He grabbed her jumpsuit and swam with a sidestroke even as his own strength ebbed. The cold seemed to reach down and chill his bones, and his teeth joined Summer’s in chattering nonstop.
He felt her body sag, and he realized she could make no more headway. Through his exhausted mind, he realized hypothermia was setting in. They both had to escape the water, and soon.
Though his breath was nearly spent, he kept a running dialogue with Summer, encouraging her, asking endless questions to which he got no reply. When she began to flounder, he turned her on her back and towed her by the collar. There would be no more stopping for him now.
He pressed on, one painful stroke at a time. He had nothing left in the tank, and his muscles pleaded to cease, but somehow he blocked out the agony and kept clawing through the water. The surf line ahead gradually grew larger until he could hear the waves pounding against the land. The sound inspired him to pull harder, depleting the last of his reserves.
A wave washed over them, and Dirk came up sputtering. Summer coughed out inhaled water as they were propelled by a succeeding wave that broke on top of them. Dirk kept his grasp on Summer as they tumbled through the water and were slammed against the bottom. At last they had reached shore.
With the force of succeeding waves at his back, Dirk staggered up the sandy beach, dragging Summer behind him. He pulled her past the tide line, then collapsed to the sand.
“How are you feeling?” he gasped.
“C-c-cold,” she whispered.
It was a positive sign that she could still speak, but he had to get her dry. The night air was still warm, which would make all the difference.
When he found the strength to stand, Dirk hobbled to his feet and looked around. They had landed on a barren stretch of the southern Madagascan coastline, within the uninhabited parklands of Cape Sainte Marie. The beach and inland area were dark. He had no idea how far the nearest help was, but it didn’t matter. He lacked the energy to search.
He glanced seaward but found only a black and empty ocean. The coastline curved outward to the west, obscuring the lights of the Alexandria. He turned back inland and hiked up the beach, looking for shelter. The sand underfoot turned to hard scrabble, which led to some rocky hills and mounds. Nowhere was there anything resembling shelter.
He headed back toward Summer—and tripped over a protruding mound at the edge of the beach. It extended about a dozen feet and had created a burrow on its leeward side. The indentation would provide some protection from the sea breeze, likely the best shelter Dirk could find. Finding a ragged tassel of sea grass, he ripped up as much as he could and spread it about the burrow for insulation. He returned to Summer, carried her up the beach, and placed her in the makeshift bed.
The sea grass helped dry her skin, and he hiked down the beach to search for more. There was little, but he gathered what he could and returned to the shelter. He sat on the mound and used the grass to dry Summer’s skin before adding it to the bedding. When he stood, he knocked a lump of sand off the edge of the mound, exposing a faded band of material buried within.
He thought nothing of it as he took off his own jumpsuit and stood in the ocean breeze, shivering until his skin dried. He then lay down beside Summer as an additional wind barrier for her. She was murmuring more, and her body no longer felt icy. With a warm evening at hand, Dirk grew confident that she was going to be all right.
The exertion caught up with him, and his eyelids began to droop. A crescent moon appeared from behind a cloud and illumined the beach in a silvery glow. Above his head, Dirk could see the buried object protruding from the mound more clearly. It was washed-out yellow in color, marked with a string of faded black letters. His tired mind formed a name, which rang with a strange tone as he drifted to sleep.
Barbarigo.
47
SUMMER AWOKE TO A SCRAPING SOUND NEAR HER ear. Prying open her eyes, she spotted a hulking object moving a few feet from her head.
“Dirk!” she cried, nudging her sleeping brother beside her.
He awoke with a start, sat up, and smiled when he saw the object of Summer’s fear. It was a sunbaked radiated tortoise. “You thinking of having turtle soup for breakfast?”
The ancient reptile looked down his grainy-beaked snout at Dirk as if indicating he wasn’t amused. Turning his head down range, he dug his claws into the sand and continued his lethargic journey across the beach.
Summer grinned at her own fears as she watched the big tortoise move away. “How could somebody harm such a stately creature?”
“Depends on how hungry you are.” Dirk stood and viewed their surroundings in daylight. The beach was flat and sandy, surrounded by rocky limestone hills rising inland. Vegetation was sparse, as the region seldom collected more than a few inches of rainfall a year.
Summer sat upright. “Do you see the Alexandria?”
As he looked offshore, Dirk saw only an empty blue sea sprinkled with whitecaps. There was no sign of the NUMA ship, or any other vessels. “I guess we drifted farther east than they suspect. If we hike up the coast far enough, maybe we can wave them down.”
Unknown to them, Jack Dahlgren and two crewmen had scoured the coastline all night in a Zodiac mounted with a searchlight. The searchers had even zipped past the beach twice. But hunkered down behind the mound, Dirk and Summer had slept through their passes, the sound of the ocean drowning out the Zodiac’s motor.
“Dirk?”
He could tell by her voice that something was wrong. “What is it?”
“I can’t move my left leg.”
Dirk turned pale. He instantly guessed why: she’d gotten the bends after all. The condition usually showed itself by pain in the joints or limbs, but sometimes by paralysis. And paralysis in the legs typically meant that a gas bubble had lodged in the spinal cord.
He rushed over and knelt beside her. “Are you certain?”
Summer nodded. “I’ve got absolutely no feeling in my left leg. But the right one feels fine.” She looked at him with dread.
“How’s the pain?”
“Pretty light, actually, but I’ll need some help to get back to the ship.”
They both knew that immediate treatment in a hyperbaric chamber was critical for a successful recovery. Summer was fortunate that the Alexandria carried such a chamber, likely the only one within hundreds of miles. But it might as well be on the moon, Dirk thought, if they couldn’t get to the ship.
He glanced at a rocky rise that towered over the beach. “I’m going to take a quick hike up that hill. I’d like to see where the ship is and figure out our options.”
“I’ll wait here,” Summer said, forcing a smile.
Dirk quickly crossed the beach and scampered up the barren hill. The rocky ground sliced into his stockinged feet, and he regretted having kicked off his shoes when he swam out of the submersible. The hill rose sharply, and he soon obtained a commanding view of the neighboring coastline.
Looking first to sea, he quickly spotted the Alexandria. She was a small dot in the distance, moored, he guessed, over the site of the sunken submersible. Dirk estimated he would have to hike five miles up the coast to reach a position where the crew might spot him. Gazing inland, he observed a barren range of rolling hills, part of the Cape Sainte Marie Special Reserve. The large national park, created as a wildlife sanctuary, had few resources, save for a handful of hiking trails and campsites.
He shifted his gaze to the east and was surprised to spot a ship two or three miles distant, rising from a tiny inlet. A handful of buildings stood alongside the ship, while a small dredge was moored nearby. Dirk thought of the patrol boat that had rammed their submersible, but he scanned the inlet and saw no sign of it.
Spotting no other signs of civilization, he hurried back to the beach.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?
” he asked Summer, who sat probing the sand mound with a flat piece of driftwood.
“I’m a sunny optimist. Give me the good.”
“The Alexandria hasn’t abandoned us. Unfortunately, they still think we’re aboard the submersible. As far as I can figure, they’re moored over the site where we went down. Plan B says that I hike five or six miles down the beach and try to attract their attention from shore.”
“I missed Plan A.”
“Less than three miles east of here is an inlet complete with a small dock facility and a freighter.”
“And a patrol boat with a bent nose?”
“No patrol boat. I can hike there in under an hour and call the Alexandria. We’ll have you napping in the ship’s decompression chamber in no time.”
“Plan A it is.”
Dirk placed a hand on her shoulder. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”
“Yes, as long as he doesn’t get any ideas about sharing burrows.” She pointed to the old tortoise. The big reptile had traveled less than twenty yards since they awoke, lying on the beach, tossing sand with his flippers.
“He’ll never make it back here in time.”
Dirk turned and moved off down the beach. The morning sun was already baking the sandy terrain, so he followed the shoreline, where the ocean breeze kept it cooler. The growing heat and a dry throat made him crave a drink of water. He knew he was dehydrated, which only added to his lethargy. But Dirk put the thought out of his mind and focused on walking as quickly as his weak legs and shoeless feet permitted.
The narrow beach ended abruptly at a steep crag of limestone that jutted into the sea. He had to turn inland until the rock face shrank and he could climb up a short incline. The top of the rock was flat, and it melded into a series of low hills that continued to the inlet two miles beyond. The white superstructure of the docked freighter peeked like a mirage above a distant sandy ridge.
Summer’s condition gripped Dirk’s mind, compelling him to hike fast. It had been less than twelve hours since they had escaped the submersible, so her chances for a full recovery were still good—if she could make it to the chamber soon. His concern kept him moving until he reached a small rise forty minutes later. Just below was the small lagoon, encircled by low hills that neatly concealed the ship and dock facility.
As he descended the western hill, he could see it was a bare-bones complex. There were just two permanent structures. A small dorm-like building rose near the inland side, while a warehouse stood at the opposite end of the dock. Between them was a high metal awning that he’d mistaken for a third building. The awning stretched the length of the dock, providing shade to several large mounds of granular sediment. Dirk first thought it was salt from some nearby flats, then noticed it was gray in color.
The freighter, a midsized bulk carrier, sat opposite, occupying every inch of the dock facing. Dirk couldn’t make out the name but noticed its yellow funnel sported the image of a white flower. A handful of men were moving one of the mineral piles onto the ship with front loaders and a conveyor belt.
The heavy equipment, combined with a nearby generator, filled the air with clamor. No one noticed Dirk as he climbed down the hill and approached the open warehouse. Inside, he could see a mechanic overhauling a small motor. Dirk started to walk into the building, then froze in his tracks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he had caught sight of another vessel in the lagoon. With the freighter occupying the length of the dock, the second craft had been forced to tie up on the freighter’s outboard side. It had been obscured from view as he descended the hill, but the lagoon’s swirling waters had shifted its mooring so its bow was now visible—including the freshly scraped gouge on its prow streaked with yellow paint. The patrol boat.
Inside the warehouse, the mechanic looked up and saw Dirk. He gave him an odd look and let out a shout. From the back of the warehouse, a young man in green fatigues rushed out, carrying an AK-47, which he aimed at Dirk’s chest. A flood of words spewed from his mouth in a dialect that Dirk didn’t understand, but the intent was clear.
Dirk stared at the gunman in disbelief, then opened his palms and slowly raised his arms into the air.
48
RATHER THAN CONTEMPLATE HER PARALYZED LEG, Summer focused her thoughts elsewhere. She stared at the radiated tortoise plodding across the beach, then gazed wistfully at the empty sea. Finally, she considered the object buried in the mound she had slept against.
The material that Dirk had exposed was thick and rubberized. By daylight, she could see that the mound was in a distinct oblong shape, formed by the object buried within. Summer studied the material, rubbing her hand across the faded letters that had been stenciled in black.
Barbarigo. It sounded Italian, which piqued her curiosity. Using her driftwood shovel, she scraped away the sand above the word, revealing a compressed roll of the rubber material. She could tell it had once been inflated. Digging some more, she saw that it was a rubber raft. It was old, but well preserved by the layers of beach sand built over it.
She dug down on the opposite side of the layered rubber and soon struck a hard, flat object. Scooping away the sand, she saw it was a hardwood bench, presumably one of several in the large raft, offering another hint of its age. She continued digging and exposed another section of rubber, the raft’s flooring. A small ribbon of blue material poked through the sand, catching her eye. Using her hands, she carefully brushed away the sand, exposing more of the material. It was round in shape, and she saw it was a sailor’s cap. Tugging gently, she freed it from the sand, but then suddenly gasped, dropping it from her fingers.
Underneath the hat, she had exposed the grinning skull of its owner.
THE WAREHOUSE CONTAINED a small machine shop, along with several workbenches stacked with carpenters’ stores. Banks of lube oil and diesel fuel lined one wall, near a large humming generator. A small forklift and two all-terrain vehicles were parked near an open tool bin by the door. The bay was dimly lit, but warmed by the sounds of an African percussion band blaring from a CD player.
Dirk absorbed all this as he was marched into the warehouse and ordered to stand against a corrugated tin wall. The mechanic and the gunman conversed for a moment in what Dirk guessed was Malagasy, then the mechanic ran to report the presence of the intruder.
The gunman stood next to the workbench with the disassembled motor, rocking on his heels as he held his weapon on Dirk. He was young, no more than seventeen. His hair was worn long, and he stood with a sulking hunch. It was easy to see he had no formal military training. Grease stains covered his military-style fatigues and his fingers. Dirk guessed he was primarily employed as a mechanic’s assistant, with secondary duty as a guard.
In a relaxed manner, Dirk brought an open hand to his mouth and tilted it up as if drinking. “Water?” he asked in a raspy voice. “L’eau?”
The gunman eyed Dirk closely. The NUMA marine engineer carried no visible weapons, his hair was full of sand, and his jumpsuit was caked with dust. He wore no shoes, only dirty, frayed socks. Emerging from the desert in such a condition, he seemed anything but a threat.
The gunman relaxed slightly and slowly turned to the workbench, where a khaki daypack sat on a stool. He pulled a canteen from the pack’s side pocket and tossed it to Dirk.
Dirk unscrewed the cap and gulped down several swallows of the water. It was warm and somewhat foul, but he would have gladly consumed a gallon of the stuff. He smiled at the gunman, then savored a few more gulps.
“Thank you,” he said, and replaced the cap.
He took a cautious step forward and reached out with a long arm to return the canteen. The gunman hesitated before stepping forward and extending his free hand. Dirk waited for the young man’s fingers to come within a hair of his own, then let the canteen slip.
The boy lunged forward, but the canteen bobbled
from his outstretched hand and fell to the floor. He suddenly caught himself and rose up, only to be struck by a left hook that tagged him on the cheek. He staggered against the workbench but quickly pulled his weapon up.
Dirk didn’t give him the opportunity to shoot. He dove into the guard, pinning the assault rifle between their two bodies. The gunman tried to spin and knock Dirk clear, but he didn’t have the strength.
Dirk ignored the weapon aimed inches from his face and clutched the young man’s fatigues, drawing him tight to keep the gun aimed clear, while with his other hand he groped the top of the workbench. Feeling a hard metallic object, he pulled it up and swung it against the gunman’s skull. It took three blows before he fell limp and slumped to the floor.
Dirk looked in his hand and saw he was holding a piston and connecting rod from the disassembled engine. “Definitely a knocking problem,” he muttered, and tossed it onto the workbench.
He sprinted to one of the all-terrain vehicles parked by the door. Each had a small mesh trailer attached for hauling parts and equipment, but more importantly, each had a key in the ignition. He straddled one of the vehicles and turned the key. The motor spun to life just as three men appeared at the doorway.
Dirk reached over and ripped the ignition cable from the adjacent ATV while twisting his own throttle. The little vehicle lurched forward, heading toward the open door. Ahead of him, Dirk saw that the original mechanic had returned, accompanied by a dockhand and a man in fatigues, brandishing a pistol. Dirk goosed the throttle and headed straight for them.
The mechanic jumped to Dirk’s right, while the other two ducked left, around the corner of the building. With the trailer bouncing wildly behind him, Dirk tore out of the warehouse and into the sunlight. He whipped the handlebars left, careening around the corner and after the two men. The dockhand jumped clear at the last second, but the man in fatigues hesitated. The ATV’s flared fender creased him in the leg, knocking him to the ground. Dirk had to swerve right to avoid a wall of fuel drums, which sent the empty trailer bounding onto the prone man. The man cried out as the trailer’s tires rolled over him, leaving him caked in dust.