The Lance

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The harbor at Mar del Plata was big and crowded with bright yellow fishing boats. The waterfront was busy. Hundreds of screeching gulls circled and dived above the docks. The sea air smelled of fish and diesel and food cooking in stands and restaurants along the waterfront. The sun cast little warmth and the spring weather was clear and cold. Nick pulled up the collar of his jacket against the breeze sweeping in off the ocean.

He didn't want a local captain along asking questions. He could handle a moderate sized boat and read the charts and had the certifications with him to prove it. Some fancy talking and extra hard cash got them an older wooden boat with a high, glass enclosed wheelhouse. The engine might have been new when Peron was in power. The boat was painted red and white. It was equipped with radio, a fish finder, gasoline generator, a small galley and a bilge pump that clanked with an ominous sound.

The team headed east and south, past Cape Corrientes and out onto the Argentine Sea. Ronnie and Selena laid the gear out on deck. Lamont set up the underwater communications station in the wheelhouse, an Aquacom STX transceiver designed for military use. Once in the water, Selena and Lamont would have continuous contact with the surface.

Two hours later, Nick throttled down at the coordinates posted in the Admiralty report. Whatever was left of U-886 waited somewhere below. Lamont fired up a deep scan sonar unit he'd brought from the States. Nick set up a grid pattern. They started a slow search of the area.

Two and a half hours later they hadn't found anything.

"I hate this part." Lamont watched the sonar screen.

"Waiting?" Nick rubbed his ear. It was tingling.

A cold chill swept over him. A flat humming started in his ears.

"We're close," he said. He shook off the chill. He could almost hear his grandmother muttering.

"What? Hey, wait a sec." Lamont peered at the screen. "There's something coming up."

The depth indicator read two hundred and thirty feet to the ocean floor. A scattering of small black blips appeared on screen. Then a long, cigar shape. Nick throttled down.

Lamont gave Nick a strange look. "That's got to be it! How did you know? That's a debris field. She opened up when she went down. Keep us over the wreck."

He stopped as if he were about to say something, shook his head and went aft. He dropped a mooring line with markers and an ascension ladder over the side. The line was a crucial safety factor for Selena and Lamont underwater. If it wasn't on target they'd have to come back up and start over again.

Lamont and Selena got their gear on. Nick listened to them talking.

"Down there, you follow my lead. We clear?"

"Got it."

"If you have to bail out, don't mess around, you won't have a lot of time. Head for the surface, remember your stops, don't panic. I'll be right behind you."

She nodded and donned her face mask. She made a minor adjustment and gave a thumbs up. Her voice came over the speaker.

"It's good."

Lamont buttoned up, adjusted his mask. "Comm okay?"

Nick spoke into his headset. "Loud and clear."

Lamont and Selena entered the water. They surfaced for a moment. Seconds later they were gone from sight beneath the waves.

"How's the signal?" Nick said into the microphone.

"Five by five." Lamont's voice came back.

"Five by five," Selena said.

He tugged on his ear. Now there was nothing to do but wait.