breath normally, try not panic down there, it can be overwhelming at first."
"Wow, that's comforting to know."
Ice grabbed a six-foot length of rope and tied one end to Jordan's weight belt and the other end to his. "There, you'll never be more than six feet away."
Ice put on his mask and ordered everyone else to do the same.
"Ghost, radio check."
"Check."
"Roo?"
"Roo on, copy."
"Skip?"
"Roger, Skip copies."
"Shooter?"
"10-4, Shooter here."
"Storm?"
"Yep."
Ice turned to Jordan: "Jordan?"
Jordan nodded with terror in her eyes. "I copy."
"All right guys, let's go find ourselves something to remember. Ghost, keep your eye's open for those Frenchies, we won't have much time if they show up."
"I'll be all over them like white on rice." Ghost said as he stood in the middle of the zodiacs, one foot in each. They lined themselves up along the edges of the two boats, sitting with their backs facing the water.
Ghost gave the signal: "Go."
In unison the group fell backwards into the water, holding their facemasks. And before he knew it, Ghost was alone on the small boats, alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a boatload of guns and the stars.
Just how he liked it.
The ripples caused by the divers subsided and then they were gone. Moments later large balls of light appeared under the surface, growing smaller and smaller and smaller, until they resembled the stars above.
Ghost sat down in one of the zodiacs and began to whistle.
8
Marc Grosjean couldn't sleep. It wasn't the years of war and bloodshed, the dead bodies, the victims of circumstance that was causing his insomnia. Those had been laid to rest years ago. It was the distress call sent out by the Professor that troubled him.
Grosjean had not paid any attention to the details of the call when it had first come over the airwaves. Now he could not get them out of his head. The sheer panic of the caller, the screams, the muffled, breathless plea's. They in themselves were strangely curious, but they weren't what concerned Grosjean. It was something else he thought he had heard.
Grosjean rolled out of his twin, military issue, steel-framed bed and threw on some sweats and sneakers.
Suddenly he felt he was racing against time and needed to hear that call again, to decipher its contents to understand. Grosjean jogged out of his tiny bungalow and continued up the dirt road leading to the control tower where the distress call had been recorded.
He couldn't get there fast enough.
Exploding into the communication center in the control tower Grosjean looked like a mad man; his hair disheveled, eye's bloodshot and sweating from his hundred yard dash he could have easily been mistaken as a crazed maniac by the ROT operator on duty, had it not been his brother.
"What's your deal, training for something?" The brother asked.
Panting, Grosjean responded: "The tape, the Mayday tape. You still have it here?"
The brother ruffled through a couple of drawers before producing the tape. "This tape?"
"That tape. Run it through for me."
The brother slipped the tape into a machine and hit play, there were a few seconds of static feedback and then:
"--Mayday, Mayday. Greenpeace Warrior Jr., needs emergency med assistance. Help. Found something, not sure what-city."
Then the tape went dead. Grosjean's eyebrows rose. "Rewind it back to help ."
" Help. Found something, not sure what-city ."
Grosjean looked at his little brother who showed no interest or surprise at the tapes contents. Nor should he. Grosjean on the other hand had known exactly what the American Professor had found.
"Mouffi ou Moufflarge!" Grosjean shook his head in disbelief. This was no longer a murder investigation.
"François, get me a list of every cruise ship, carrier, aircraft and sub within two-hundred miles of the site at the time of that transmission."
"That's going to take some time." François complained.
"You have something else to do?"
Shaking his head
"Wow, that's comforting to know."
Ice grabbed a six-foot length of rope and tied one end to Jordan's weight belt and the other end to his. "There, you'll never be more than six feet away."
Ice put on his mask and ordered everyone else to do the same.
"Ghost, radio check."
"Check."
"Roo?"
"Roo on, copy."
"Skip?"
"Roger, Skip copies."
"Shooter?"
"10-4, Shooter here."
"Storm?"
"Yep."
Ice turned to Jordan: "Jordan?"
Jordan nodded with terror in her eyes. "I copy."
"All right guys, let's go find ourselves something to remember. Ghost, keep your eye's open for those Frenchies, we won't have much time if they show up."
"I'll be all over them like white on rice." Ghost said as he stood in the middle of the zodiacs, one foot in each. They lined themselves up along the edges of the two boats, sitting with their backs facing the water.
Ghost gave the signal: "Go."
In unison the group fell backwards into the water, holding their facemasks. And before he knew it, Ghost was alone on the small boats, alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a boatload of guns and the stars.
Just how he liked it.
The ripples caused by the divers subsided and then they were gone. Moments later large balls of light appeared under the surface, growing smaller and smaller and smaller, until they resembled the stars above.
Ghost sat down in one of the zodiacs and began to whistle.
8
Marc Grosjean couldn't sleep. It wasn't the years of war and bloodshed, the dead bodies, the victims of circumstance that was causing his insomnia. Those had been laid to rest years ago. It was the distress call sent out by the Professor that troubled him.
Grosjean had not paid any attention to the details of the call when it had first come over the airwaves. Now he could not get them out of his head. The sheer panic of the caller, the screams, the muffled, breathless plea's. They in themselves were strangely curious, but they weren't what concerned Grosjean. It was something else he thought he had heard.
Grosjean rolled out of his twin, military issue, steel-framed bed and threw on some sweats and sneakers.
Suddenly he felt he was racing against time and needed to hear that call again, to decipher its contents to understand. Grosjean jogged out of his tiny bungalow and continued up the dirt road leading to the control tower where the distress call had been recorded.
He couldn't get there fast enough.
Exploding into the communication center in the control tower Grosjean looked like a mad man; his hair disheveled, eye's bloodshot and sweating from his hundred yard dash he could have easily been mistaken as a crazed maniac by the ROT operator on duty, had it not been his brother.
"What's your deal, training for something?" The brother asked.
Panting, Grosjean responded: "The tape, the Mayday tape. You still have it here?"
The brother ruffled through a couple of drawers before producing the tape. "This tape?"
"That tape. Run it through for me."
The brother slipped the tape into a machine and hit play, there were a few seconds of static feedback and then:
"--Mayday, Mayday. Greenpeace Warrior Jr., needs emergency med assistance. Help. Found something, not sure what-city."
Then the tape went dead. Grosjean's eyebrows rose. "Rewind it back to help ."
" Help. Found something, not sure what-city ."
Grosjean looked at his little brother who showed no interest or surprise at the tapes contents. Nor should he. Grosjean on the other hand had known exactly what the American Professor had found.
"Mouffi ou Moufflarge!" Grosjean shook his head in disbelief. This was no longer a murder investigation.
"François, get me a list of every cruise ship, carrier, aircraft and sub within two-hundred miles of the site at the time of that transmission."
"That's going to take some time." François complained.
"You have something else to do?"
Shaking his head
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