Devil's Gate

“They’re headed this way,” Kurt said.

He took Katarina by the hand and led her back away from the road. “Come on,” he said. “We can’t run, but we can still hide.”

PAUL PULLED GAMAY toward the cockpit of the Grouper. She was clutching her leg as if she’d been injured.

“I’m okay,” she said.

Behind her, the sub was filling with water.

He turned to look at the depth gauge. 150. 140.

The needle continued to turn, but it moved slower and slower. Despite the props turning at full rpm, despite all the ballast being gone, the Grouper struggled to ascend. 135.

The gurgling water was filling the sub. It had reached the halfway point and was rapidly climbing toward them. Paul turned back to the controls. He angled the Grouper straight up, trying to maximize the vertical component of the propeller’s thrust. It gave them a slight kick, but as the water began to swirl around his legs he could feel their momentum failing.

The needle touched 130, went just below it, and then stopped.

The Grouper was standing on its tail now, the propeller straining to keep it going. It wasn’t going to be enough.

The water churned around Paul’s waist, Gamay clung to him tightly.

“Time to go,” he said.

Gamay was struggling to keep her head above water as the sea filled the little submersible like a bottle.

“Take a breath,” he said, pulling her up, feeling her shiver in the chill of the water. “Take three deep breaths,” he corrected. “Hold the last one. Remember to exhale as you ascend.” He saw her doing as he’d said, tilting her head back to suck in one last breath as the water covered her face. He managed to inhale once more, and then he went under. In a few seconds he’d reached the hatch. With the pressure now equal inside and out, the hatch opened easily.

He pushed it back and helped Gamay escape. As soon as she was free he shoved her upward, and she began kicking for the surface.

The Grouper was already dropping. Paul had to get himself free. He pushed off as the hull of the submarine slid out from under him. He kicked for the surface, trying to use smooth, long strokes.

The neoprene suits helped; they were buoyant. Without weight belts, they were almost as buoyant as life preservers. The desire to live helped. And the fact that they’d been at depth breathing compressed air helped. He exhaled slightly as he surged upward, hoping that Gamay remembered to do the same. Otherwise, the compressed, pressurized air would expand in the chest and explode the lungs like an overinflated balloon.

A minute into his ascent, Paul could feel his lungs burning. He continued to kick hard and smooth. Around him, he could see nothing but a watery void. Far below, a fading pinprick of light marked the Grouper as it plunged back into the depths.

Thirty seconds later he exhaled a little more, the pressure on his chest building. He could see light above but no sign of Gamay. At two minutes his muscles were screaming for oxygen, his head was pounding, and his strength waning.

He continued to kick, but ever more slowly. He could feel his muscles begi

The spasms passed. The surface shimmered above, but Paul could no longer tell how far away it was. The light faded. The shimmering blue he could see narrowed to a small spot as his arms and legs became too heavy to move.

All movement stopped. His head lolled to the side, the light vanished, and Paul Trout’s last thought was Where’s… my… wife?

24

THE DUST AND THE DARKNESS gave cover as Kurt led Katarina across a grassy field on the cliff side. The approaching cars moved slowly, picking their way along the gravel road. Both cars had front-end damage, and one of them had only a single working headlight. The little game of chicken had worked out in Austin’s favor, both damaging the vehicles and delaying them.

As they approached, Kurt imagined the drivers wondering where their comrades had gone to. Or, for that matter, where their prey had gotten to and how they’d escaped in the underpowered little rental car.

Lying flat in the grass, Kurt waited for the cars to pass. Once they had, he and Katarina resumed their move across the grass, arriving at a cyclone fence.

Kurt looked through the fence. A small hangarlike building stood dark and quiet on the other side. A sign read “Ultralight Charters $50 Per Half Hour.”

“Climb over,” he said to Katarina. “Quietly.”

She put her hands on the top of the fence, stuck her toes into one of the diamond-shaped spaces, and scaled up and over in two quick steps. Kurt was glad to be on the run with an athlete.

He followed, dropping down quietly beside her.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked.

“You mean my expensive Italian stilettos?”

“Yeah. Your shoes.”

“They kind of fell off when you threw me out of the moving car.”

He noticed her dress was torn, and she had bleeding abrasions on her bare elbow and forearm. His own knee and shoulder were bleeding as well, and he could feel the small particles of gravel that had been ground into the palms of his hands. Still, it was better than being dead.

“I’ll buy you a new pair if we get out of this alive,” he said. “Keep moving.”

They sprinted across the grass and ducked behind a large exposed tank like one might see at a propane filling station. From the smell, Kurt knew it contained AvGas, 100 octane fuel for small propeller-driven aircraft like the ultralights.

Hidden behind this tank, Kurt watched the two remaining Audis crawl toward the cliff. They stopped near the spot where the cars had gone over, leaving their remaining lights on. Two men got out of each car. One of them carried a flashlight; the other three carried short-barreled assault weapons of some type.

“Let’s get out of here,” Katarina whispered.

“Don’t move,” he said. “They can’t see us here. I don’t want them to hear us either.”

The men with the guns moved toward the edge of the cliff and peered over. A fire must have been burning down below because the smoke and dust were lit up, turning the men into silhouettes.

“Looks like they went over,” one man said.

Kurt couldn’t hear the initial reply, but then the man with the flashlight moved to the edge.

“Get me a scope,” the man with the flashlight said. When the order was not followed rapidly enough, he barked louder. “Come on, we don’t have all night.”

As the man spoke, Kurt recognized the voice as belonging to the thug on the Kinjara Maru.

“So you’re not dead,” Kurt mumbled. He’d thought there was something suspicious about the explosion on the water that took the hijackers’ boat. It had seemed a little too convenient. A little too perfect of an ending for what appeared to be a sophisticated operation.

“You know these people?” Katarina asked.

“I know that man’s voice,” Kurt said. “He was part of a hijacking that took place a week ago. We thought he’d blown himself up by accident. But obviously it was a trick meant to make us think he did.”

“So these men are after you?” she said.

He turned to her. “You didn’t think they were after you, did you?”

She seemed offended. “They could have been. I’m a very important member of the Russian scientific establishment. I’m quite certain they’d get more ransom money for kidnapping me than they would for you.”

Kurt smiled and fought back a laugh. She was probably right about that. “Didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

She seemed to accept that, and Kurt turned back toward the thugs at the cliff’s edge. They were perfectly backlit in the smoke. If he’d had a rifle, he could have taken them all right now, knocking them down one after the other like ducks in an arcade. But all he had was the metal pipe and the knife that the thug now hunting them had left behind on the Kinjara Maru.