enough, so he added another short burst. That accelerated the ascent, but he needed more. His hand went to the second weight pouch, but before he yanked it free, he attempted
the third burst of air in the buoyancy compensator. When he did, all he heard was a feeble whoosh. That was it. No more air. Collin sucked in on the mouthpiece, but there was nothing as he tried to breathe through the regulator. He was experiencing every diver’s nightmare: his tank was completely out of air and he was far below the surface, unsure where it even was.
Collin was rising steadily through the dark water, but not rapidly enough. He hadn’t taken more than a normal breath of air before he ran out, so his lungs were already aching. Looking up to see how far he was from the surface, he realized he was heading into the flapping, swirling, entangling sheet of the mainsail. It had come unfurled and was billowing through the water. Before he knew it, he was wrapped up in nylon. His upward progress stopped, and a gentle tug downward began to pull him with the boat as it descended.
****
Scripps Cancer Research Patient Clinic, La Jolla, California
June 15, 8:41 p.m. Pacific Time
Rob Howell stood next to Emily’s hospital bed and took in the scene. He listened, with the rest of the Cooks, to Sarah’s harrowing story as she recounted what she remembered from her kidnapping experience. Of course, she told them, she couldn’t recall much because they had drugged her. She had reached the part where Emily had suddenly appeared across from her in the cargo van. Then Sarah tightened up. It was as if she was reliving those moments of being bound and gagged. She stopped talking midsentence and grew silent and still.