Then the "water ram" did just that. An enormous surge of water flooded the compartment. Every bone rattled as the force of the water shoved them forward. Arms wrapped around her, keeping her close as they streaked past the doors.
Just as quickly as the water ram started, it stopped. They hung there as the submarine continued its turn.
Cold crushed her in its grip as Brandt released her.
Rebecca wanted to scream, but couldn't get the air out of her lungs. She wanted to flail, but couldn't move. She wanted to live, but couldn't get her heart to beat.
Brandt forced himself to suck in a breath. Hitting the North Sea's cold water had been like a kick to the chest. Luckily, Brandt had survived enough kicks to the chest to know this one really wasn't that bad.
Rebecca, on the other hand, was floating downward, her arms out to her sides like a paralyzed mannequin. He kicked hard, catching up to her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Brandt swam toward the surface. Talli, Davidson, and Harvish bringing up the rear. All heading toward the early morning light of the surface. The only one lingering was Lopez.
Bringing their faceplates together, Brandt took a huge breath, then let it out, forcing bubbles to surround them. Still kicking he locked eyes with Rebecca. He breathed in and then out. She shook her head, her lips pressed together. Panic etched in the edges. Brandt took another breath and let it out with force.
You can do this, Rebecca. Forget the cold. Forget everything but my breathing.
In a wrenching, painful effort, she took a breath. Her teeth chattered as her whole body shivered against him. He too had to forget everything but his breathing. Her proximity, even in the North Sea, even with her panicked, threatened to undo his vows.
Another breath and some of the tension loosened from her features. A third breath was almost normal. Still she didn't seem able to help him get her to the surface. He found the valve to her buoyancy compensator and blasted more air into the vest. They gained speed, passing Lopez, who gave a thumbs-up as their submarine pulled away.
They had avoided the cavitation. They were clear. Now just to get her onto the trawler and- A glint of silver diverted his attention. What the hell? They were well out into international waters. Then another glint, then another. Something metal caught the morning sun. Above them the other men scattered to the side as dozens of such glints splashed into the water.
No, Brandt thought, but his wishing it not to be did not make the hooks go away.
To keep their cover, even CIA-managed fishing boats still had to...fish. And clearly this boat, expecting a submarine to surface, was biding its time doing just that, long-line fishing. Sending out a string of hooks behind them as they slowly moved through the water.
Rebecca patted his shoulder. The question on her tear-streaked face clear. "What's happening?"
Before he could begin to pantomime the answer, one of those damned silver glints caught hold of Rebecca's buoyancy vest, digging into the rubber. Her eyes dilated as she struggled against the tug. Brandt shook his head sharply. That was the last thing they needed her doing. If that hook cut the tubing...
It wasn't Rebecca's movement though but the boat's sudden acceleration that tore the sharp hook through her vest. Air bubbled from the breach. Brandt struggled to keep hold of her as another set of hooks sliced through the water, catching the membrane of her dry suit.
His hand lashed out, grabbing the lines attached to the hooks, trying desperately to keep the tension off the thin suit. Maybe, just maybe, if they got lucky he could allow the boat to drag them to the surface.
At first only tiny bubbles escaped from tiny nicks in the fabric, then they burst from the suit, tears zigzagging their way across her body. Forget forward motion. Forget surfacing. Brandt was struggling to keep her from sinking. His frigid hands betrayed him as Rebecca slipped from his grasp.
With absolutely no buoyancy, Rebecca plunged in the dark water. He'd never get to her in time by just swimming. He didn't even have time to unfasten all the belts and locks. Pulling a knife from his belt, Brandt slashed his vest and weight belt off, then sliced his dry suit.
Instantly he too dropped like a rock.
Now to save Rebecca before they both froze to death.
Gasping, Rebecca struggled to keep breathing. Forty-three degrees should have been nothing to a girl raised in Michigan. But forty-three degrees in water? It was like an ice bath. Her fingers fumbled trying to unhook her damned weight belt as the water went from a bright clear blue to a darker navy.
Water rushed into the tears of her dry suit, plummeting her temperature. If she didn't find a way to get some weight off of her...forget five minutes, she'd be crushed within seconds.
Fear fueled her muscles. She found the strap to the weights, but it was tucked in tightly to her belt. Really? Seriously? That predive checklist was killing her. Literally. Then a figure engulfed her. They were still sinking, but they were together.
Brandt's hands coursed over her body, finding the weight belt. A blade cut the strap. Still they sank though. No matter how hard they both kicked, they made no headway. And she honestly didn't know how much longer she could continue to swim. Her legs felt like two huge thunder thighs popsicles. Brandt must have realized the same thing.
Holding her with one hand, he used the other hand to take the knife and cut off his oxygen tank.
"No!" she cried, but it was already done.
The action did cut their drag though. They actually started swimming in the right direction. The direction of light. Of life.
Then she felt something under her flipper. What in the heck could be under her flipper?
She risked a glance down to find a wide, black vessel passing beneath them. The Chinese submarine. Her flipper touched the cold metal, dragging along the hull. Brandt put his hand on her thigh, quieting her kicking as he too stopped swimming. They settled onto the surface of the sub, sliding along its length.
Following Brandt's lead, Rebecca crouched down. He held up his fingers. Three. Two. One. Together they launched off the submarine. The action propelling them upward. Finally.
And a good thing too. Brandt's cheeks blotched as his body ran out of oxygen.
They were going to make it to the surface quickly. They had to.
Wait. Were they moving sideways? In the water it was so damned hard to tell. As Brandt's eyes got larger, Rebecca realized she wasn't imagining things. The Chinese sub must have passed under them, catching them in its propeller's cavitation. With more and more force they were drawn to the spinning propeller that slashed through the water.
And she could feel Brandt getting weaker and weaker. Realizing that she was never going to get them out of this mess, she used the last of her strength to release her face mask.
Splotches of light danced in front of her as the cold shocked her eyes. Her faceplate floated between her and Brandt. As darkness edged into her vision, bringing her vision down to a near pinpoint, she locked eyes with the man she had thought she was going to marry.
At least her last sight would be a handsome one.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Brandt snatched Rebecca's face mask, switching it out with his own. Taking in five quick breaths, he reoxygenated his lungs, kicking, swimming, fighting the drag of the cavitation. But those damn blades just kept whirling, pulling them into their deadly range.
Rebecca hung limp in his arms, her face an ashen white.
No. It wasn't ending like this, damn it.
Gulping precious oxygen, he redoubled his efforts. Fuck the cold. Fuck the fact he couldn't feel his feet anymore. Fuck the Chinese submarine.
No matter the strain he put on his ligaments, nearly tearing them, the cavitation was winning. He only slowed the inevitable. Still he couldn't give up. Brandt twisted in the water so that he faced the submarine. He'd still be kicking when the propellers chewed into him. Which looked like it was only two seconds off.
Then a hand was at the back of his dry suit. Then another.
Rapidly they backed out of the cavitation until it felt like a switch cut off and the propeller's twirl no longer ruled his life. He looked over his shoulder to find Lopez towing them upward at faster and faster speeds.
He removed the face mask, fitting it back onto Rebecca's face and then clearing the water out. Brandt shook her, trying to get her to take a breath. Taking his knuckles, he rubbed her chest as Lopez dragged them closer and closer to the surface.
Still she didn't breathe. He put his ear against her chest. A heartbeat then no other. That was okay, Brandt tried to reassure himself. Hypothermia sometimes was your best friend. It preserved brain tissue. It held the body in a type of suspended animation. It actually saved lives.
Right?
Damn right.
Davidson searched the surface of the rolling ocean as his hand stanched the bleeding from his arm. One of the fishhooks dug in deep enough to taste flesh. The pain was the last thing on his mind though. Brandt and Rebecca definitely should have been up by now. Lopez, on the other hand, he wasn't worried about. The corporal had probably hitched a ride on the Chinese sub all the way back to Beijing.
"There!" Talli yelled, pointing starboard. Three figures bobbed to the surface.
The captain of the boat must have heard as he turned the boat, gunning the engines toward the swimmers. No, not all of them were swimming. One's head lolled to the side.
Davidson scrambled down the deck to the stairs that led to the water. Harvish and Talli weren't far behind as the boat pulled up to the figures.
Brandt half lifted Rebecca out of the water. "She's not breathing," he chattered. Not sounding too well himself.
"We've got to get her below deck," Davidson urged as the wind whipped from an approaching storm. He took Rebecca's shoulders. Talli grabbed her feet, and they were off. Backing down the steps toward the crew's quarters, Davidson watched her still features through her faceplate. Her face so white that it seemed someone had applied pancake makeup. And her lips? A grayish blue.
He noticed the multiple tears to the membrane dry suit. The hooks must have compromised her suit. Which accounted for the hypothermia, but the severe shock? That had to have come from somewhere else.
When they got to the cot, Davidson laid her down on her side so he could unhook her equipment. He tossed the buoyancy jacket to the side but kept the oxygen tank nearby and the face mask on.
"Rebecca," he urged, rubbing her sternum. "You've got to breathe."
"She's not even shivering," Talli commented.
The Arab was right. Not a good sign. Despite the fact Davidson knew her to be an extremely modest person-Rebecca considered a V-necked T-shirt a bit too revealing-he began pulling the remnants of the dry suit and undersuit off.
"Get some more blankets," he instructed Talli. Then he turned to Harvish. "See if they don't have some heat packs."
Both men hurried off to perform their tasks, which were vital, however Davidson had an ulterior motive. They should not see Rebecca like this. He tried to look away as much as possible as he stripped her down to her brassiere and panties. Thank goodness she was not a thong kind of girl.
Rapidly he covered her with the thin blanket he had available. Davidson rubbed up and down her arms and legs, trying to get her circulation restarted. He felt for a pulse. Each heartbeat spaced over the course of ten seconds. Still she wasn't breathing. He removed the mask, pinched her nose, and gave her a breath. Her chest rose and fell.
Talli returned, handing him a short stack of just two other blankets. "This is all they had."
For a CIA-run conveyance out in the North Sea, they certainly were not ready for deep-sea injuries.
Brandt burst in the room, already stripped down to his boxers, his whole body shuddering as shivering overlaying shivering. His features were etched with worry.
"How is she?"
Davidson answered by giving Rebecca another breath.
Brandt lowered himself beside the cot. This could not be happening. Harvish brought some heat packs, all two-by-two inches of them. They were meant to heat chilled hands, not a hypothermic body.
Davidson alternated between breathing for Rebecca and placing the face mask to fast-flow some oxygen to her. Next to him Harvish ripped open the tiny packs, shaking them to activate their heat. The point man went to reach for the covers, but Brandt blocked him.
"We've got to get them to her sink points."
"I've got it."
Given the sink points were the armpits and groin, he thought he should be the one to do it. Lifting the covers, he was struck by how very white her skin was. Normally Rebecca was all peaches and cream, but now? Bone white. The white you saw on the battlefield. A white normally accomplished only by death.
Damn it, he couldn't think like that. She was just cold. That was all. Cold.
Hands shaking, Brandt tucked the heat packs against her skin, then tucked the covers over her. "Don't they have a space heater of some sort?"
"Already on it," Lopez said as he entered, setting down a small heater.
The corporal torqued the dial to maximum. Hot air pounded from the machine. It felt like the summer sun beating against his skin.
"Bring it closer to her," Brandt urged as his own shivering subsided.
Lopez obeyed, then frowned. "She's still not breathing?"
Damn it, no, Brandt wanted to shout, but it wasn't Lopez's fault. It was his own. He never should have let Rebecca turn over her mask. Never.
Still in his intact dry suit, Lopez broke off one of the gauge wires. "May I?"
Not knowing what else to do, Brandt moved out of the corporal's way. He didn't like the way Lopez removed Rebecca's faceplate, but again, what else could they do. Lopez took the wire. Then embedded the sharp end right into the tip of her nose.
"What the-"
But Rebecca took a huge breath. A breath that lifted her off the cot. Lopez pulled the wire out, and Rebecca's breathing returned to normal. He then replaced the face mask.
Off of everyone's stare Lopez explained. "It's acupuncture. That point stimulates the lung meridian."
"Lung meridian?" Brandt asked.
"What? You only thought I knew how to make things go fast?"
"Well, yeah, kinda," Harvish answered, for which he got slugged in the arm by Lopez.
Brandt smoothed Rebecca's wet hair away from her neck. Yes, she had a heartbeat. Yes, she was breathing again, but no, she wasn't shivering yet. She wasn't self-heating.
"Move out of the way," Brandt prompted, lifting the covers again. The cot creaked its complaint as he sat beside Rebecca. She needed his heat. His muscles had been working overtime. Heat radiated from him. Might as well share the wealth.
Covering them with the layers of blankets, he pulled Rebecca up against him.
"You do realize any of us could have done that?" Lopez teased.
Of course they could. But he wanted to be right here when she awoke. Because she was going to wake, damn it.
"Alright, enough gawking," Brandt stated. "Lopez, get this tub making best speed to the coast." Off of the corporal's raised eyebrow Brandt specified. "And I do mean best speed."
Lopez darted out of the room. The pounding of his footsteps echoed off the hallway.