The tether yanked tight, hauling him after the box. The handle of the knife banged on metal as he was pulled through the hatch into the water; he shouted with the added pain, emptying his lungs. The weight dragged him clear of Pursuit, the white of his suit and red of his blood catching the fading light as he fell straight down into the blackness of the deep.
As consciousness faded, Chad reached up with his fingertips, feeling through the heavy cloth around his neck, finding the small, comforting lump of the silver pendant against his chest. His final thought before the world went black was of the gentle, loving smile of his mother.
In the raft beside the inverted capsule, the Soviet attaché had been watching and listening. He’d kicked his shoes off and worked his way around next to the jumble of diving equipment. As Colombo burst to the surface yelling urgently for a radio, Stepanov took advantage of the confusion. With all eyes turned away, he smoothly grabbed a tank, mask and fins, and rolled over the side. Easily donning the equipment underwater, he cleared his mask and looked around. Spotting what he was looking for, he pulled his switchblade from his pocket, flicked it open and swam hard in pursuit.
——
Kaz was kicking his fins as urgently as he could, pulling with his good arm, holding the pistol in his other hand, breathing heavily through the regulator. The salt water stung sharply in his wound. He’d glanced up to see the capsule and raft against the light, getting his bearings, and hoped he had the direction towards the Zodiac right. She’ll have done the same thing, he reasoned. He strained his eyes forward, trying to spot her motion ahead of him.
How could my bullet have missed? She was right there! But she’d moved sideways as they shot, so it was possible. He hoped he’d at least winged her. Slowed her down.
He saw a flash of white ahead of him, and then another, and could see he was gaining on her. They’d chosen the same depth, about 15 feet down, just deep enough to not be easily seen from the surface. Both of them were swimming hard, but the bulk of her suit was slowing her. He listened to his labored breathing, the air squealing through the scuba valves as his lungs demanded continuous deep breaths, each stroke getting him nearer.
Kaz felt a sudden hard pull on his leg from behind, a strong hand grabbing and holding his calf. What the fuck? He spun in the water and recognized the gleaming bald head of Stepanov. One of his hands was gripping Kaz’s leg, and the other was holding something that glinted in the watery light.
Kaz jackknifed hard, twisting and kicking violently, trying to free his leg from the attaché’s grasp. Stepanov’s arm arced towards Kaz’s belly, a long, silver knife held firmly in his fist, the motion slowed by the resistance of the water. Kaz had to get inside the knife’s trajectory; he grabbed Stepanov’s shoulder strap and pulled violently, the pain searing in his arm. As their upper bodies slammed into each other, the knife curved in behind him and clanged hard into his tank.
Stepanov’s grunt was audible through his mouthpiece. He released Kaz’s thrashing leg and grabbed his webbed waist belt, stabilizing and then twisting his upper body. With the improved leverage, the knife once more came slashing through the water. Kaz was bashing at Stepanov’s head with the pistol, knocking his mask off, but it had no effect. The slicing blade was going to make contact. Out of options, Kaz turned the pistol’s hard metal nose against Stepanov’s head and pulled the trigger.
The explosion blew the water out the end of the barrel in an intense high-speed blast wave that rocked the attaché’s head sideways, away from the muzzle. But the 45-caliber bullet behind the wave was still going near normal exit speed, and it slammed into his skull at 750 feet per second, tearing through bone and brain. Stepanov’s body went instantly limp, and the knife fell from his fingers, down into the abyss.
Kaz’s heart was pounding. Holy Christ! He pushed Stepanov away and turned to look for the cosmonaut, spotting the white of her suit. She’d turned and was looking back at him. Must have heard the gunshot, he realized. Hoping he wasn’t too late, he swam hard towards her.
He stopped far enough away to be mindful of the pistol in her hand, and held his up as well. Bullets didn’t travel far underwater, but surfacing would be a different game. A hard game to win.
He saw that Svetlana was now fumbling with her leg pocket. Shit! he yelled, the word unrecognizable through his mouthpiece. He thrust forward, kicking and pulling to swim below the cosmonaut, diving deeper, looking up. As he watched, she let go of something white and then started swimming hard for the surface.