Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (22 page)

Chapter Twenty Six

At the jettisoned container

Dugan splashed into the water beside the container and surfaced to find Nigel and Ilya clinging to the front of the steel box. His first sensation wasn’t visual but olfactory — a putrid stench that seemed to engulf him. A fine mist of water whipped up by the chopper’s rotor wash obscured his vision, and he wiped his eyes to clear them. Nigel was hammering the door of the container with his closed fist, and Dugan could just make out his shouted words over the roar of the chopper.

“Cassie! We’re here! Hang on, we’re going to get you out.”

Dugan swam the few strokes to the container, and Ilya turned as he swam up. The look on the Russian’s face belied the promise of Nigel’s shout. The twenty-foot container was floating at a crazy angle, cocked with one long edge submerged perhaps two or three feet deep and the opposite bottom edge just under the surface of the water — Ilya pointed to the bottom of the doors.

“The bottom of both halves of the door are below water,
Dyed
,” Ilya screamed to be heard over the chopper. “If we open them, water will pour in and fill box in seconds. We will have no chance to get them out.”

Dugan nodded. “We have to stop the water going in now, and then figure out how to deal with the doors.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Dugan swam around to the high side of the container. The bottom edge was just below the water line, and he started at the near corner and found what he was looking for immediately — water was pouring through a two-inch hole drilled in the side wall just above the bottom of the container. Ilya and Nigel splashed up on either side of him.

“What are you doing?” Ilya shouted.

“Looking for the holes,” Dugan shouted back. “If we can find them and plug them, we can keep the box afloat long enough to figure out how to get the girls out. You and Nigel go along this edge and see how many more there are while I try to plug this one. Whatever we find along this edge will probably be duplicated along the deeper side, but if we can plug these first we’ll have an idea of what we’re dealing with. Hurry!”

As the pair nodded and started to pull themselves down the length of the container, Dugan steadied himself on the container with his left hand, positioning the roll of tape around his left forearm directly in front of him. He picked at the edge of the tape with the fingers of his right hand, fumbling as he tried to tease the edge of the tape up, and hoping this stuff would stick as well to other things as it did to itself. He finally got it started and pulled off a foot-long strip before reaching down and taking the edge of the tape in his teeth so he could tear it with his free hand. As he finished, his companions were back beside him, Nigel in the lead.

“Two more holes,” Nigel shouted, “one about halfway down and the other at the far corner.”

Dugan nodded and turned back to his hole. He had no illusions he’d get a complete seal, but he hoped he could slap enough of the heavy tape across the hole to slow down the water and buy a little time. IF Landry’s magic ‘stick to anything tape’ worked as advertised. It didn’t. Apparently he’d never tried it under salt water.

“It’s not working,” Nigel said, panic in his voice. “Ball it up and try to make a plug.”

“Worth a shot,” Dugan agreed, wadding the tape. It still stuck to itself, at least. He studied the tiny ball and shook his head.

“Nice theory, but it will take a helluva lot more tape than we have to make six plugs,” Dugan said. Then it hit him.

“Quick. Take off your socks and give me one,” Dugan shouted.

“But what—”

“Just lose your shoes and give me a fucking sock! No time to explain!”

Nigel ducked his head under the water, and Dugan started to pull a strip of tape off the roll. Nigel surfaced a moment later, socks in hand.

“Okay,” Dugan shouted. “Roll one of them into a ball, tight as you can get it, then hand it over.”

Nigel nodded, holding the sodden sock up to let the water drain from it as he rolled it tight.

“That’s good,” Dugan said. “Now hold it tight while I wrap it.”

Seconds later Dugan had a black ball, perhaps three inches in diameter, pliable but not overly so.

“Cross your fingers, junior.” Dugan took the ball from Nigel and began to compress it and twist it into the hole. It worked.

“Brilliant,” Nigel said, as he began to roll his second sock.

“
Dyed
, I think water is coming in lower holes faster,
da
? If you and Nigel make plugs, I will dive down and plug bottom holes first.”

“Good point.” Dugan pulled the first plug from the hole and passed it to Ilya. “Start with this one. We’ll have another one ready by the time you get back.”

USCG MH-65C Helicopter

“How much time?” Mason asked.

“None,” his co-pilot replied. “We should have started back five minutes ago. Even now it’ll be close, and the winds are shifting. Any sort of head wind at all, and we’re getting our feet wet.”

The ‘and losing a twenty-million-dollar helicopter’ went unspoken.

“Well, I can’t just fucking leave them bobbing around a sinking container in the mid-ocean.”

“Drop them the raft and locater beacon,” the co-pilot suggested. “In this weather,
Legare
can be here in twelve hours at flank speed. For that matter, we can probably make it to her, refuel, and be back in three.”

“And what if they get the girls out of the container? They’re bound to need medical attention, and Sinclair has EMT training. Three hours could make a big difference.”

“So could going in to the drink because we don’t have enough fuel,” the co-pilot said.

“Shit!” Mason said and shook his head. “Okay. Landry, you and Sinclair deploy the raft.”

“What about the ship?” the co-pilot asked.

“What about her?” Mason replied. “She’ll either continue for Jacksonville or she won’t, but even at top speed, she’s not getting away from us, not this close to home. We can have
Legare
send a boarding team or vector another chopper in on her anytime we want.”

Atlantic Ocean
East of Jacksonville, Florida

Ilya pulled himself into the inflatable raft and then helped Nigel and Dugan in after him, as the thump of the chopper’s blades faded to the west. Dugan spared a quick glance at the receding speck in the western sky and turned back to the container. He could hardly fault Mason, and right now he had other priorities. He grabbed a paddle and shot a quick glance at the reference marks he’d scratched on the side of the container with his pocket knife. They were still right at the waterline.

“She’s tight, for now at least,” Dugan said as he propelled the raft around to the door end of the container. “Now let’s see what we can do about those doors.”

“Is still no good,
Dyed
,” Ilya said. “If we break door seal, the container will sink like stone.”

“Maybe not. From the force of the water flowing into the holes, I don’t think the water inside had equalized with the outside water level yet. That means the water level inside the box is below the outside waterline. If we can tilt it down on the far end, even a little, the water inside should run to that end, causing it to sink and lifting the door end a bit. Maybe.”

“But how?” Ilya asked, but Nigel was already nodding and studying the end of the container.

“We’ll have to climb up this end,” Nigel said, “using the door locking bars as hand and footholds. But if we put more weight on this end, it might have the opposite effect.”

“Which is why you’ll go first,” Dugan said, “since you’re the lightest. Work your way down to the far end and then shout out. I’ll go next, and when I get down there, our combined weight should more than compensate for Ilya.”

Nigel nodded again and reached up for a hand hold, but Dugan put a hand on his arm.

“I don’t have a clue how much weight it will take to shift this thing or how quickly it will happen, so get your ass to the far end as fast as you can. Got it?”

Nigel nodded and swallowed hard before grabbing one of the locking bars to steady himself and then standing up in the raft. He reached as high as he could for another handhold and then placed his foot on one of the tilted locking bars and launched himself up. The free-floating container rocked slightly under his weight as he struggled upward, and his foot began to slip down the bar. Ilya shot his hand out, grasping the bar just below Nigel’s foot, forming a step with his wrist and forearm. Steadied, Nigel got a fresh grip and pulled himself up onto the top of the rocking container and disappeared.

“I’m here,” he shouted a moment later from the far end of the container.

Dugan tied the raft off to one of the locking bars and looked up. He was thirty years older — and considerably less nimble — than the young Brit.

“
Dyed
, I have idea,” Ilya said, rising to his knees and facing the end of the container. He reached up and grabbed a locking bar as far up as he could, then turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “Use me like ladder,
da
? First my shoulder, then my wrist on bar. Will get you high enough very quickly, I think. And part of your weight will be on me in raft.”

“Good idea, but try to keep all your weight on your knees. The way that thing rocked with Nigel’s weight, it’s tender as hell.”

“
Da
. Now go.”

Dugan put his hand on the side of the container to steady himself and stood in one swift motion, putting a foot on Ilya’s shoulder and reaching as high as he could for a handhold. He heard the big Russian grunt as he pulled himself up and put his other foot on Ilya’s wrist. In seconds, he was on the upraised top edge of the container, as if he were straddling the top ridge of a roof. He placed his hands and knees on either side of the raised corner and quickly worked his way down to Nigel. The container rocked even more violently from the shifting weight of his transit.

“I’m here, Ilya. Go,” Dugan shouted.

Ilya was over the end of the container in a flash, moving toward them standing up in a strange crablike run, his bare feet splayed on either side of the upraised corner of the container. Dugan marveled at his ability to maintain his balance as Ilya settled down beside him.

The container rocked a bit more, then slowly subsided. For a long moment, nothing happened.

“Is not working,” Ilya said.

“Give it a second.” Dugan hid his fear the Russian was right. Then, almost imperceptibly, the high side of the container began to fall as the container turned on its axis, and just as gradually, their end of the container began to sink lower. Then it happened in a rush, the movement increasingly rapid as the water inside the box rushed to the lower end, driving it even lower, and the opposite end of the box began to elevate. In moments the box had reached a new equilibrium, and Dugan looked down the side of the box, toward the door end.

“Is it up, Mr. Dugan? Is it out of the water?” Nigel asked.

“It’s close, but I can’t tell for sure. Nigel, you’re the lightest. Ilya and I will stay here to keep our weight in the equation. You swim around to the door end and have a look.”

Nigel dove overboard before Dugan even finished his sentence. The container rocked violently from his sudden departure, causing his companions to clutch at the steel beneath them to maintain their balance. Nigel stroked furiously for the door end of the container and Dugan heard him splashing as he dragged himself up into the raft.

“What do you see, Nigel?”

“We did it! We bloody well did it,” Nigel screamed. “It’s only by an inch or so when the container isn’t rocking, but the bottoms of the doors are above the water.”

Dugan’s mind raced. An inch wasn’t much. If either he or Ilya left this end of the container, the door end might very well drop back below the waterline, and even a quarter inch would be deadly.

“Okay, Nigel. Ilya and I have to stay back here, so this is all on you. Do you think you can get both of the doors open so we can see what the situation is? We’ll play it by ear from there.”

“I’m on it,” Nigel shouted, and Dugan whispered a prayer beneath his breath.
Please Lord, let them be alive.

Atlantic Ocean
East of Jacksonville, Florida

Nigel untied the raft from the container so he could maneuver around the doors. He rotated the dogs on the four locking bars, disengaging them one by one, breaking the seal around the doors. The stench intensified, and he suppressed consideration of what that might portend.

The steel doors were heavy, tilted as they were, with gravity holding them closed. Nigel struggled to get a purchase, floating in the raft, but dare not climb on the container lest he tip the opening below the water level. Finally, through force of will and adrenaline-fueled strength, he succeeded in lifting the left door open ninety degrees. From that point gravity took over, pulling the door from his grasp as it fell open on its hinges with a crash, once again rocking the container violently.

***

Dugan and Ilya perched precariously on the far end of the container, and the stench wafted over them when Nigel broke the seal on the container door. Ilya turned to Dugan, his eyes wet.

“I know this smell,
Dyed
. Before I was not so sure, and I wanted to be wrong. But I have smelled it many times. Too often. It is death. We are too late, I think.”

Dugan nodded, a lump in his throat, but as he reached over to lay a comforting hand on Ilya’s shoulder, the box rocked violently. He tried to steady himself against the unexpected movement, but he lost his balance and went over backward. Ilya moved quickly, clutching at Dugan’s leg as he went over, but the Russian was off balance himself, and both men tumbled into the water.

***

Nigel watched in horror as the now open end of the container sank toward the raft and water poured over the door sill into the dark maw of the container. Inside in the roiling water, he saw a flash of white flesh and glimpsed an arm, and acted instinctively, diving through the open door without thought or hesitation, a scant second before the box slid beneath the surface. He swam blindly through the filthy water inside the container, groping down the hard steel walls, and through a clutter of what felt like buckets or pails rising around him. And then flesh, a wrist. Let it be Cassie!