Headhunters

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Milton hit the water and plunged beneath the surface. His momentum was slowly arrested and, as he opened his eyes, he looked, but could not find Bachman. There were lights up on the stone platform, but he was several metres down by now and the illumination they cast beneath the water was minimal. He swivelled left and right, and saw nothing. He had to find him.

He felt a disturbance in the water above him.

He looked up. Another man was an arm’s length above him and to the right, closer to the shelf of rock that curved away to demark the edge of the plunge pool. The man was struggling to the surface, his legs kicking without rhythm, desperate and frantic.

Bachman.

Milton kicked his legs and stroked up, quickly closing the distance between them.

They both broke the surface at the same moment.

Bachman gasped for air and reached for the first rung of the ladder.

Milton kicked harder.

Bachman was too far from the ladder and his desperate hand fell short.

Milton’s fingers fastened around Bachman’s collar. He pulled himself closer, wrapped his right arm across Bachman’s right shoulder and his left arm around his waist, cinching his fingers together at a point just above Bachman’s sternum.

He pulled.

Bachman struggled.

The waves pushed them up against the rocks. Milton planted his feet and pushed them away, into the middle of the pool.

Bachman tried to prise Milton’s fingers apart.

Milton held on. He inhaled as deeply as he could and then yanked back as hard as he could, pulling them both beneath the surface.

They were upside down. Bachman thrashed. Milton kicked, sending them farther down.

It was disorientating: their heads pointed to the bottom and their feet to the surface. Bachman’s arms and shoulders filled with a desperate surge of prodigious strength that was almost too much for Milton to withstand. His grip loosened just as Bachman’s first surge of strength waned, and he was able to lock his fingers again. They bumped together, Milton’s chest pressed up against Bachman’s back, and Milton scissored his legs around Bachman’s legs and locked them at the ankle.

Bachman found the strength for another attempt to break free. He jabbed the back of his head into Milton’s face, but Milton was not about to relinquish his grip. He butted him again, and again, but Milton held on. His shoulders bumped up against the rocky floor of the pool and he squeezed tighter. Bachman turned his head so that Milton could see his face. He saw hatred in his eyes, and panic, the knowledge of impending death.

Milton squeezed tighter, Bachman’s mouth fell open and he gulped down a lungful of water.

Milton held on.

Bachman’s body bucked once, twice, a third time, and then, finally, it was still.

Milton grabbed the lifeless body by the shoulders and kicked up. He broke the surface flush against the rocks, obscured from the villa above by the modest overhang. The sound of the waves crashing against the outcrop was loud and initially confusing after the eerie silence of their struggle beneath the water. There were a series of natural handholds, and Milton used them, one at a time, to shimmy across to the ladder. He reached for the rope, snagged it, and pulled up the waterproof bag. He untied it and then looped the free end of the rope around Bachman’s waist, anchoring him to the ladder until he had prepared himself.

He took out his flippers and put them on, one at a time. He collected his mask, washed it out, and put it over his face with the snorkel close to his mouth. He would have liked to have his wetsuit, but the water was reasonably warm and he didn’t have too far to swim. He was less buoyant without it, though, and didn’t need his weight belt to keep him below the surface. That was good, because he had another use for that. He removed it from the bag, took a deep breath, and dived down to where Bachman’s body was pulling against its tether.

Bachman had drifted away from the rocks, the eddies hungrily sucking him away from land and to the deeper water beyond the pool. Milton looped the belt around Bachman’s waist and clipped it together. He untied the rope, manoeuvred himself so that he was facing out through the gap in the rocks to the open sea, and pushed Bachman away.

Milton watched for a moment as Bachman drifted away from him. His arms were wide apart, as if inviting an embrace, and his eyes were open. The body descended, dragged down by the belt. Milton watched as the most dangerous man he had ever known drifted into the deep and slowly faded from view.

Milton stroked back to the surface to untie the other end of the rope, took another deep breath, and then submerged himself again. He kicked, the fins helping him to surge through the water. The eddy caught him and hurried him away from the rocks. He submitted to it and swam for the waiting boat.