Going Dark Read online

  Figuring it could cut a good half hour off the travel time to go by boat, Dean looked around the harbor for something fast. He wished to hell he had access to one of the Special Boat Teams’ CCM Mk1 stealth speedboats, but there was a company that did speedboat rides around the harbor, and one of those would have to do. He hoped to hell it would be enough.

  The kid manning the booth recognized him. “Hey, people have been looking for you.”

  Dean ignored him, grabbed the key that was hanging from the board nicely marked, and hopped into the boat.

  “Hey, what are you doing? You can’t take that.”

  “Call the police,” Dean said. “Tell them that the woman they are looking for is on Harris diving the Stassa wreck. Tell them to get a chopper if they can.”

  Dean had already texted the information to the LC, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell the police twice.

  He knew the risk he was taking by getting the police involved, but it couldn’t be helped.

  What if he didn’t reach her—

  He stopped the thought from forming. He would get there in time. He wouldn’t consider any other possibility.

  Thirty-four

  When Annie surfaced after being pulled in, Martin was already motioning the riot act to Marie to never do that again. As a newbie, she apparently didn’t realize it was an unwritten rule that you should never touch another person’s dive equipment or pull someone in the water when that person wasn’t ready.

  Annie was glad she was partnered with Sofie and a university student from England named Joe. From the “hey, man” lazy smile and distinctive smell of Joe’s clothes, he enjoyed smoking quite a bit of pot. In Annie’s book, marijuana—like alcohol—and diving didn’t mix. She wouldn’t have gone down with just him to rely on as a dive partner, but with Sofie there, she let it go.

  The twenty-five-meter dive of the Stassa wreck was not considered difficult, but going inside to explore the wreck should only be undertaken by experienced divers—and even then it was dangerous. They were the only three in the group who qualified.

  They descended the buoy line with the rest of the group. The visibility was outstanding. The enormous ship was lying on its starboard side, and as advertised, it was virtually intact. Annie could see the funnel, masts, winch, railings, and catwalks. A small break in the hull in the middle of the ship was the only evidence of damage.

  The rusticles called to her. She couldn’t wait to go explore. She’d read about a rumor that the IRA had a secret shipment of illegal weapons on board, hidden under the cargo of timber. Maybe she’d be the lucky one to find it.

  When everyone was down, Sofie motioned to Martin that the three advanced divers were going to separate to start their exploration inside.

  Before they could, however, Joe motioned that he had a problem. Something was wrong with one of his air tubes. Sofie and Martin tried to help him, but eventually he just made the sign that he was going to head up.

  Annie couldn’t say she was sorry to see him go.

  She and Sofie broke off from the rest of the group and headed aft toward a few broken windows, which were one of the ways inside. Because of the clear conditions and multiple entry points, they weren’t planning to use a dive reel, but Annie had a finger spool just in case.

  Sofie motioned for her to go first, and Annie headed inside. They’d planned their general route on the boat ride over, and for the next twenty minutes they carefully explored the cavernous insides of the ship from the engine room, to the funnels, to the holds (where unfortunately she didn’t find any weapons), and eventually to the wheelhouse. They used a flashlight—or torch as they called it here—in the deeper sections and were careful to avoid anything that could shift or that they might get tangled on.

  The wheelhouse was a tight space with a danger of silting, so Annie set the finger spool and started to let out line.

  That was when the banging started. It was the faint sound of metal on metal.

  She and Sofie looked at each other. Annie checked her watch and her tank and realized she hadn’t lost track of time—they still had another twenty minutes or so before they had to start up. But it was clear, someone wanted their attention.

  Annie motioned to the other woman that they should head up. She started toward the doorway that led to the broken windows where they’d come in, but something pulled her back.

  At first she thought her tank or line had gotten caught on something. But when she turned her head and saw the knife coming toward her, Annie realized her mistake.

  • • •

  Dean cut the throttle as he approached the loch. He didn’t know what he would find, and he didn’t want to spook the woman into doing anything rash. He suspected she was planning to kill Annie and make it look like an accident—presumably to not draw any more attention to OPF—but he couldn’t count on it.

  He cautiously inched the boat into the mouth of the loch until he could see the dive boat. It was empty except for a slender-built male who he assumed was the charter captain.

  Dean swore. It would be too much to hope with their hour lead that he would have caught up with them, but he’d hoped.

  He tried to control his rising panic, but at the thought of everything that could go wrong down there, a cold sweat spread over his skin.

  Stay cool.

  He couldn’t recall ever having to tell himself that before.

  He glanced to the harbor and pier. There were a few docked boats, but no chopper and no blue-and-yellow police cars. If and when they showed up, they weren’t going to be much use, though—not out here and not unless they requisitioned a boat.

  He carefully steered the boat around the buoyed dive site and called out to the captain as he approached. The figure didn’t budge from his seat at the wheel until Dean was practically next to him.

  From the tapping foot on the rail, Dean figured out why.

  The kid broke out into a smile and pulled the headphones from his ears. “Hey, man. I didn’t hear you. What’s up?”

  Dean cut the engine. “How long have they been down there?”

  The kid was startled by his tone, and had probably gotten a look at Dean’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “How long?” Dean repeated.

  “Thirty minutes. What’s going on?” he repeated.

  Dean didn’t have time to explain. “Do you have an acoustic diver-recall system?”

  “A what?”

  That was a no. Dean wasn’t surprised, given the cost. “Find me a wrench.”

  Dean reached over to grab one of the dive boat lines and used it to draw his boat close enough to jump on board.

  The kid had hustled to do his bidding and was back in a minute with the wrench.

  “Start banging on the side,” Dean said. He took a sniper position, kneeling behind the port-side rail, and pulled out his gun. He didn’t want any of the divers to see him first.

  The banging stopped. “What the fuck?” the kid said, his voice shaky. “Who are you? What are you going to do?”

  “Stop someone from being murdered. The police will fill you in when they arrive, but until then bang like your life depends on it.”

  Dean wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the gun that convinced him, but the kid banged. And banged. One by one the divers surfaced. He counted six. It was hard to identify anyone with only mask- and hood-covered heads popping out of the water like seals—the animal kind—but Dean knew Annie wasn’t one of them.

  An older guy had swum over to the ladder and pulled off his mask as he came on board. “What’s going on?” he said to the kid.

  The kid turned to Dean, who stood and walked into the man’s view while sticking his gun in the waist of his jeans. He addressed the older guy. “Where is Annie?”

  The older guy turned and scanned the water. “She and Sofie must still be in the wreck. Why?�