Electra

Chapter 25

“Maddock, I’m all for skinny-dipping on tropical, moonlit beaches, just not with you, okay? Now if it was that nurse who gave us the shots…”

“Stay focused, would you, Bones? It’s a long swim out to that ship. At least a mile once we get outside the reef, across open ocean. If you want the drag of a shirt that whole way, that’s up to you. The only drag I’m willing to put up with is from this.” He patted his dive knife, still worn on a sheath strapped to his left calf, inside the leg to minimize the chances of snagging on something.

Bones tugged off his shirt and hid it in the bushes next to Maddock’s. “I thought we were done with long-distance swims when we finished training. Remember that time in BUDS when we swam to the Coronado Islands? Nothing will ever be worse than that.”

Maddock eyed the faintly lit ship one more time, also tracking the small boat on its way out. “Let’s hope you’re right,” he said, wading into the lagoon. He shuffled his feet in the sand to avoid stepping on a stingray or some other denizen of the sea. Bones followed suit and when they reached water that was chest deep, they prepared to swim.

They took one last survey of their surroundings, allowing their eyes to adjust to the low light away from the burning island. Behind them, they could see no one, hower the jungle was an inferno, burning to the ground island-wide. They could hear unintelligible shouts in the distance. Looking out to sea, they could barely make out the white engine wake of the dinghy transporting Tomoaki, Spinney and Carlson out to the Mizuhi ship. While Maddock studied their target vessel, Bones scanned the sea surface intently.

“I think we’re ready,” Maddock said in a low voice. “Watch the splashing. We’ll case out a boarding opportunity when we get closer. What’s the matter?”

He saw that Bones was still staring at the water inside the lagoon. “You mean if we get closer. Because I was thinking, if Shankey is still on patrol…”

“Hopefully he died in the explosion and is down there a mile deep with the Electra.”

“Hopefully.”

With that, they slipped into the calm water of the lagoon and began to swim. Their approach was not that of a Sunday afternoon exerciser doing splashy race to a swim-line and back. They were used to swimming with gear, at times including heavy automatic rifles, and at the very least a pair of fins, so they expected to be slower than usual, but they had also been trained on swimming without gear when necessary. The need to avoid detection by minimizing splashes had been hard-wired into them. They did not rely solely upon any one stroke, especially not a crawl, but instead employed a combination of techniques that collectively made up what they thought of as the combat swimmer stroke: a mishmash of breaststroke, sidestroke, and freestyle.

The combat swimmer stroke was all about using the limbs to generate propulsion beneath the water to maintain silence and effectiveness, with scissors kicks, glides and breaststroke arm-pulls. Top leg always forward, breaths coming after the arms recover together but in different strokes. The goal was efficiency — moving forward in as few strokes as possible. As they swam, Maddock recalled one of their BUDS instructors counting how many strokes they used to get them across a 50-meter pool. The memory calmed him, and he concentrated on lowering that number as he settled into a quiet, almost relaxing rhythm across the lagoon.

A few minutes later they reached the reef marking the edge of the atoll, where waves broke on razor sharp coral. They treaded water while they picked out a channel with deep enough water to pass through into the open ocean beyond, where their real swim would begin.

Maddock felt a wave break over his head and dove, taking care not to go too deep and hit the bottom. Bones was not beside him but behind, to make sure they both fit through the narrow passage. At one point Maddock felt his knuckles scrape hard coral, skinning them, but he pushed through and in a few seconds he felt the ocean open up, the water becoming calmer and cooler. He asked Bones if he was okay.

“Just another trip through the spin cycle. Never better.”

The island was now an orange line in the distance, rimmed with fire. They set out for Mizuhi’s ship, again using the combat swimmer stroke, but with the deeper water they had no concern for hitting bottom and could focus entirely on stealth and efficiency. Thirty minutes of swimming later, they stopped to take their bearings. No doubt the small boat had reached the ship long ago. They didn’t look for it, but instead pinpointed the ship’s light they had seen earlier. It was still on, and appeared brighter from this distance. They could now distinguish details on the ship, such as the rails, the superstructure with radar and various antennae on top, and the darkened silhouettes of men walking the decks.

Maddock looked but couldn’t yet discern a boarding ladder. He knew they were usually to the stern, or rear portion of the ship, though, so he aimed for that and set off again. They had just started moving when Bones said, “Hey!”

“Quiet!” Maddock hissed. “What is it?”

Bones spun around in a circle, eyes scouring the sea surface. “Something touched my leg. My ankle. I felt it. It was hard, and rough like sandpaper.”

Just as the word shark circled in Maddock’s mind, Bones pointed to a dark spot on the water about ten feet to the left of him. “There!”

Maddock looked over in time to see a foot-high dorsal fin slice the surface. “Shark!”

Bones studied the animal. “Sure it’s not the pilot whale?”

Maddock looked at the beast again. “Look at the dorsal. Shankey’s curled over a little on the top, wasn’t so knife-edged.”

“Speaking of…” Bones reached down, his head going under water for a second. He reemerged with his dive knife gripped in his right hand. He turned slowly in place, tracking the fish’s movements as it circled the pair of swimmers. Maddock also brought his knife to a ready position.

Suddenly the shark darted toward them. Its tail splashed the surface, giving them a sense of its length. “Gotta be ten feet long!” Bones observed. Maddock scanned the ship again.

“I say we just keep going. Ten more minutes of swimming and we’ll be there and we can get out of the water.”

“You think we can go ten minutes with this thing?” Bones eyed the predator warily.

“I do. Sharks are nocturnal hunters, it’s just checking us out. Don’t act like prey. Swim strong but don’t make any sudden movements or splashes. Keep an eye on it. We’ll be okay.”

“I’m keeping my knife out.”

“Just don’t drop it. My guess is we’ll need it more once we get aboard the ship.” Bones appeared less than convinced as his eyes traced the hunter’s path.

When the shark turned into the outer periphery of its arc, Maddock and Bones eased confidently into their combat swim strokes. It was difficult not to keep looking back every few seconds to see where the predator was, but they kept on powering forward. After three minutes Maddock broke out of his stroke to look around but saw no sign of the shark. He quickly resumed his pattern, and five minutes later the ship loomed in front of them.

He could see right away that although many people were aboard, they were not expecting to be attacked. No floodlights illuminated the water around the craft and no sentries kept watch. The crew had run the anchor light to avoid possible collision with other vessels. Nevertheless, it appeared that no one was watching their surroundings with any real care.

“What do you think? Ladder entry?” Bones looked to the rear of the boat where the tender vessel that had transported Spinney and Carlson from the island now hung from a crane over the fantail, or back edge of the ship. Nobody was visible but they could hear voices on the stern deck. Maybe thirty feet toward the bow, an access ladder consisting of a set of metal rungs welded directly to the ship’s hull led from the waterline to the deck.

Maddock pointed to the ladder and jerked a thumb downward. They would hold their breaths and swim underwater the rest of the way to the ladder to avoid discovery by anyone who happened to look over the rail. Bones glanced around one more time for the shark — or the whale — but seeing nothing he hyperventilated rapidly, taking three quick breaths and then one deep one. Maddock did the same and then the pair of SEALs slipped beneath the surface.

They kept their eyes open as they swam, although they saw nothing of interest except for the dim outline of the ship itself as they reached its hull beneath the ladder. When they surfaced they were mere feet from the lower rungs. They waited for a few seconds to make sure no one was standing directly above them. Then they both grabbed on to the rungs and hung there in the water, resting before beginning the long climb, about three stories.

After a minute Maddock started up the rungs first.

“Seriously, why do I have to be the one to stare at your fat ass the whole way up,” Bones complained.

Maddock held a finger over his lips and continued his ascent. He paid meticulous attention to his hand- and footholds, knowing that a fall would mean a loud splash that would alert the crew to their presence. Maddock reached the top of the ladder and paused two rungs down to listen for deck activity. He had no desire to go waltzing into a group of Mizuhi crewmen taking a smoke break or something like that. Bones crept up the ladder until he was a few steps below Maddock.

Satisfied there was no one in the immediate vicinity, Maddock topped the ladder, his gaze shifting rapidly around the open deck. He sighted three Asian crewmen at the far end of the deck, huddled over a very large of piece equipment that was covered by a tarp.

Fanning a hand below him as a signal for Bones to board, he dropped onto the deck of Mizuhi’s ship without a sound.