by Glen Robins
No sooner had the pilot set up and started scanning the horizon through the scope, than a forty-foot fishing yacht approached from the southeast, most likely coming from Providencia, or perhaps San Andres, farther south. The boat plowed northward through the same channel his passenger had swum into and began to slow to a stop. He heard the power cut to the engines and voices chattering, but they were too distant to understand. Through the scope he could see one man driving, one man on look out, and two men wearing dive gear sitting atop the gunwale at the back of the boat. The pilot fixed the first diver in the crosshairs and was just about to pull the trigger when both he and the other diver launched themselves backward into the water.
From the looks of things, the two men left on board the boat were locals, probably fishermen hired to take paying customers out for a night dive. Shooting them would accomplish nothing, so he checked his watch, glad he had provided his passenger that spear and hoping Collin would not shy away from using it.
****
As Collin continued to descend, his head, eyes, and ears began to ache with the mounting pressure. He checked his depth gauge: it showed him at ninety feet, deeper than he had ever been, and still no sign of the boat’s cabin. The water was much cooler at this depth, making him glad for the wet suit.
One hundred feet, no cabin in sight. Visibility was reduced to ten feet in the murky water. A few seconds later, the white hull of the Admiral Risty appeared and before he could slow his descent, his fins collided with the upturned starboard side, striking it at about amidships. He landed on his knees with a thud, collected himself quickly, and checked his watch. He pushed the timer button and told himself five minutes was plenty of time. His depth gauge showed one hundred eighteen feet.
When he reached the wreck, Collin shone his light all around. He was shocked at the damage the boat had sustained. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Instead, he focused on the GPS and the little blinking dot that indicated the exact location of the laptop. It was straight below him.
Collin worked his way to the hatch and carefully squeezed through the doorway. The GPS indicated the computer was behind him. Thinking through the layout of the cabin, Collin realized that across from the bathroom, there was another closet and a large storage drawer beneath it. Luckily, there were no obstructions and Collin was able to open the closet and the drawer with relative ease. The bag he was searching for lay wedged at the back of the large drawer. This bag was similar in size and color to the gym bag he had pulled out the night before.
This bag, like the Captain’s sea bag, was tough and rubbery and sealed against the water. Maneuvering carefully so as to not damage the bag or the computer inside, Collin freed it from its hiding place. Running his hands along the edges, he could tell by the weight, size, and heft that it was his laptop. Collin played his light into several other cabinets and drawers just to ensure that he didn’t miss anything important.
Checking his watch, only three and a half minutes had elapsed. As Collin moved to the doorway, he noticed a subtle change in the cabin—a flicker piercing the darkness above him. He switched off his light and peered out the opening. What he saw paralyzed him and stole his breath: the beams of two flashlights panning side to side, signaling two divers coming for what he had.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Western Caribbean Sea, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island
June 16, 11:20 p.m. Caribbean Time
Collin checked the time on his dive computer for the hundredth time, it seemed. What was taking these guys so long to get here? If Penh was able to track the laptop the way Lukas was, certainly he must have given them the same coordinates. They should be swimming straight toward him. Not being able to see or hear them spooked Collin and made him worry that they were aware of his presence.
Collin waited in the thick blackness, motionless, wondering. His hand, held inches from his face, was invisible to him. The stillness and silence were eerie and disconcerting. He tried to control his breathing and keep his head under the overhanging bulkhead to catch and dissipate his bubbles. The waiting was killing him. What if they had seen his light or noticed movement? What if they were preparing a surprise attack? He played every scenario through in his head, which tested his patience as he waited for the two divers to enter the confined space of the cabin.
Finally, a banging on the hull, not far from the doorway announced the arrival of the two marauders who had come to steal Collin’s laptop. The thought angered him. The gall of Penh to send these guys to take what was not theirs. Thinking about the intentions of these two guys who were helping a scumbag like Penh fulfill his malicious aims brought a wave of heated fury to the surface, steeling Collin for what he would do next.
Collin pressed himself into the space between the steps and the passage to the bathroom as best he could and while his heart thumped and his pulse hammered in his ears, he tried to keep his bubbles from alerting the intruders to his presence. He also forced his hands to not shake.
The first diver struggled to fit through the doorway with all of his dive gear on. Collin struggled to be patient and wait for him to get all the way into the cabin and for the second diver to start squeezing through.
After he entered the space, the first diver swept his light in an arc around the cabin. Collin could hear the second diver’s tank clattering against the bulkhead above him and knew he was trying to enter through the narrow doorway. As the first diver turned toward the rear of the boat, Collin flicked his high-powered dive light on full beam and pointed it right at the man’s face. At the same time, he rushed forward, knife in hand, and cut the man’s air hose. The man began to flap and flail. Collin turned in one motion toward the man stuck in the doorway and let the spear fly at center mass. Luckily, both divers wore thin three-millimeter wetsuits like his. The thrust of the spear with its three razor-sharp prongs was enough to pierce the wetsuit and lodge into the man’s body, producing a pinkish plume of blood. The second diver released a torrent of bubbles as he thrashed about trying to pull the spear out of his chest.
Collin whipped around to check on the first diver and found that he had recovered sufficiently to find his octopus, the secondary air hose and breathing regulator. With one smooth swipe, Collin cut that hose and the man’s exposed arm as he moved toward him.
Collin pulled the second man through the doorway into the cabin with a firm tug on his arm. The second man was thrust into the body of the first man, the end of the spear making contact first, pushing it deeper into the flesh. Collin grabbed the rubbery black bag with his laptop and pinned it against his ribs using his arm. He scurried through the tight opening as quickly as he could while the two men continued to struggle for survival. Pumping his legs and pulling with his free arm, Collin headed for the safety of the surface. That’s when he remembered two commandments of scuba that were drilled into his head during training: first, never ascend faster than your bubbles; and second, safety stops on the way up.
Collin checked his depth gauge and saw that he was already at seventy feet. He began to push backward to halt his progress and pressed the air release button on his buoyancy compensator to let out air and thus reduce its upward pull. At sixty-two feet, he halted and focused on counting to one hundred slowly. He turned off the light so as to not reveal his location. He pulled the strap over his shoulder to free up both hands. At the same time, he looked below him to see if there was any sign of pursuit. The dive computer was counting down while he was counting up. When he reached one hundred, the computer still showed thirty-three. Seeing splinters of light from below, he chose to ignore the computer and continue his ascent.
At thirty feet, he repeated the process for a safety stop, but since the lights from below were growing closer, it was all he could do to count to one hundred. He watched the timer on the dive computer. The lights were growing larger and brighter. Collin wondered what motivated them. He was nearly paralyzed as he watched them, trying to determine his next step. Without the spear, Collin was
armed with nothing more than the Captain’s dive knife. Add to that the fact that he had the laptop hanging from his shoulder, which would further hamper his already diminished ability to attack. When he looked back at his dive computer, the counter had reached zero. Before he continued upward, Collin noticed the lights weren’t stopping. Maybe the bends would do his dirty work for him. He didn’t bother to stop at ten feet. The higher he rose, the faster his ascent, though he tried to slow down by releasing air from his BC. When he breached the surface, he had no idea which way to go. He used the compass to orient himself and began swimming toward the rocky islet where the plane was anchored.
Collin kicked and paddled as fast as he could, sensing his enemies would soon surface. He had no plan of attack, no plan of defense. Just swim like crazy to the plane. That was all he could think about—all he could do, really.
Seconds later, he heard splashes and voices behind him. The two had surfaced. Collin slowed to a stop to reduce his profile. One of the voices didn’t sound too strong. In fact, it was choked with pain. The other voice called out something he couldn’t understand. Then a powerful engine roared to life in the distance and started coming closer. Fearing he would be seen, Collin started to swim again, this time doing the breaststroke to maintain silence as best he could.
The engine noise slowed, and Collin heard more voices, much closer this time. Then the engine cut to idle. His curiosity got the best of him. He turned toward the sound of the boat and watched in rapt fascination as the two men on board, with the help of the uninjured diver, hauled the guy with the spear into the boat. There was a flurry of activity and lots of yelling. There was stress and horror in the voices. The throaty purr of the engine came back full volume and the boat started moving again. At first, it moved toward the lights on the island in the distance. Then his heart dropped when he saw fingers pointing in his direction amid more yelling.
Collin checked in all directions and realized that the boat must have moved into a position where the people on board had been able to spot the plane, which was otherwise hidden behind the rocky islet. His presence underwater had alerted the divers, who likely wanted to return the favor.
The boat banked sharply in his direction and a powerful search light popped on, scanning to locate him. It found him as he fumbled to get his regulator in his mouth and deflate his vest so he would drop below the surface. Before he could manage any of that, he heard glass break and saw the diver standing in the front of the boat crumple to the deck. Before he was fully submerged, two more shots hit the side of the boat as it leaned hard into an about-face turn. Collin continued to descend, figuring it was safest to be under the water.
When he reached the wall of rock that rose at a steady angle to the surface, he moved north and west along that wall until he saw anchor lines. Looking up, Collin followed the ropes to where they were connected to the plane’s pontoons. He rose to the surface as the pilot, standing on one of the pontoons, began hauling up the anchors.
“Get in. Let’s go. We oughta getta move-on now,” he said matter-of-factly.
Collin obeyed and within two minutes they were airborne again.
****
Puerto Lempira, Honduras
June 17, 4:50 a.m. Caribbean Time
Collin stayed awake the whole flight back to the hut. It was still dark when they landed in the cove, yet the rifle man and the binocular man were in their familiar guarded positions near the hut.
Collin had spent much of the time talking with Lukas, learning all he could about his mother’s condition and how she had weathered the kidnapping and what her prognosis was for the cancer treatments. Lukas told him everything he knew, which was really everything Rob had passed on to Lukas, knowing Collin would need this information.
He asked about Emily. Lukas paused. “She’s hurting, Collin, but she’s going to be all right in the end. She’s a tough gal, and smart. She’ll be OK. Your whole family is looking after her.”
This knowledge, especially since it came from the ever-reliable Lukas Mueller, brought much needed comfort and solace to Collin’s soul. Lukas was never one to speak until and unless he had the facts and the belief in what he spoke.
“Rob says she’ll be staying a while at your parents’ home, in fact. Your sister and brother are there, too, so she’ll have lots of support. She needs that right now, you know.”
Collin thanked Lukas for the information and asked him to thank Rob for being there. He lamented killing Stinky and injuring one of the two divers, as well. Lukas talked him out of his remorse by reminding Collin of what they had done to him, Tog, his mother, and Emily.
“Remember, Collin, sometimes it’s requisite that one man die so many others can live,” Lukas said. “These men were themselves killers, guns for hire working for a proclaimed enemy of the United States and Western civilization. You’ve done your country a great service.”
“I wish I felt what you were saying,” said Collin.
“You will tomorrow,” said Lukas. “If not, the next day or someday very soon.”
The call ended and Collin was left to ponder these thoughts in tormented silence for the rest of the return trip.
By the time he reached Puerto Lempira, Collin felt like the walking dead.
The two men who inhabited the hut simply nodded at Collin as he trudged up the sandy beach. Something about them was different, like they could read him from far away. Likely, they knew what he had done and perhaps that qualified him for admittance to their fraternity. Maybe Lukas had told them, not that it mattered. Collin had only one thought on his mind as he treaded up the beach through the soft, thick sand.
“Got any more of that orange juice?”
Before You Go
Thank you for reading “Off Course.” I hope you have enjoyed reading this portion of Collin Cook’s adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it. As a writer, I appreciate the opportunity to tell a story and would like to share it with the world. Stories are compelling because of the plot, the action, and the characters, not because of gratuitous or salacious scenes or vulgar language. A good story shouldn’t need to rely on such lurid content. My goal is to provide you with good, clean fiction that you wouldn’t mind letting your kids read. To that end, I humbly request your input. Please leave a review on Amazon and share your opinion with other readers. It helps them to know whether this is a book they might enjoy, and it helps authors such as myself to find an audience who enjoys the kind of stories we tell.
For an exclusive look into the history between Collin and Emily, here’s a link to a free copy of Off Limits.
Turn the page for a preview of Off Guard, the third and final episode of Collin Cook’s adventure.
Thanks again and happy reading.
The “Off” series by Glen Robins includes:
Off Kilter
Off Course
Off Guard
Off Chance (novella)
Off Limits (novella)
Off Track (novella)
Other books by Glen Robins:
* Chosen Path (coming soon)
* Born Into Espionage (Fall 2021)
Preview of Off Guard
Off Guard
Chapter One
Puerto Lempira, Honduras
June 17, 4:50 a.m., Honduras Time
Collin trudged up the beach, away from the plane, through the soft, pale sand in the grayish pre-dawn light. Each step requiring more effort than the last as his feet sank into little craters of his own making. The effort to lift his knees and drag his weight forward was slowly depleting what little energy he had left. It had been a long, sleepless night, capping off a week full of long and sleepless nights. Things had not gone the way he had planned.
Given his lack of sleep over the past three days and the energy he had expended to save his own life and safeguard the security of the country, it was no wonder Collin struggled to traverse the hundred and fifty feet up the sloping shore to the tiny hut where he hoped the magical, sleep-inducing orange juice sa
t chilling in the refrigerator.
Collin’s whole body hurt. Penh’s men had seen to that. His face was bruised from the multiple beatings they had inflicted on it. After repeatedly being punched and kicked, his ribs and mid-section ached as well. All the swimming and diving over the past twenty-four hours to save himself and retrieve his laptop from the bottom of the ocean had given his arms, legs, and lungs a fantastic, though exhausting, workout.
Yes, he wanted some food and some sleep, in that order.
His batteries were indeed running low and he needed to rest. Despite his weary body, Collin’s mind was keyed up over recently transpired events. Sleep didn’t come, not without help. The murder of one and possibly a second person weighed heavily on his soul. He looked ahead at the simple hut, a wedge of pale yellow light spilling through its doorway, and adjusted his course to be sure not to waste a single step. When he reached the half-open bamboo door, he stumbled into the tiny beach house on the Caribbean coast of Honduras, looking for the orange juice, the magical orange juice laced with a powerful sleep aid—he didn’t even know what it was—that had helped him just the day before to get the best sleep he had gotten since his wife and children died in that thunderous wreck on Interstate 80, coming down the mountain from Lake Tahoe, eleven and a half months ago.
Yes, Collin Cook was ready for food and sleep. He was pretty sure he deserved it.
With his laptop onboard the plane, safely enveloped in the rubbery water-tight sea bag, Collin felt he had accomplished his mission for the day. He had scuba-dived deeper than he had ever dived before to rescue it. He had fought off another pair of Penh’s hired thugs who had also dived to the wreckage of the Admiral Risty, spearing one of them in the chest. He had had to swim through the plume of that man’s blood to exit the boat, a harrowing experience for anyone.