Defender(95)
* * *
Dave Sutherland reached desperately for the harness. Directly above him Terri was feeding out cable, guiding it down to the man from INTERPOL. These guys, Terri thought, could handle anything. She'd never seen anyone else like them.
Sutherland grabbed at the harness and then, with another crushing wave, he lost it.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed, punching a fist onto the churning water. "Hang on, honey. We'll get you out of this." But his numerous attempts to grapple with the illusive harness continued to be frustrated. Arena, unconscious, was a dead weight in his arms, while the pain of his injured knee tore at him with every kick he made to keep them both afloat. A crushing wall of water fell upon them, followed by more in rapid succession. He hungrily gulped down oxygen at the first break in the onslaught. Arena was almost torn from him, but Sutherland held strong. Finally, after several more attempts, his right arm was through the harness again. Exhausted, he held on with everything he had left, and launched Arena safely through its yoke. Then forcing himself in and holding on to Arena tight, Sutherland gave Terri the thumbs-up.
The explosion rocked the Polair BK-117.
Lundt's gun had missed Morgan but both rounds slammed directly into the gas bottle at the back of the boat.
Bowler was forced to pull hard to starboard to avoid the monstrous fireball that erupted skyward, threatening to envelop them. The sudden manoeuvre dragged Sutherland and Arena through consecutive walls of waves that hit them hard, one after the other. Sutherland gasped as gallon upon gallon of water was forced into him. Struggling to hang on, he thought that he'd lose Arena, but his grip was so tight around her that he was more in danger of breaking her bones.
Up on the chopper and Terri scrambled back to her feet having been punched to the floor by Chuck's rapid change in direction. When she saw the end of the winch cable disappearing into the waves, her heat sank.
"Oh, Jesus!" she cried. But as quickly as the sea had risen, it fell away and Sutherland and Arena appeared. Terri began the winch, dragging their limp bodies up to the safety of the cargo bay.
With Sutherland and Arena aboard, Chuck headed straight back to the scene of the explosion.
"Where is he?" yelled Sutherland from the cargo hold, cocooning Arena in blankets.
The Sea Ray had disintergrated and there was no sign of Morgan.
"You don't want to know, Sir," replied the Observer from the door, her concern clearly reflected in her expression. "The boat's blown to pieces. Better do another sweep, Chuck," Terri said into her headset, then looking at Sutherland. "We've got to hope he's still alive."
"Alex," Arena croaked from behind them, "Alex! Is he here?"
Chuck immediately swung the chopper back around and headed straight down to the burning wreckage of the Sea Ray. On-board, everybody was tense. Arena recaptured her sense of awareness, instinctively knowing that she was now safe. Just the mention of Morgan's name had prompted her back to life. Now they were all focused on finding him.
"Tell him to search all the way out to the edges of the wreckage, Terri," said Sutherland. "He's down there somewhere." The Observer nodded and relayed Sutherland's message back to Chuck.
They had been searching for almost 20 minutes, finding nothing but debris, and Bowler reported that he was low on fuel. There was no sign of Morgan or Lundt. The Sea Ray had been reduced to kindling. Sutherland feared the worst, but was determined to continue for as long as he could convince the pilot to hang around.
"There," came a feeble voice from the port side window.
Sutherland turned to find Arena huddled against the cargo hold door on the opposite side. With blankets still wrapped tightly around her, she was resting her tired, beautiful face against the Perspex. Tears were welling in her eyes.
"There's a man down there," she said.
EPILOGUE
TO THE BRAVE BELONG ALL THINGS
CHAPTER 64
Belgravia, London
There was nothing quite like a peaceful Sunday afternoon in London. It was rare for them to have time alone in the townhouse. Normally it was only their weekdays spent in the city, but lately Abraham seemed to have so much going on that weekends in London were more frequent. Of course, the children were happy to stay on at home in Exeter. Their university friends were down there and, these days, they would only ever venture up to London for shopping, or if they had something particular to do.
So it was, that Lydia ]ohnson found herself satisfied after a magnificent lunch and ready to wile away a couple of hours with a novel while Abraham buried himself with yet more work. He had been particularly agitated over the past few days, glued to the news, the telephone and his computer. She knew better than to press. It was always work, always hush, hush. Anyway, later they would have a cocktail together at five - that was her rule on Sundays, no matter what - and then bridge with the Powell's, before a light supper at any one of their favourite restaurants.